#tasm au

[small-world-au]

My brain: Don’t you do it…

Me: *sweats*

My brain: Don’t you even dare…

Me: *SWEATS EVEN HARDER*

My brain: …

Me:

My brain: I’LL KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF-

Spider-Stone’s design belongs to @microvibing btw!

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part one): YOU'RE IN A CULT

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Five Warnings (spoilers): mild sexual exhibitionism (fondling an exposed breast) in front of an unwilling person, being unknowingly drugged

[link to chapter index]

The familiar scent of pine soothed her worried soul as she stepped through the threshold of her home. 

Their little, brown cabin, with its sturdy fireplace of stacked, gray stones, and pine needle covered roof gave off the illusion of a safe haven. She might be back in her guild’s territory but this was her house. Her home. Here, she could find respite. 

It was quiet as she stood in her cozy living room. Everything was still. By mid day, her mother would have been in the communal kitchen preparing meals for anyone who might want to stop by for a free lunch. Their guild supported their members and made sure no one would ever go hungry. They functioned as a bunch of tiny parts all moving in unison to form a single, powerful behemoth. They worked on the bartering system and the good will of their neighbors. If something was taken, something else would always need to be given. 

Mrs. Harkner, down the road, gave her time to teach the children academics, in return, the children would pick the crops from her garden so her focus could be spent on lesson planning. Mr. Jacobson, at the other end of town, couldn’t aim a gun to save his life, but was an expert in construction and could fix any housing issue that arose. In return, the hunters would make sure he was always provided with fresh game and a well stocked freezer. Eight year old Christopher Lennings would sell freshly made apple juice from the apple tree in his front yard every Saturday morning and all it would cost was the coolest looking rock you could find. Everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of. 

As long as they followed the rules. 

Aylin had formulated a plan during her five mile hike back home. She knew she would have the house to herself at this time. If she could quickly pack her car full of gear, staying out of sight, then she could head back to Peter for the next few days. During that time, she would get every bit of information she could about Kat’s pack. When she finally returned back to the guild, she could trade that information as an apology for not completing her ritual to become a full time hunter. Trading was how their guild functioned. Information could be traded for a lighter sentencing. Sergei would be more focused on taking action against an entire pack than dealing out punishments for her defiance. She could right all the wrongs before the situation got too out of hand. 

It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.

The old floorboards creaked under foot to alert the only available member of the household to her presence. Her large, sleek black cat lazily rose his head off the sofa to see who dared to disturb his nap. When he caught sight of Aylin, his ears perked up and he gracefully leapt to the floor to greet her by weaving between her legs. He gave a piercing whine, begging for attention. 

“Yes, yes. I missed you, too, Kedi.” Aylin bent down to scoop him into her arms where he proceeded to be carried like a baby up the stairs to her bedroom loft. “Has mom been worried about me? Have you been looking after her?” 

Kedi purred, his golden eyes squinting up at her. It was a rarity to find him inside their cabin. He preferred to be out hunting for his next meal or clawing his way up the highest tree. Finding him willingly behind walls meant that he knew something was wrong. He had probably spent the night curled up next to Nesrin. Sometimes Aylin swore that he was actually a person trapped inside the body of a cat. She imagined him to be a grumpy, old man who would yell at innocent children to get off his lawn but secretly loved the attention they gave him. He was fearless, tenacious, and a ferocious serial killer of all rodents. 

A family of killers. Is that all they were?

Peter’s words from this morning still buzzed around her thoughts like an annoying gnat that refused to leave her personal space. 

“We’re not in a cult, right? I’d know if I was in a cult,” she mused down at the cat in her arms. 

He responded with a deep, guttural purr that vibrated his entire body. 

“Sergei isn’t Jim Jones or Charles Manson. He has a reason behind what we’re doing. There’s a purpose. A meaning. We’re helping people. We’re…” She paused and gave a long sigh. “My father wouldn’t have been best friends with a cult leader. He was smarter than that. He was a good man. Peter’s wrong. He doesn’t know us, does he, Keds? He’s a stupid, low life, pathetic, disgusting werewolf. He’s-” 

She stopped to listen to the words falling from her lips. No one was around to hear them and she was still holding deep prejustice for a man who had done nothing but show her kindness and grace despite her attitude. 

Lycans. That’s what Peter referred to himself as. Not a werewolf. A lycan. A person with the ability to shift into a wolf. 

A person. Not a monster.

Good and bad people. That’s what Peter had said. There were always good and bad people regardless where you stood in the world. 

Which one was she? 

Aylin carefully dropped Kedi onto her bed so she could pack a bag, trying to pull her thoughts away from Peter’s grasp and focus them back onto the task at hand. Some extra clothes, camping supplies, her crossbow, and more food would be on her list of needed items. She quickly changed out of her dress and into something more practical for forest living. She began tossing clothes out of her drawer and into the waiting duffle bag. As she turned around to pack them more neatly, she stopped to see Kedi curled up under the growing pile. 

“You’re not helping, Ked. You’ll suffocate under there if I zip it up,” she smiled softly down at the stubborn cat who merely squinted back at her. He was always able to lift her mood. “Okay fine, you can stay but I’m going to keep packing around you.” 

She grabbed an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes and ripped it apart. Carefully, she glanced over the colors, selecting a red and blue striped one for Peter. She felt like he would suit those colors…and he really needed to brush his teeth. It had probably been a while since he had a toothbrush of his own. 

With some basic grooming items taken care of and a duffle full of spare clothes, Aylin shooed Kedi out of the way to finish her getaway bag. He followed as she made a handful of trips from the house to her car, filling the trunk with everything her and Peter might need to survive for the next few days. She slammed the full trunk closed, tucking her keys into her pocket, and put her hands on her hips. A sense of determination settled over her. 

“There! We have a camping stove, some canned food, extra water…I think we should be all set for a couple days,” she spoke down to the cat waiting patiently at her feet. “If you would like to come with me, Keds, I would be more than happy to bring you. I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.” 

Kedi’s fur raised along his back, his ears flattening, and he gave a long hiss before darting to the safety of the darkness under her car. 

“Wha- he’s not that bad, jeeze,” she frowned at his sudden change of attitude, wondering what had set him off, when she heard the crunching of footsteps making their way up her dirt driveway. 

“Going somewhere, Aylin?” The familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. Her heart leapt into her throat as a wave of nausea overtook her. She suddenly felt faint.

She wasn’t fast enough.

The only other time she had seen Kedi display fear like that was when a black bear broke through their screened in porch one afternoon to try and grab a bite of his cat food. Even then, he had darted back out from under the safety of a chair to claw the bear across the snout before running away again. Today, he stayed hidden. 

Aylin straightened her back, attempting to fix a warm smile onto her lips, and turned around to face Sergei standing in the middle of her driveway. He was dawning his signature werewolf pelt draped over his shoulders and giving her a grin that was stretched far too thin to be anything but forced. The sight of the pelt made her sick to her stomach when she thought about the person who it once was ripped from. Barbaric. He might as well be wearing a pelt of human flesh.

Where was she going? She tried to steady her fluttering heart as a million potential answers swirled around her panicked thoughts. 

“I’m planning on going to the Catskills to hike along the Devil’s Path like I do every year,” she lied, thinking quickly. With the way her trunk was currently packed, it easily resembled a hiking trip. She could fake this scenario. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” He raised his scraggly brow at her. He was starting to get flecks of silver among his dark hair. The silver stood out more prominently against the midday sun and made him look closer than usual to his age. It was rare to catch signs of him aging. He seemed to always be in his prime despite how many years have passed. “Don’t you typically do that hike closer to the summer?” 

Aylin shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “Last summer was too hot. Thought I’d go early this year.” 

“In the rainy season, I imagine parts of the hike would be really dangerous?”

She held firmly onto her bluff, knowing he was trying to break her, and kept her eyes locked with his to help sell the lie, “Sure, but isn’t that part of our training? To overcome difficult feats despite the challenges that face us? Besides, it’s not called the Devil’s Path for nothing. It’s meant to keep you on your toes. I think I could use a good challenge. ” 

Sergei squinted at her with a hard glare, “Yes. About that. I think we need to have a talk about exactly what challenges are facing you. Something seemed to bother you the other night, did it not?” 

She could tell from his tone that he was carefully keeping his voice steady. Under the surface, he was boiling. He wanted her to pay for the other night. There had to be consequences. Aylin had not only gone against his direct orders but, in her defiance, belittled his authority in front of the guild. If there’s one thing to never do to Sergei, it would be to embarrass him. She was now caught in an unwanted game of cat and mouse and she was terrified of losing. 

She widened her eyes like it was a shock to hear that and not a conversation she had been dreading, “Oh? You mean when I ran from the ceremony? I’m so sorry about that. Really. I must have eaten something weird. Probably undercooked meat. I got really sick. I spent the night on the toilet. I had to run before I had an accident in front of everyone. You know how it is. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

He took a step closer, a dreadful smile flicked at the corner of his lips, “Really? I stopped by your house to check on you later that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay after that shameful display you pulled in front of everyone. Your mother told me you weren’t home. Poor woman was worried sick about you. She thought you might have run off and done something stupid.” He paused, closing the gap between them. The cold metal of her car door pushed against her back as he towered over her. He propped an arm against the roof of her car to pin her in place. “Well? Did you? Do something stupid, I mean.” 

Her stomach flipped with nerves as she shook her head. She was going to lose this game. The cat was ready to pounce and she had nowhere to hide, caught in place, forced to face her demise. Sergei went in for the kill, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in their silent standoff, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. He had her locked tightly in place against his side and gave a loud, dark laugh as if that would expel the thick tension between them. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. He had her exactly where he wanted. 

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me, Aylin?” He started to drag her down the driveway. “Cal made rabbit stew earlier. We can have some tea and lunch and discuss our futures. I have a proposition for you. What do you say, kid?” 

Despite his question, there was no choice to be had. She was going to be coming with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her there. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s okay. I should go leave a note for my mom so she knows where I’m at when she gets back…” Aylin tried to dig her heels into the dirt but got shuffled along like she weighed nothing. Any resistance would be futile. She had lost the game. The cat had caught the mouse and was now boastfully parading her squirming body down the road as he carried it proudly between his salivating jaws. 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll inform her exactly where you are should she come asking. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe with me. You know that.” The weight of his words hung over her like a rapidly approaching storm. There wasn’t a single ounce of truth behind anything he said. 

It was only a matter of time before the cat clamped down, piercing her flesh with his razor sharp teeth. 

The Kravinoff residence was the largest house in their town. A two story cabin with breathtaking floor to ceiling windows to let in all the natural light. The eaves of the red gabled roof were decorated with ornate wooden details. They had been handcarved by Sergei Sr. when he rebuilt the Kravinoff home many years ago before his passing; his final gift to his spoiled son.

Their kitchen was larger than the floor plan of her entire house with brightly painted, red cabinets to match the color of their roof. A pot of yellow sunflowers brightened up the room to soften the red and create an inviting atmosphere. Calypso lounged against the double wide, walnut island wearing nothing more than a skimpy, silk robe. Her dark, tight curly hair haloed around her head and she flashed Aylin her infamous, pointy toothed grin. 

“Ah, the weakling has returned, I see,” she slinked over to the younger woman, standing tall in front of her. “Such a disappointment you gave the guild last night, was it not? I don’t know why Sergei holds you in such high regards. You don’t look like much to me.” 

Sergei placed a possessive hand over Aylin’s shoulder, “Now, now, Cal. Enough teasing. Everyone makes mistakes. She says she wasn’t feeling well. Ate some bad meat. Happens to the best of us. Aylin is our guest and should be treated as such. She’s here for a chat over drinks. Why don’t you make us some of your special tea?” His eyes flashed into his wife, giving her a silent command. “The kind we save for our very important guests. Aylin needs to be reminded how much her community values her.” 

Calypso smiled and bowed her head, “Of course, dear.” 

Aylin was led into the dining room with the sounds of Calypso rustling through the cabinets following her out the door. A long, black cherry dining table, lined with tall chairs, greeted them. At the head of the table was a throne, carved out of the trunk of a tree and adorned with giant wolf claws at the end of the legs. Kraven sank down onto the pelt covered seat. He looked like a true king of his castle. He waved a large hand for her to sit in one of the normal chairs beside him. 

She took a hesitant seat, having stayed quiet this whole time, terrified that speaking the wrong words would get her further into trouble. It was better to play defense with Sergei. Let him take the lead so she could match his energy. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in our home,” he mused, lazily scratching at his beard. “You used to visit all the time with your father. I believe the last time you stepped foot inside these walls was when you were merely 16 years of age.” 

After Samuel and Emir’s funeral. 

Sergei had held a repast at his home after the burial service. Everyone in town had attended, each bringing a dish of food or drinks, to show their support for the fallen members. Nesrin was too busy weeping in the bathroom to know her daughter was getting wasted off some stolen liquor. Aylin had snuck away from the guests with her bottle in hand to hide in one of Segei’s guest rooms. The rest of the night was a blur but she distantly remembered him finding her tucked away in the corner behind a bed and holding her while she cried. Everything after that was dark. That entire year had been dark. 

She remembered a time when she felt protected in his arms. His presence used to come with a warm safety. Now, it came with a foreboding sense of danger, like stumbling upon a sleeping rattlesnake. If she was careful enough, she might get away without a fight. If she took one wrong step, all it would take was a mere second for the snake to strike. 

“Things got bad after-” She stopped. She didn’t need to say anything else. 

Sergei gave a solemn nod, “Yes. I can imagine. Sam was my good friend. He was an important, valuable member of our guild. It was hard for everyone.” 

He was studying her face, trying to read every micro expression she held, but she kept her features stiff. She should have left sooner. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much time doting on Kedi, she would have escaped before Sergei arrived. She wished she was already back with Peter and wondered how long he would stay in her trailer before he started to wonder if she’d ever return. 

“Who’s Peter?” Sergei asked with an air of innocence, as if he had directly read her mind, but kept a close eye on how she responded. He was carefully studying her every move. 

Aylin’s eyes widened in shock for only a split second before she softened her face but there was no doubt that Sergei had caught it. Had he read her mind? There was no other way he could possibly know about Peter…was there? Her stomach churned with nerves at the question but she raised her eyebrows in feigned confusion, “What do you mean?” 

He shifted on his throne, leaning towards her, and placing his arm on the table, “When I came to pick you up, I heard you say ‘I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.’ So, who’s Peter?”

That’s what she got for speaking out loud to a cat. She should have kept her mouth shut. 

“He’s my friend,” she lied, thinking on her feet. “Works at the gas station a few miles out. He works nights. I’ve met him a few times and we got to talking. He enjoys hiking as much as me. He was planning a trip of his own so I invited him on mine. I thought we could both use the company.” 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sergei’s tone was light but his tense shoulders gave off the impression of a possessive, jealous lover. Aylin was beginning to see him as an overgrown child who refused to share his toys with others. She felt like she was nothing more than his property. 

She repressed a gulp, refusing to let her eyes wander from his, “No. He’s a friend.” 

He ignored her statement. “After Leah Rivera, I thought you might not be not interested in men. It’s good to know you appreciate both sides,” Sergei leaned back to give off the illusion of someone who was casually lounging instead of someone fishing for information. They were both playing a difficult game of chess, each crafting their next move, while simultaneously trying to find their opponents weakness to exploit.  “Cal swings both ways, too.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone who enjoys hiking as much as me,” Aylin’s jaw tightened, giving him a stiff reply. She desperately hoped the heat burning behind her cheeks wasn’t outwardly noticeable. Her racing heart spiked at the mention of Leah. That was a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. “I don’t swing any way. Leah was nothing more than a friend, too.” 

Liar. Leah was more than a friend. She was Aylin’s childhood best friend, her favorite person, her first crush, her first love. Leah used to be her everything. 

Until she was nothing. 

“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Cal and I were just friends once. I get it. But, Aylin, you know how this guild feels about outsiders. You can not trust them. It’s best you let that friendship drift away before it’s too late. I don’t want you going on a trip with that boy. It’s too dangerous. Cancel it. Stop seeing him. There’s more than enough eligible men here for you to attach yourself to. I can think of at least three off the top of my head who would love a chance. Stay within the guild.” 

She had tried to stay within the guild until Sergei caught on about her and Leah’s relationship. She remembered his eyes flaring with hatred when he saw them share a quick kiss behind the school house one afternoon. Neither of the girls could understand why he would care what a couple of sixteen year olds got up to. It wasn’t long after that Leah’s entire family disappeared in the middle of the night. One day they were there, the next they were gone. Banished. No explanations given. No goodbyes said. Their empty house was demolished, as per tradition, whenever someone leaves the guild. Erase everything and build back up from scratch without the tainted memories. They were to never speak about the Rivera’s again. Every ounce of Leah’s existence in Aylin’s life was gone overnight until it was almost as if she never existed at all. If it wasn’t for the pictures hidden in a shoebox in the back of her closet, sometime’s Aylin might wonder if she dreamed up the entire thing. First, her best friend disappeared, then, her father and brother were slaughtered by wolves. Sixteen had not been kind to her. 

But that was years ago. Leah was gone and so was the person Aylin used to be. She didn’t want Peter to become another pained memory added to the ever growing pile of forgotten people. She would protect this one. She wouldn’t let him be another soul for Sergei to steal from her. 

Even if that made her a traitor. 

She fixed a pleasant smile onto her face, “You’re probably right. I don’t know him that well anyway. I was just looking for a hiking buddy. Not a big deal and I’d better be safe than sorry. You never really know what those outsiders are like. Although, I do think I would be able to overtake him if it ever came to that. I’ve taken down werewolves. I think I can manage to get the upper hand on a random gas station employee. You’ve trained us well.” She threw Sergie her best attempt at a cheeky wink despite the anxious tightening of her throat. Her desperation for him to believe her was suffocating. 

Outsiders. Traitors. Banishment. 

Maybe Peter was right. She might be in a cult. 

The truth hit her hard. She forced a smile onto her face despite wanting to slide under the table and crawl away. 

Canceling fake plans with an imaginary boyfriend was easier than the truth of her deception. Outsider Peter was better than Werewolf Peter. One was a simple mistake at the hands of a lovestruck young woman. The other was direct treason against everything she ever knew. 

He didn’t look impressed with her response.

Earthy, herbal smells wafted out from the kitchen door. She caught notes of lavender and chamomile mixed with some kind of sharp spice she was unfamiliar with. Sergei noticed her analyzing the scent. 

“It’s not something we grow here in the mountains,” he remarked, blatantly ignoring her attempts to butter him up. “Calypso has family in Haiti. They send her all sorts of home grown products she can’t get here. She likes to think of herself as a bit of an alchemist when she’s in the kitchen. She makes the most wonderful tea. You’ll love it.”

As if on cue, Calypso burst through the doorway with a tray in hand. A clear teapot was placed on the table in front of them. Bits of loose herbs floated around inside the amber liquid. Skinny, swirling trails of hypnotizing white steam rose from the spout. She lifted the pot to pour out the delicious smelling tea into the delicate china cups. Aylin was handed the first one. 

“For our guest,” Calypso smirked. “Made with love.” 

Aylin ignored the snarky edge to her words and gave a polite smile. She took a small sip, happy for the distraction. It burned her tongue but slid smoothly down her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever had before. Warm and cozy with a sharp tang of spice as a lingering aftertaste. She took another big gulp as it gave her something to do with her fidgety hands. 

Calypso perched on the thick arm of Sergei’s throne as she watched her guest drink, “How is it?” 

“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she feigned a smile. She wasn’t lying. It was delicious. She just struggled to make her voice sound genuine when her and Peter’s lives hung on her every word. 

“Pleased to hear it.” 

Sergei patted his wife’s thigh, “Aylin was just telling me about her gas station boyfriend. An outsider. They’re already planning a trip together.” 

Calypso leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair, “A gas station boyfriend? Even she can do better than that.” 

“He’s not my bo-” She was cut off by Sergei. 

“I already told her that it would be best to let that relationship fade away. I think we could find her someone better. One of us. I would be doing Sam a disservice if I let his daughter run away with an outsider.” 

Aylin bit her tongue and refused to mention that her mother was once an outsider. The longer they stayed on the topic of her lie, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to have to keep thinking on her feet. It was exhausting her psyche. 

“I said I would. It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, taking another sip of her tea. “He means nothing to me. I just thought it might be fun to have someone to hike with but I prefer being on my own anyway.” 

Calypso smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. Outsiders are nothing. They don’t deserve your time of day. You have everything you need right here.” She shifted her body to lean forward, her deep brown eyes penetrating into Aylin’s very soul. “We’re all you need.” 

She was most definitely in a cult. How could she have ever been so oblivious? 

She might be the stupidest person alive. 

This would be her downfall. The people she loved and fought to protect were the one’s holding the knife. They would be the ones to fatally stab her. Not the Lycans. 

Before the realization could overtake her, Calypso’s loose robe had fallen open when she moved and her right breast had pushed its way out from the silky material. The sight of the woman’s freshly exposed skin caused her spiraling mind to halt. Sergei’s arm wrapped around his wife to grasp onto her breast, absentmindedly flicking her dark nipple with his thumb, as they both stared in her direction. Aylin’s ears heated up with a mixture of disbelief and horrific embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze to the table. She got uncomfortable watching people kiss in public. Watching someone blatantly fondle his wife in front of her made her want to claw out of her own skin. They had always been overly affectionate with each other but it had never been as in her face as it was now. This was different. New. It was like they were challenging her. Like this was some kind of sick test she’d have to pass. From the moment Sergei showed up behind her, she was being tested. Her every move was stuck under a microscope and picked apart with a watchful eye. 

These were not the people she once thought they were.  

A new found hatred wrapped around her like a warm blanket. They were toying with her. Teasing her. Playing with her. They were getting off on watching her squirm. They liked this. 

This was who they really were. 

Aylin focused on her tea to keep herself distracted. She heard Calypso stifle a laugh under her breath. They were getting off on her discomfort. Her head was starting to feel dizzy and her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. She suddenly felt very sweaty like there was a fire igniting in her stomach and spreading up her chest towards her throat. She hated them. That much was clear to her now. The guild was not a safe place. It never was. It had only felt that way because she was drinking the Kool Aid along with everyone else just like Peter said. Her whole life she had been fed a lie which she happily lapped down. Her world was crumbling down around her. Piece by piece it fell with deafening crashes and she was beginning to suffocate on the smokey rubble filling her lungs. 

A headache was rapidly growing and her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it back into focus. 

“Ms. Aylin was just about to tell me what happened last night,” Sergei spoke, still massaging Calypso without any hint of embarrassment. His tone had flipped, losing the fake lightheartedness from earlier. He was serious. There was no more time for games. “She was going to explain exactly why she refused to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild.” 

She was?

“For someone who claims to have killed two on her own, without any proof, you’d think a malnourished, caged bitch would be easy,” Calypso remarked. “It sounds to me like there might be a little white lie hiding somewhere in your story, dear girl. Don’t worry, darling, you can tell us. We won’t judge. We just want the truth.”  

She took another sip of the tea to avoid having to answer them right away. Was she the only one drinking? Neither of them had touched the stuff. 

Aylin didn’t want to look in their direction to check. She didn't want to watch what they were doing. They were making her uncomfortable on purpose. A power play. A way to prove that she was nothing but inferior to them. She didn’t want to be here. Her head felt like it was swimming with a million thoughts but none of them were making it to her lips. Her body was refusing to function. She couldn’t make her mouth and brain work as one. 

“I, uh,” she stuttered over her words. “I…” 

Her mind was starting to feel like it was slowly filling with sand. An hourglass at the verge of tipping. Her mouth felt dry so she downed the rest of her cup. 

“That girl- she…she…was just…so…so young…” Aylin gave a slow blink, her chin bobbing down to her chest before quickly steadying her head back upright. “I…feel…”

She was suddenly exhausted. The empty tea cup slipped from her hand to shatter into pieces across the floor. She finally turned her attention to the couple, fearing that she was coming down with an illness. She was seeing double. Their forms wavered like rain in a puddle. 

“Something’s not right,” she whispered.

“That would be the tea,” Sergei spoke, his voice steady. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine.” 

He pushed himself up from his throne to walk over to her. Aylin slumped into his arms, feeling paralyzed, as he easily lifted her to his chest. He cradled her there while he moved through his house, each room flashing slowly before her lagging eyes, until he stopped in front of a large bookcase. 

“Wha-” she tried to speak but words were useless to her. 

Sergei kicked his foot at something hidden against the side of the bookcase, tucked away from view, where the wall meets the floor. 

With a low grumble, the bookcase slid slowly to the right to reveal a set of wooden steps leading underground. They creaked underfoot as he carried deeper into the abyss. 

The musty smell of mildew and copper hit her nose. 

“No…” Aylin managed to whisper, in a last ditch effort to protect herself before the drugs completely captured her mind. 

“Sleep now,” Calypso purred over Sergei’s shoulder. “We have some important business to discuss. You’ll need your strength. Shh, drift off, little one. We’ll keep watch over you. Sleep.” 

[CHAPTER FIVE (part two)]

Tag List Requirements: 🌒A reblog of this chapter will automatically put you onto the next chapter tag list. If you no longer wish to be put on the next list, simply don't reblog this chapter.🌔

Tag List: @theorgansarerotting @lxinesux @lazyxsquirrel @sincericida @pfannkuchen07 @amethyst-silk @thisloserlovespeterparker @its-crystalli @moonyslove78 @liz-allyn @dreamsarecloserwithyou @fav-fanficssss

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you've had about their work. If you liked a certain line or enjoyed a particular part, let us know! We're desperate attention whores who crave your feedback. It's what keep us writing. It makes us happy and feel appreciated for sharing our work.

[pparkerized]

misery loves company || tasm roleswap au (rewrite)

ao3 | old version

summary: the one where peter searches for a way to exact vengeance following the death of his uncle. unfortunately there are always consequences to such drastic actions.

word count: 2,066

While Peter crumples against the floor, his body convulsing as agonized screams tear his vocal chords apart, he wonders how he even got to this point.

He can recall, through the broken shards of his collapsing mind, that he had only resorted to this because he wanted something. No, he had needed something. What he desired was a necessity, even through the crippling pain that was clear to him. Revenge, he thinks numbly, clawing at the floor like a wounded animal. He knows that much, he had done this for a reason and that reason was because he needed revenge. 

The pieces of his mind start to reassemble, though his body feels like it's still being stung by a dozen fire ants. A sharp buzzing makes its way through his entire body, causing him to violently shudder. There's a metallic taste in his mouth and he hacks up a mouthful of blood and saliva. His vision is blurred, hazy, his head throbs and feels as if he's just been hit with a truck. He feels as though he's dying. Yet his body, even though it's been torn apart from within, doesn't give in. 

Revenge. Peter grasps that one coherent thought by the strings before he can lose it, so he doesn't lose himself to the pain instead. He knows why now, in the haze of all the burning he'd almost forgotten. Uncle Ben. Peter wonders if his Uncle had felt much pain when he had died, had he felt his life ebbing away like this? Peter wasn't sure if he was dying or not, but he suspects this is as close to what it feels like as it can get.

His Uncle had been shot dead by a petty criminal five months earlier. And Peter had been too weak and feeble to do anything about it. During those months since, he'd withdrawn from society, from everything. There had been something growing within him since that fateful night when his Uncle was murdered in cold blood. Something twisted, bitter, something ugly. It was that same thing that had driven him to this point.

Oscorp. Spiders. Spider-Man. He remembers asking the new vigilante for help in his search for his Uncle's killer. But Spider-Man, ever noble, had refused him that. Spouting some bullshit about how it was far too dangerous for someone like himself - scrawny, weak - to put himself in harm's way. So Peter had snapped at him in anger, vowing that he'd find a way to do it himself. Which led him here. 

He gasps for breath, the burning restricts his airways, like a pair of hands gripping his neck tight and refusing to let him go. But the fire is less warm now, no, it's ice cold. He isn't sure which is worse, but it hurts just as much and all he wishes is for it to stop. Black spots dance in the corners of his fogged vision, he squeezes his eyes shut, his body convulses  as another wave of nauseating pain washes over him. 

At this moment, he regrets his choice. As desperate for revenge as he is, part of him thinks the pain isn't worth it. The spiders were dangerous, the experiment unstable. They had given Spider-Man his abilities, ones that Peter could only ever dream of having. But perhaps he's simply too weak to handle the process of change, maybe he'll die, never really achieving anything but a stupidly long death. He wishes he'd never come here, he wishes he'd never stuck that syringe in his arm. 

He's dying. It's agony. He hates it. He thinks about Aunt May, she'll have to relive the rawness of grief all over again when they find his body, she'll end up alone with nobody to help her. He thinks about Harry Osborn, his best friend - the boy he loves but is too much of a coward to confess - who had only just returned from Europe. Their friendship, which had withstood the test of distance and time for years, was miraculously intact. It had been as if they had never been parted in the first place.

He doesn't want to die.

Maybe he won't die. But there are fates far worse than death. It's hard to think now, but he has a rather startling thought about ending up like Doctor Connors, though as a spider mutant, rather than a mutant lizard. But Connors' mistake hadn't been his own, not entirely. Peter had helped develop that formula for him. He had given him his downfall on a silver platter.

And now, he's given himself that very same platter.

The fire burns, both warm and cold now. Peter feels numb, the pain doesn't bother him. He isn't even sure if it has completely subsided yet, but he feels lighter. A lot more than he had been earlier. How long has he been here writhing on the floor, screaming himself hoarse? With a trembling hand he starts to push himself up. He fails once and he falls back down, his jaw hitting the floor with a slight crack. It doesn't hurt as much as it should have. The thought should've bothered him, but Peter can't bring himself to care.

Finally, he manages to drag himself to one of the desks. There, he uses all the strength he can muster in order to pry himself up. He puts all of his weight on the sleek, metal table, staggering to his feet. He wavers, his movements sluggish, slow and unsteady but he finds his balance soon after. He feels charred and raw, his mind scattered and his thoughts still scattered. He isn't sure what to think.

But despite all odds, the immense physical and mental torture he'd just endured, he's alive. 

His chest heaves with the effort to breathe, the remnants of suffocation still linger, but it's easier to deal with now. His vision clears and briefly his gaze catches the empty syringe on the table, a single droplet of green liquid drips onto the table and dissolves. Peter watches that spot for a moment, unmoving, his expression completely blank. When he turns away, he finds himself staring instead at his own reflection in a broken circular mirror on the desk, which apparently he must have knocked over at some point.

The longer he stares at himself, he realizes that something isn't quite right with him

His brown hair had always been an utter mess, but it was even more disheveled than usual, and that was saying a lot. But that wasn't the thing that had a creeping feeling growing in his gut, no. It was the fact that his skin is far paler, just as sickly looking as the rest of him. That alongside the hollow bags underneath his eyes make him appear even more like a walking corpse. His ears are slightly pointed, barely noticeable, but the change stands out to him. His irises, which had always been a delicate brown, are flecked almost completely with green that give them an unnatural glow. His veins, which he only now notices, are also green - though much darker, trailing up from his neck and onto his cheek.

Absent-mindedly, he lifts a shaking hand to feel the strange face in the mirror. His eyes catch how unnaturally sharp his fingernails have become, how dark veins now stand out against the once healthy looking skin on his wrists. What had he become?

Better. His mind supplies. It feels eerily like that same thing from within that had been festering for months. So much better.

His mind feels horribly broken, there's damage done that Peter knows he can't fix so easily. But he doesn't know the extent of it. He only knows that his thoughts are becoming less scattered, but more frenzied. He's filled with adrenaline now, his body burns, but this time it isn't in pain. Oh, what had he become?

He grits his teeth. His canines are sharper too. He lowers his head, brown curls brush against his eyes. His expression twists as his head races with thoughts, memories. Something screams and screams in the back of his mind, something that he can't quite make out. It grew louder and louder, whispering unintelligible demands.

A breathless sound escapes Peter's lips. Then another, and another until he finds his chest heaving with uncontrollable, breathless laughter. He leans against the table as his knees almost buckle beneath him, keeping himself upright. Still, he laughs. Part of him doesn't understand why, but he does it anyway. There's something so amusing about the whole situation to him, but he doesn't get the punchline. Only a sense of cruel irony. 

After a few more seconds of laughter, now bordering on hysteria, a strangled noise catches in his throat. A choked sob. The crazed smile that had been painted onto his features becomes mangled, appearing more like a grimace. There's a hollow feeling in his gut, but something else within his mind, they clash together and it makes his head hurt even more.

He's different, he knows that much. Something feels wrong. But if he knows that, then why doesn't it bother him as much as it should?

He doesn't have time to dwell on much when piercing alarms fill his ears. Flashing red lights blare around him and he looks around in a panic. There's only him and the only exit, which was now blocked by steel shutters. He spins on his heel and his gaze locks onto the display in front of him. Behind a layer of protective glass, lies his escape. A hoverboard, coated in a shiny black shell, that seems to be tinted with green. It's no ordinary hoverboard, more like a specialized glider, and it's his only shot at escaping without being caught.

Without hesitation, he forces a fist through the glass - which, either isn't as reinforced as he assumed it to be, or something worked. He registers faint footsteps thundering towards the room, despite the distance. Eyes gleaming, Peter takes the glider and activates it before stepping onto it, he wavers slightly, but quickly manages to find his balance. Just like skating. He thinks idly, slowly rising from the floor.

Peter's head swivels round just as some members of security enter the room, shouting and yelling unintelligibly. Before they can even see him, he's already gone, breaking through the skylight and gliding through the sky. He shakes some glass from his hair and focuses on keeping his feet planted firmly on the glider, as well as getting as far away from Oscorp as possible. No doubt they'd be sending out search parties for the mysterious thief who had stolen a prototype glider.

Prototype. He can work with this. Maybe even make it better.

He adjusts to steering fairly easily. Leaning his body in each direction to test out the flow. But he doesn't want to test his luck, god knows he's been unlucky enough as it is lately, so he sets the glider down on a rooftop far from Oscorp and in the cover of multiple skyscrapers. Peter watches the city from above, he's never really seen his home from this angle before. He expects it to feel invigorating, to give him a new perspective on things. But as he looks down on it now he feels no semblance of such a thing. Instead, something twists in his gut.

Displeasure. He hates it. The city had never done anything good for him, one of its people had taken his Uncle's life. People aren't good, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. Peter agrees. He and his poor Aunt May had been left to suffer because people didn't care about others less fortunate, like them. Anger burns through him at the thought, as bright as the fire that had left him charred within earlier. 

Misery. He thinks, his gaze still lingers on the less than thrilling view of New York below. This place brought him nothing but misery.

Well, something curls in Peter's stomach, that same dark feeling resurfaces again. Once hollow brown eyes now gleam with something akin to mania within a haunting green glow. He flexes his fingers, once, twice and his lips pull back into a chilling grin. The whispers in the back of his mind chant in a chorus and this time, just this once, Peter understands them.

Why doesn't he give a little misery back in return?

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

something in return

a/n: tbh i didn't intend for all of the moments in this instalment to fit into the same pattern, but hey, i won't complain when my geniusness unintentionally slips out... sometimes my big beautiful brain just can't help it lol

summary: “if you want them back so badly, then I think you’d have to work for it,” Steve cockily crossed his brawny arms. 

warnings: frat!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x stepbro!steve rogers, professor!peter parker, professor!reed richards, smut, dark content, college au, polyamory, kissing, virgin!reader, corruption kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, spit kink, masturbation, fingering, anal, squirting, impact play, dry humping, thighjob, pussyjob, cumplay

word count: 5606

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist 

You didn’t recognise the room that you woke up in. All you could hope for was that you were still in the frat house after the previous night’s rager. 

Though when you blinked around the unfamiliar space from your horizontal position, your eyes soon landed on the inked arm draped over your waist. Heartbeat promptly picking up, you slowly glanced back over your shoulder to discover Bucky sprawled out behind you and still fast asleep. 

Carefully, you tried to twist out from under his burly arm and slip out of bed, but though your movement was cautious, it still managed to stir him. 

“Morning,” he hummed groggily, his sleepy voice deeper than you’d ever heard before. 

Sucking in a breath as you sat balanced on the edge of the mattress, you refused to whirl around to meet his eye, “uhm, hi… how–, uh,” you coughed, “why am I in your bed?” 

“How the hell should I know,” he uttered through a yawn, “you were already here when I eventually went to bed.” 

“Oh…” you breathed, and as you then shifted slightly, you noticed the lack of fabric beneath your skirt as nothing seemed to cling around your core, “uh–, did anything–,” you finally glanced back at him in alarm, “nothing happened, right?” 

And as he stared back at you, his head cocked against the plush pillow, a smirk slowly began to bloom on his lips, “are you asking if we fucked last night?” he teased, “I am hurt that your brain would even dare to block such a magical night of lovemaking out of your memory.”

“What?” your eyes grew. 

“Kidding! Nothing happened, I promise,” both of his palms promptly floated up, “or, nothing happened between us,” he pointed out with a tilt of his head as he lowered his hands once more, “from what I heard you and Steve had quite the night…”

“I-I–,” you averted your gaze, swiftly scrambling to get up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he uttered smugly, “but just so you know, there isn’t much he and I don’t share, secrets or otherwise…”

Glancing around the room for your phone, you soon spotted it on the windowsill, “…I gotta go, I’ve got freshman orientation to get to,” you grabbed the device. Crisp morning air caressed your bare core with every shy step and prompted you to briefly sputter, “you wouldn’t happen to know where my–, never mind…” utterly mortified, you swiftly dropped the subject once more. 

“Oh, you’ve still got some time,” Bucky glanced to the ticking clock on his bedside table, “why don’t you hang around here a bit longer?”

“I really should be going–” 

But your words then ceased as the door abruptly swung open and in waltzed none other than your stepbrother. 

“Hey, dude, do you know where–, oh,” as Steve’s eyes landed upon you, his feet swiftly came to a stop, “well,” and a grin lit up his features, “good morning.” 

“Steve, will you please help me out here?” Bucky looked to his friend, “your stepsister is being a boring little brat.” 

“I’m sorry, but I do really need to go.”

“What, to freshman orientation? You’ve still got plenty of time before it begins,” Steve used the mass of his body to slyly block your passage as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

“That’s what I said!” Bucky pointed out with a short chuckle. 

“Well, I wanna get there extra early,” you tilted your head. 

“For what?” your stepbrother furrowed his brow, “so that you can get a seat in the very front row?” 

“Steve, just stop, just let me do it my way, okay?” you groaned, “I don’t wanna be anymore stressed this morning than I already am, so yeah, I’m going there early and you’re not gonna stop me.” 

Staring back at you, a slow exhale seeped from his lungs before he eventually muttered, “…alright.”

“Great!” you then pushed past him, but just as your fingers grasped the door handle, your frame froze up, “…hey,” your words then came out as barely a whisper, “you wouldn’t happen to know where my–”

“Where your panties are?” he swiftly cut in, “yeah, I do.” 

Twisting around, you met his smug features with a gentle furrow to your brow, “okay, where are they?” 

“Hmm…” a smirk began to tug at his lips before he uttered, “I–, uh… I don’t think you deserve to know that.” 

“Seriously?” you exclaimed, “Steve, just give them back, what use could you even have with them?”

“Oh, I could think of a few,” Bucky murmured from the bed, his arms comfortably curled back behind his head. 

“If you want them back so badly, then I think you’d have to work for it,” Steve cockily crossed his brawny arms. 

Melting with a sigh, you gave in, “alright, fine, what do you want?” fully expecting him to suggest that you should clean his room or something along those lines. 

But instead, you heard him utter, “I wanna stretch that little virgin pussy out,” his tone casually smooth as his gaze drifted down your frame, “see how many fingers she can take.”

Glancing nervously to Bucky behind him, you coughed, “you wanna–, w-what?”

“Come on,” he took a step closer to you, “just let me pick the lessons back up from last night,” before he briefly cast his vision over his broad shoulder to the man still in bed, “you wanna join in? Help show her the ropes?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Bucky sat up more. 

“You can’t be serious,” your chest heaved with every laboured breath, “are you still drunk?” 

“No,” he simply shook his head as his feet continued to shuffle closer to where you stood. 

“But Steve–”

“Shh, it’s okay,” his hands then grabbed each side of your face before he bent down and kissed you in an attempt to snuff out your worries. 

And when he slowly retracted, the simple peck had managed to make your knees go wobbly as you now hazily blinked back at him, “…you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled as his thumb caressed your cheekbone. 

Crawling out of bed, Bucky then asked one finally time, “so, you want your panties back or not?”

And as your eyes drifted to him as he slowly stalked closer to the both of you, a faint nod found your head, “…alright,” before a shiver ran down your spin at the deal you’d just made, “but just–, fuck…”

“We’ll be gentle,” Steve uttered before Bucky’s head tilted at his vow. 

“Will we?” he knowingly scoffed at his friend. 

“Well, we’ll try, let’s just promise that,” Steve chuckled as he corrected himself. 

Slowly cascading down your inner thighs was not only the wet and sticky remnant of last night, but also the embarrassing reaction that fused with the terrifying nerves that now buzzed in your belly. 

“H-how–,” you fumbled, faintly gesturing before trailing off, “uh…”

Still keeping his eye locked upon you, Steve murmured, “sit down on the bed,” as his head nodded back in that direction.  

And slowly, you did so, all the while with your wild eyes trained on the pair of them.  

“Lean back,” Bucky urged as he stepped closer, and you tilted further back against the pillows piled up against the wall that the bed stood against. 

Firmly, you tried to keep your legs clambered shut as you watched them both kneel down on the floor at your feet, though as they pried your thighs apart, a shaky gasp rippled through your body. 

“Fuck, look at that little pussy…” Bucky groaned as he reached out to be the first to graze his touch against your folds, still all messy as it glistened back at him, “how is she even better than you described? 

“No fucking clue,” Steve chuckled as his own fingers slithered up to tickle at your clit. 

They went on teasing your puffy pearl for much longer than you’d thought, as they kept going and didn’t change their maddening pattern till you were close to cumming. And as your cunt clenched around nothing, winking up at them, it was finally filled up by one of Steve’s thick fingers as he gradually pressed it inside, though barely past the first knuckle.

“O-oh my god,” you gasped shakily at the unfamiliar sensation and cast your glance down at the digit your pussy slowly swallowed. 

“Shit…” your stepbrother’s mouth hung agape as he felt your tight hole struggle to stretch around him, “I really thought getting you close would have relaxed you more than this, but damn, baby…” he then retracked his finger only to nudge his friend beside him, “feel her, dude.”

“Wow,” Bucky chuckled darkly as he pressed in much deeper than Steve had, “we really gotta loosen you up before you have any chance of taking something real up here.”

You tried to keep your eyes open, tried to keep your gaze locked upon their overwhelming actions, though as the digit inside of you then carefully slide against your velvety walls and another’s touch reunited with your clit, you had no choice but to tumble over the edge, eyes screwing shut as your pussy clambered down around Bucky’s finger. 

“Oh fuck, I can’t wait to feel that around my cock,” Bucky’s voice barely managed to seep through your haze as he stilled his shallow motions. 

“Patience,” Steve’s words too sounded far away, like you were underwater as you came down from the high, barely registering as they both rapidly stripped you of your clothing, “if you try now, then you’ll just break her in two.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky shot back as they both smiled. 

A part of you thought that they were done, that they’d had their fill, but little did you know it was only the very beginning. 

The finger still within you once again began to move, ripping a whimper out of your lungs as it slowly dragged back out, “wait, it’s too much–”

“What, are you sensitive?” Bucky’s steely gaze found yours as his touch made you squirm, “does it maybe hurt a little bit?” 

“Hey,” Steve then tapped his friend’s wrist as he stared up at you, “hold her still,” before Bucky’s touch faded and traded in with Steve’s, gently circling your entrance as the other man bent up your legs, caught both of your wrists in one broad palm, before he locked the same inked arm over your folded frame and squished you further down into the mattress.

It took some effort, but eventually Steve managed to sink not only one, but two of his thick fingers into your dripping core, making you wiggle beneath Bucky’s hold as you felt your poor pussy be stretched. 

“Oh, there you go,” your stepbrother chuckled as your tiny hole clung around his digits, forcing his pace to slow as you hugged onto him too tightly for him to fuck you at the pace he desired.

“H-how much is that?” you whimpered as your legs now obscured your view. 

“Just two fingers,” Bucky pressed a peck to your inner thigh before elbowing his friend gently, “dude, you can go deeper than that.” 

And as Steve sank his digits so deep that his palm rutted against you with each rock, you gasped, “seriously? It feels like it’s your whole fucking hand.” 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve grinned as he kept up his ruthless pattern, “might be a bit unrealistic for today, but we could certainly work you up to that.” 

“No, I didn’t–, oh fuck–,” you tried to counter, though swiftly began to tremble once again, all of your vigour flying out of the window at the anticipation of yet another orgasm. 

With Bucky’s free hand, it floated up to trace your stretched entrance clinging around his friend’s digits, only for Steve to then slip one of his fingers out to make room for one of Bucky’s to press in and plug you up beside the one remaining. 

And as you tried to stifle your moans, Steve’s palm swatted down over your ass, “don’t you dare hold back those filthy noises.”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s finger rocked in tandem inside of you as you felt yourself tumble over the edge, “be a good girl and wake up the entire house,” his filthy commands urged you in your foggy state to let go even further and comply to their wish, “be loud enough for everyone to discover just exactly what a little slut Steve’s innocent little stepsister is.” 

And as the intense wave of ecstasy washed over you, the pace of their fingers didn’t slow in the slightest, but grew rougher as their caresses began to overstimulate you. Squirming and whimpering beneath his touch, Steve continued in a gravelly tone, “yeah, they’re probably jerking it with their ears pressed up against the walls,” he tried to force a third digit inside, though both his and his friend’s attempts failed, try as they might, “wishing it was their fingers getting soaked by your sweet pussy.” 

“What do you think,” Bucky’s pinkie then traced the cream that had leaked down from your stuffed pussy, south over your little rosebud, till it dripped onto the mattress below. Tracing your other little hole, glistening from the way they had you leaking, he simply couldn’t help himself and slipped just the very tip inside, “maybe that could happen one day…” 

“If she’s good, sure,” Steve quit trying to work another finger inside, “can you do that, baby?” he asked as the rocking motion the two separate fingers in your cunt kept up and conjured a sloppy melody to slosh throughout the room, “can you be good for me, and then maybe one day I’ll open up the invitation to more than just my best friend?” 

“Pass you around like a fucking joint, keeping us all warm and happy…” Bucky smirked as he gazed down at how they each greedily played with both of your holes, “yeah, look at her, she’d fucking love that…” 

If it wasn’t for the loud curses both men then let out as they once more shoved you over the edge, you wouldn’t have noticed how your pussy began to cry around their digits, gushing fiercely as they then withdrew their touch, only to land a vicious row of smacks against your puffy petals, causing your overly sensitive pussy to squirt even further. 

They kept on occasionally tapping their broad palms over your swollen cunt as you forgot what your own name was, their lips twisting up into a grin each time your frame jumped at the light impacts. 

It took a long while for you to realise what the low grunts and the slick sounds were, though even when you finally heard them, you still didn’t have any clue just how long the two men had been stroking themselves, kneeled before your tempting haven. Perhaps it was a new development or maybe they had stopped resisting the second they began to play with you, reliving themselves to the front row seat they gave themselves. 

And as they slowly rose up to stand before you, like towering boulders at the foot of the bed you layed melted against, all of the air escaped your lungs as your hazy gaze landed upon the cocks in their hands. 

First, your eyes landed upon Steve, his throbbing girth enveloped in the missing panties he’d promised to return to you, as he squeezed them tighter around his dick with every stroke. But then when your stare drifted to Bucky, a smirk swiftly bloomed on his face at the way your jaw hit the floor. To say that he was large was the understatement of the century as the frat boy himself knew that if he wanted to have an easy career, then he could just become a pornstar and skyrocket to a legendary status overnight, simply because of his monstrously blessed equipment. 

“So,” Bucky grunted as Steve beside him adjusted his grip and began to slip your messy panties back on and up your quivering legs, “who are you gonna pick to pop your cherry?” he briefly reached down to aid his friend before the cotton snapped back into place over your sensitive cunt. 

“That’s not even a question,” Steve scoffed as he only let the underwear stay in its place for a second before his grip caught the waistband and yanked it down to flash your pussy once more, “it will be me.”

And as they both soon unravelled before you, each of them purposefully aimed at the exposed inner side of your underwear, their cum painting the soft cotton white, before Steve let go and it snapped back into place against your skin. 

“There,” Steve smiled as he caught his breath, “now you can go to freshman orientation.”

As you scurried down the gothic halls of the university’s science building, your eyes drifted from door to door as you passed dozens of lecture halls, labs and offices. You weren’t even really sure if you were in the right building for what you were on the hunt for. 

“You lost?” a voice then suddenly found you as you peeked your head into an empty classroom. 

Spinning around, you saw an older man, surely a faculty member, paused in his leisurely stride and glancing up from the papers in his hand to gaze at you. 

“I–, uhm, maybe,” you admitted, suddenly overcome with the fear that you had accidentally wandered into a restricted area, “you wouldn’t happen to know where Professor Parker’s office is–, unless of course, that’s you.”

Shaking his head, he said, “no, I’m Dr. Richards.” 

“As in Dr. Reed Richards?” your eyes began to grow in admiration as you blinked back at the doctor, “the neurosurgeon who worked on that famous Alzheimer’s clinical trial a few years back?” 

“Guilty as charged,” he smiled, shifting the papers in his hand to slot them under his arm. 

“Oh wow,” you giggled, “I mean, I knew that you started teaching a course here, that’s actually part of the reason why I chose this school, but I just didn’t expect to–, I’m sorry, I’m just a big fan. I mean, you’re a rockstar,” you timidly gestured to him, “I hope to get into your class next semester, I’ve heard it fills up quite quickly.” 

“Well,” he tilted his head, “maybe you could swing by my office one day and perhaps we could figure out a way for one of the spots to be reserved for you.”

“Seriously?” his obvious flirting flew straight over your head as you didn’t yet know of his rakish reputation, “that would be amazing.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” the professor then turned to walk away, “and it’s the last office at the end of the hall, by the way.”

“What?”

“You were looking for Parker?” he reminded your starstruck mind, “end of the hall.” 

“Oh, right,” you breathed and glanced in the direction his finger briefly pointed, “thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled before disappearing around a corner. 

As you neared the door, it stood slightly ajar, lending you to hear a deep voice quietly talking on the other side. Softly, you landed a few knocks before you carefully pushed it open. 

Standing behind the desk in the middle of the room and illuminated by the tall window behind him, stood the bespectacled professor you searched for, with a phone pressed up against his ear as he murmured into it. 

“Mhm, but it would just be Friday night,” he twisted around as he heard the threshold creak beneath your shoe. Briefly raising up a hand, he momentarily tilted the phone away from his lips to utter, “one moment, you can just have a seat,” he gestured to the chair on your side of the table before he then returned to the call, “are you sure? Okay, well, I’ll figure something else out… no, it’s alright, I get it,” he exhaled, “yeah, talk soon, bye,” before he hung up and sank down into his seat with a sigh, “sorry about that. Babysitter just cancelled on me.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” you waved a hand, “I’m sorry for just barging in, Professor Parker–, I mean doctor–, I mean–, uh…”

“Professor is fine,” he offered you a gentle smile to sooth your nerves, “what can I do for you?” 

“Well, it’s about your class…” you slowly began, “I know that I’m technically too late to sign up, but I just wanted to see if there was any possible way there might be one last slot left that I could fill.” 

“Oh,” he breathed in response. 

“Really, I’d do anything,” you stated before then detouring to a different tactic, “you said something about needing a babysitter? Maybe I could help,” you offered your services, “I used to do it for many years, all the way through my teens till I started here, so maybe I could lend a hand.” 

“I, uh…” his eyes narrowed as he thought it over. 

“Please?” your lips couldn’t help but press together in a pout, “I’ve dreamt about taking your class on medical history for years and years. You’d be like a genie granting me a wish.”

And as he blinked back at you, the luck that evidently was on your side shocked you to your very core as he unexpectedly uttered, “…alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he slowly nodded, “but if there aren’t any seats left–”

“Then I’ll happily sit on the floor or stand in the very back,” you beamed, “thank you so much, sir.”

“Of course,” he exhaled before opening up a drawer in his desk and plucking out a piece of paper, “this is the list of the required books,” he pushed it across the table before your eyes began to scan the titles, “I’m not sure if there are any copies left at the library, but maybe you can talk to some students, who has previously taken the course, if they bought a copy that you could borrow.” 

“I’ll make sure I have them, even if I’d have to steal them,” you jested. 

“Well, I don’t think I should sit here and encourage you to commit a felony, but I guess if you do get arrested, I can be your one phone-call,” he chuckled and went along with your joke, “so, about the other thing.”

“Yes,” you exhaled, both of your palms floating down to rest atop your thighs, “the kid–, kids?” 

“Just one, Benjamin, he’s six.” 

“Oh, that’s a fun age,” you smiled, “so, was it Friday?”

“Yeah, I have to attend this thing that I can’t get out of and it’s my turn to have him this week, but my ex is also busy that day, so yeah,” he sighed, “how about you just come over here after your classes that day and then we’ll hash out the rest?” 

“I will be there.”

“What are you doing here?” you grumbled as you opened the door to your dorm room. 

“Well hello to you too, sunshine,” Bucky scoffed through a smile. 

“What do you want?” you held your grip on the edge of the door. 

“A thank you would suffice,” he tilted his head. 

Squinting your eyes at the lack of context, you muttered, “what?” 

“A little birdy told me you were looking for this?” he held up the book in his hand for you to spot, which just so happened to be the exact one you hadn’t been able to track down for Professor Parker’s class. 

“Blood, Phlegm, Yellow and Black Bile: A Brief History of the Four Humors by Helen Grey?” you swiftly snatch it from his fingers with a gasp, “where did you find it? I thought there weren’t any copies left at the library!” 

“There wasn’t,” he tilted his head, “I had a short stint back in my freshman year where I flirted with the fantasy of becoming a doctor, that was until I fell madly and deeply in love with journalism.” 

Glancing down at the cover, you uttered, “can I borrow it?”

But instead, to your surprise, Bucky countered, “you can have it. It’s yours, I don’t have any use for it, except if I suddenly got a burning desire to press some flowers,” he jested about the thickness of the tome.  

“Thank you, Bucky,” you blinked up at him with a smile before throwing your arms around his broad frame. Though as you hugged him, it didn’t take long before you pushed back to utter, “wait, this isn’t just some weird trick like last time, is it? Are you gonna make me do something dirty in return for the book?”

“I thought about it,” he admitted with a smirk, his gaze briefly dipping down your form, “but then I decided to just be nice.”

“What a foreign concept that must be for you…” you teased with the faint shake of your head, “glad you’re finally trying it out.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m terrified I’ll break out into hives,” he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, “don’t tell anyone else, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” 

And as you smiled back at him, you noticed how gratitude wasn’t the only sensation stirring in your soul, as a warm and fuzzy feeling began to flicker throughout your frame from the genuine gesture.

“So…” his eyes briefly trailed around the room behind you, “where’s your roommate at?” 

“At Delta Phi, hanging out with her girlfriend,” you murmured, “why?” 

And as his glance landed on you once again and the corners of his lips twitched, you heard him ask, “can I come in?” 

Sucking in a breath, you felt lightheaded as you uttered, “sure,” before stepping aside for him to enter. 

And that was how your stepbrother’s best friend ended up sitting on your tiny bed, his back pressed up against the wall, as he drew you further down in his lap and let his tongue dance against your own in a heated kiss. 

“I’m sorry, what?” you foggily tilted back as his muffled words flew over your head. 

“Move your hips,” he repeated, both of his palms denting your sides, “Steve said you have a habit of humping your cute little teddy bears and pillows and such,” his eyes briefly flickered to the plushies on the mattress beside him, “so just pretend that I am one, use me to make yourself feel good.” 

Blinking back at him a moment, it took you a while before you actually managed to make your pelvis move as the flabbergasted trance was harder to snap out of than you’d expected. Though as your hips cautiously rolled against his lap, a shaky breath slipped from your lungs as the friction of his palpable hardness nudging against your core caused you to shiver. It surely didn’t help matters either that the only thing shielding you from the sensation was the panties beneath your dress, which was quickly becoming so embarrassingly soaked that your want slowly began to stain the tent in his trousers. 

“That’s it,” he groaned as he leaned back to watch your timid efforts, “fuck…” 

At first, he let you steer the ship, carefully rocking down against him for an ounce of relief, but then when you tilted forward to capture his ravenous lips once again, his wide hands on your hips flexed before they took over your movements, instead rendering you just a puppet in his grasp as he grinded you down much more roughly than you’d dared to do on your own. 

“Shit, I don’t get you… how could this be enough for you?” he grunted as he grew impatient, “isn’t every molecule in your body screaming for you to get railed right now? Doesn’t this little pussy finally wanna get used?” 

“Buck, I–,” you panted as he nibbled against your neck, “I don’t know…” 

“Oh, you don’t know?” he couldn’t help but mock. 

“This feels r-really good to me,” your eyes fluttered as he kept on rocking you in his lap. 

“Well, it’s not good enough for me,” he growled before finally snapping and flipping you onto your back. Hovering above you as you collapsed on the small bed, he began to unbuckle his belt.

“I-I–, Bucky, I don’t think I’m ready for that–,” your eyes went wide as you watched him free his intimidatingly giant cock. 

“You sure? Not even a little bit?” he slowly began to twist his fist up and down the fat length, “it could just be the tip.”

Blinking down at the bulbous head, glistening with precum, you hazily shook your head, “n-no, it’s too big…” 

“Oh, I know it is,” he then reached out to shift your legs, slotting his dick in between your soft thighs before he paused to let a dollop of spit drop down from his lips and add some slickness before he slowly began to move, “is it because of Steve? Because I can keep a secret… I won’t tell if you don’t…”

Your eyes flickered down to his fat girth as he slid it between your thighs that he pressed together, “I thought you two told each other everything.”

“Well,” he smirked as he ripped his stare away to glance to your fuzzy expression, “I’m willing to make an exception…” 

Reaching down, he greedily squeezed your tits through the thin fabric of your dress, even catching your pebbly nipples in a pinch that caused you to gasp, before he slid his touch back down to either side of your legs. 

“What are you doing Friday night?” 

“Huh?” you panted as you were unable to tear your eyes away from his cock, slick between your trembling thighs. 

“Come over, the frat’s throwing another party,” he uttered from above you, “maybe we could sneak away when everyone else is hammered enough…” 

“I can’t, I have to babysit.” 

“Really?” he chuckled as his efforts migrated so far south that the heavy weight of him came to rest against your covered core, each greedy thrust now sliding against the soaked cotton and making you whimper, “I didn’t know you were into daddies…” 

“What?” you fought to comprehend his words as his fat girth skimmed across your clit, throbbing beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. 

“Never mind, sweetie,” he gave up with a slight laugh. 

Though as he stared down at your quivering form beneath him, his grip on the outside of your thighs tightened before he suddenly began to part them like the pages of a book.

“Oh, would you look at this…” he groaned as he revealed your sodden panties beneath his big cock, “you’ve fucking ruined these, haven’t you?” a teasing finger crept down to snap the waistband back against your skin, “you wanna feel me, huh? You wanna feel me right here?” he peered down at you as he tapped the heavy weight of himself against your covered centre. 

“I–…”

Hooking his thumb in the side of the gusset, he peeled your panties to the side, “do you?” shiny strings clung to the fabric as he kept it trapped in his grasp. 

“Yes,” you then uttered, surprising yourself as the only thing you could feel in this moment was your thumping heartbeat between your thighs. 

“Atta girl,” he grinned before lowering the length in his grip down against your glistening pussy. 

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, he repeatedly parted your petals with his thick girth, the jarring comparison of his size directly against you making you dizzy. Though when his sweeping motion suddenly strayed further than before and he briefly held the entire length of him against, not only your cunt, but also your belly, then you feared you might actually faint beneath him. 

“See that?” he smirked as his heavy sack nuzzled against your quivering entrance while the tip of him reached all the way up to cover your bellybutton, “that’s how deep I’m gonna get when you finally let me inside…” groaning as he finally swept back down to flick his hardness through your sobbing petals, he cocked his head, “might break you, rearranging your guts like that, but fuck will it feel good…” 

And as you felt the world around you threaten to melt away in that blissful eruption you were slowly becoming more acquainted with, Bucky abruptly tore the intoxicating contact of his cock away from you. Though before you could part your lips in a complaint, your body instead quaked as he then tapped the hefty weight of himself repeatedly down against your puffy pearl, keeping the bullying up till you were writhing in pleasure beneath him. 

You thought you’d only blinked your eyes shut for a moment in the fog of it all, but when they fluttered back open, Bucky’s hot load decorated your messy pussy as he kneeled by you, panting as he offered his length one last squeeze. 

But just as you thought he’d let your panties snap back into place as a closing curtain to the show, he instead reached down to bully your tender core even further, smearing his cum against your aching clit before he swept his coated fingers down to tickle your leaky entrance in an attempt at stuffing as much of his load into your little hole as possible, though his greedy efforts eventually derailed when his fingers were stuffed so deep inside of you that you could barely breath at all, your nails digging into his forearm as he made you squirt all over your bed and the adorable teddy bears that layed scattered. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[iridescentparkers]

lessons in sexting ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

warnings: very suggestive! (18+)

“PETER!” you exclaimed, and he dropped inside of your bedroom window. You lay on your shared bed where you once waited for him to arrive. He yanked off his mask and crawled between your legs, quickly placing his hand along your waist and head buried in your chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I can never go outside again,” he muffled, turning his face to the side as he remained on your chest. 

“What are you talking about?”

He dug around in his pocket before grabbing his phone and scrolling to find a picture of himself. Lying down, his sight refused to meet yours as his head remained turned to the side, and he raised his phone to your face. “Read the text.” 

The photo was quite…shameful. In the photo, the phone was angled downwards towards the bottom half of his thin, sweaty suit. Peter was unbelievably hard and gripping his erection above the material. The upper half of the photo showed Peter’s teeth gripping his mask, drippings of sweat falling down his face. Underneath it was a text that read, “Baby, I miss you <3” 

“I didn’t get this text-” 

“Look up,” he murmured, and you moved your eyes to see that he sent it to Harry. You couldn’t help but laugh, Peter then groaned into your body and placed his hands on his face. 

“Is business rough these days? I didn’t realize Spiderman offered this kind of service.” You laughed, slamming his phone down on the bed. 

“Please.” he began, “He hasn’t responded 'cause it's late but I know he will never let this die.” 

“I don’t know if I will either!” 

“I missed, you!” He exclaimed. “It was getting boring and hot in that suit.”

“If it helps,” you whispered, running your fingers through his unkempt hair. “You looked good.”

“Really good?” He murmured, moving his eyes up to your face before placing kisses on the top of your breasts.

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, nodding as Peter moved to hover above your body, placing you beneath him as he kissed you deeply. “Really good.”

[sincericida]

Mafia!Peter au is one of my favorite things made by @withahappyrefrain 🫠

Bingo: I heard you moaning my name or free space: Mob!Peter

What about Mob!Peter saying that?? 👀👀 18+! Masturbation, oral (fem receiving), lots of yearning, also a Corruption/innocence kink if you squint?

Part of my 3K celebration! Come party!!

When you were a little kid, you never dreamed about your wedding. Sure, you had been to quite a few growing up.

Not dressing up your family and making them attend the wedding of someone they barely knew would be seen as a "slight" in your father's line of work.

Sure, you wondered about your wedding occasionally. But never did you spend your time daydreaming and "planning" the event.

Though, you did always assume you would know the man you were to marry.

Turns out that wasn't in the cards.

It wasn't unheard of- for daughters to be used as bargaining chips. Your father had debt he wasn't able to pay off. So, he offered your hand in marriage to Peter Parker.

His name was quite familiar. He had started out as just some poor kid from Queens, who quickly rose up in your father's 'profession'. Thanks to his quick and efficient work habits, he made himself known as being a reliable hit man.

Apparently he saw you, on his way to speak with your father. You were outside at the time, curled up underneath your family's giant Oak tree, book in hand.

From that one sighting, Peter Parker decided you were good enough to be his wife.

The fact he didn't even try talking to you to see if you would be compatible shouldn't have come as a shock. Again, you had been to your fair share of weddings and more than half of them were strategic decisions rather than a true love match. At the end of the day, he just wanted a body he could make babies with.

Or so you thought.

You first noticed it during your wedding. You could feel his hand inching closer and closer towards you as the ketubah was being recited. Why didn't he just grab it? It wasn't like you had a say in any of this, why would he hesitate when it came to your hand? Especially considering what was expected of you that night.

When you glanced over at him, you didn't see a hardened expression.

He was smiling. At you.

For a man who was known for being so violent, he had a gentle smile. It was comforting. Before you knew it, you could feel the corners of your mouth turn slightly upward. It was the first time you had smiled in days.

When he grabbed your hand, he was gentle. He was gentle when he kissed you during the ceremony. You had just been expecting a quick peck. Not for him to cradle your face with his hands as his lips softly pressed against yours.

You still think about that kiss.

Just like you still think about how on your wedding night, as you braced yourself for the worst when he leaned over to you in bed, he instead simply kissed your forehead. Then your nose.

"Goodnight sheifale," was what he had said. You could feel your face heat up at the term of endearment.

Lamb.

You also still think about how that next morning, you woke up with one of Peter's arm sling around your waist. While sleeping, he must have pulled you closer, until your back was pressed against his broad chest.

That broad chest that was littered with scars of all different sizes, some faint and some more recent. On nights when he came home particularly roughened up, you got to see that chest up close as you tended to his wounds.

Being that close to him, it was easy to see how muscular he was. It made sense, the man had to be able to haul dead bodies.

What took your breath away more? The way his biceps would bulge when he crossed his arms? Or how you could see the outline of his abs, even when he was slouching in the chair? Or maybe how you could see a faint scattering of dark hair that started on his lower stomach and went below the waistband of his pants?

Or perhaps it was how he would reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail?

You could feel his fingers linger on your cheeks. Could he feel how warm they were getting? They traveled down to your chin, gently tilting your head up so you could look into his eyes.

"Thank you," He told you softly, "I...I know this wasn't ideal for you. But I am glad t-that you're my wife."

It wasn't that he avoided being affectionate with you. But they were small displays, such as a kiss to the forehead after a long day of work. He was more focused on making you comfortable, something you greatly appreciated.

At least you did.

It wasn't wrong to be attractive to your husband, was it? Perhaps it was due to the nature of how you two got together that made you feel embarrassed by it.

There was also that nagging worry in the back of your mind. What if he didn't like you back? Surely, you had expected him to try kissing you after his declaration of how thankful he was for you.

Nope. That night, he simply pressed his lips to your forehead again.

Of course, the next day, fate continued to toy with you. The moment you stepped into the bathroom was the exact moment Peter was stepping out of the shower.

It took you a moment to realize you should be looking away. You shielded your eyes, yelling out apologizes as you ran out the door.

"It's fine!" He chuckled, "We are married, y'know?"

Peter had a point. You were married to him. He was your husband.

So it wasn't so wrong to be thinking of him while you touched yourself, right? To think back to that morning and how the small droplets of water rippled down his muscles, past his chest, past his stomach.....

It wasn't wrong to think about him, imagine what his fingers, his mouth, his cock could do to your body, right?

His name was on your lips as you tried to get closer and closer to the edge. Despite being at work, you still felt the need to hurry, to make sure he didn't-

"Want some help?" You immediately pulled your hand out from your panties, praying that what you just heard was a trick played by your imagination.

But there was Peter, standing at the doorway to the bedroom, a smirk adorning his face.

"I...." you pulled up the covers, as if that would make it less obvious what you had been doing, "I....a-aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Peter chuckled, "I finished work early and decided to come home to see if you wanted to get lunch. Then I heard you and wanted to make sure you were okay."

He sat down on the bed, close to you. Your heart was pounding against your chest.

"Then....I heard you moaning my name." Oh God, he heard everything.

"I'm so sorry Peter, I-"

"Why? I....I think about you too." The tips of his ears were beginning to redden.

"You think of me.....when you...." He nodded his head, saving you from having to finish the sentence.

Oh.

If Peter thought about you, that meant....

"Then why....why haven't you tried to....you know..." You could barely make a coherent sentence, your mind racing with five different thoughts.

"I didn't think you were..." Now it was his turn to be flustered, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. And so I....my plan was to wait until you showed you were interested."

He had been waiting for you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable or assume anything. He was willing to wait.

The gesture made your heart soar.

But your mind also kept going back to what he admitted earlier. That you were what he thought about when he touched himself.

"Well," you gestured to yourself, "I think this is a pretty big sign that I'm interested."

A laugh came out of his mouth and you found yourself joining Peter. All the tension and fear that had been mounting up washed away.

"Feels like I should kiss you before I do anything else," Peter whispered, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I would like that too," a nervous chuckle escaped your lips. Your eyes returned to his, his hand cupping your face.

"Can....can we kiss?" You found yourself asking him. You leaned forward, hoping it would reaffirm your interest in him, that you wanted him too.

It was better than the kiss at your wedding ceremony, something you didn't think possible. Peter's hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his calloused fingers lightly touching your skin.

He leaned forward, causing you to lean backward, deepening the kiss. Peter's tongue swiped across your bottom lip. You eagerly parted your lips, allowing him access.

He wasn't your first kiss, far from it. But this was different. This was desire.

You two broke away for much needed air. His chest was rising up and down at a faster pace, his lips red from yours.

"I asked you a question earlier....do you want some help?" His voice was deeper than usual, it sent a chill down your spine.

And increased the ache that was residing between your legs.

You nodded your head, "Y-yes....I want your help Peter."

"Lie down." Your thighs clenched at his order. You obeyed, lying down as he pulled the covers off of you. His large hands grabbed your legs, spreading them apart. A gasp fell from your lips upon feeling his fingers graze the apex of your thighs.

Your head was spinning. His hands felt so good, touching places no one else had.

"Sheifale, look at me." Peter's nickname broke you out of your trance. You looked up to find his face inches away from your's.

"If you want to stop, at any time, tell me. Okay?" You nodded your head to signal your understanding.

His fingers hooked themselves to the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see him stuffing your panties into the pocket of his pants.

Before you could say anything, his fingers began tracing your slit, eliciting a gasp from you. Peter's fingers were different from your own; they were thicker, more calloused.

They also felt much better.

"I'm gonna use my mouth on ya, okay?" He tapped your hip, signaling that he wanted confirmation from you. You nodded your head, spreading your legs even further.

Peter grinned at your eagerness, moving his body down so he was in-between your legs. You couldn't help but look down, mesmerized by how he licked his lips at the sight of your core.

His tongue darted out, gently lapping at your slicked folds. Your hands gripped the bedsheet, your lips unable to hold back your moans.

After all, it was alright now for him to hear you.

His tongue was amazing, better than you imagined. Your hips withered as it thrusted into your entrance, his stubble providing friction against your most sensitive skin.

At some point, your hands wandered down to his hair, gripping it. The action earned a moan from Peter, the sound vibrating against your cunt.

Hearing him, hearing his reaction to you, egnited a spark in you. The grip you had in his hair tightened, your legs finding themselves thrown over his shoulders as Peter devoured you.

He looked up, his lips glistening, "I'm gonna use my fingers now, okay?"

"P-please," you whined, desperate for contact again. He pressed a kiss to your thigh, his hand stroking the other.

A strangled cry bubbled in the back of your throat, erupting from your lips as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Peter never took his eyes off of you, wanting to see every reaction.

His tongue soothed over the purpling bruise you now had on one of your thighs.

"Want ya to remember me tomorrow when ya shower...and get dressed," He said, breathless.

Peter pushed himself up, hovering over your body. Part of you wanted to complain, wanted to beg for contact again.

But he was so entrancing, with his beautiful brown eyes.

His long, ringed, index finger trailed up your neck to your lips. Your eyebrows quirked in confusion.

"Suck."

Your lips parted, allowing his finger into your mouth. A choked gasp escaped as you felt his finger reach the back of your throat, the cool metal of his ring brushing against your lip.

"Good girl," Peter cooed, "Gotta start getting ya ready for my cock."

You nodded your head. He pulled his finger out of your mouth, his other hand pushing your back down to the mattress.

Peter made quick work of getting back between your legs. Your back arched as his mouth latched onto your clit, his finger circling your entrance.

"Peter!"

Fuck, that was just one finger that was making you feel so full, that was causing your back to arch.

He angled his finger, pleasure surging through your body. You could feel your walls clenching around him.

If this was just what one finger felt like, how would two feel? Or three?

Or his cock?

You could practically feel the smirk on Peter's lips. The pride that radiated off of him as he got you off, touched you in ways no one else had before, that no one else will because you were all his'.

You came undone with a strangle cry, your hips thrashing against the mattress. Peter's mouth and finger were relentless, still working through your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, Peter's lips now attached to your neck. Your hands dug into his shoulders. His leg was now in between your's, eliciting a gasp from you as you felt it brush against your now sensitive core.

"You enjoyed that?" Peter said against your skin. You nodded your head, tugging at his hair so he would look up at you.

"I-I want to make you feel good too."

Peter looked up, his lips now on trailing up to your chin, to your lips. The chuckle he let out vibrated in his chest.

"Oh sheifale, I'm not done with you," He purred, moving himself back down.

"Wha-what do you mean?" You asked, trying to sit up. Peter's hands pinned your hips down to the mattress.

"You only could take one of my fingers. Gotta get you ready for my cock," He grinned.

You were in for a long night.

Not that you were complaining.

[tricodekus]

iwaoi + the amazing spider-man

[lgbtocha]

“you’re my path.”

that tasm scene as timebomb!!!! sort of a continuation to that last timebomb spidercat drawing i made over a year ago

[resande]

Spider!steve au ⚡️🕷️⚡️

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER SEVEN: MURDERER

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Seven Warnings (spoilers): this chapter contains a SA scene and a depiction of a murder

[link to chapter index]

Aylin leaned her shoulder against the stone wall and watched with a placid detachment as Kraven carried the naked wolf girl over to the table. He laid her limp body down with a sort of tenderness Aylin wasn’t used to seeing from him. The wolf girl’s eyes remained closed. Though, her dark, wet lashes clumped together as if she had been silently crying only moments ago. Through the thick layers of dirt and caked over blood, her body was painted with a myriad of scars. Old and new. Knife slices, whip slashings, bruises, bite marks. Aylin could make constellations out of the red marks of abuse hidden among her black and purple galaxy skin. Whatever she had experienced down here, the wolf girl had experienced much, much worse. 

Her death was the last piece of the puzzle for Aylin to gain her freedom 

Her life would amount to nothing more than a final sacrifice. One life traded for another. Her death meant Aylin could live again. 

And Aylin didn’t even know the girl’s name.

Kraven took a step back from the table and observed the young girl with a quiet contemplation, “Don’t ever mention this to Calypso but I think I’ve grown a bit fond of the wolf. She was a fierce fighter for being such a little thing but, alas, everyone gets broken in the end. Look at her now. Wasted away to nothing. Her blood has served me well. Even now, it still courses through my system. They only last a few hours inside of you depending on how much you drink before the effects start to wear off. I tell you, it’s like a power you’ve never felt in all your life, Aylin. Truly an addicting substance. It’s no wonder the wolves fight so hard to stay alive. They must feel incredible all the time.” He paused to glance down at the girl, rethinking his statement. “Well, not all the time.”

Aylin pushed herself off the wall and padded over to where he stood. Each step shot an agonizing, fiery pain up her thigh. She had to position her legs further apart than usual so her thighs didn’t rub together. Even with Calypso’s special salve covering her brand, it still seared red hot and angry. 

“Why are you telling me this?” She muttered, standing at his side. “What you and Calypso are doing is a direct betrayal to the guild. You’re consuming the blood of the enemy. You’re drinking wolf blood. Does that make you a werewolf, too? Are you one of them now?” 

The guild had no prior knowledge on how Lycan were made as far as she knew. Wolves kept their secrets close to their chest but the Colt’s always assumed it had something to do with consuming their blood. Peter only mentioned that a person could be turned or born into it. He never stated how that transformation took place. It seemed like blood would be a key factor in it, though. 

Kraven gave her a side eye and shrugged, “Who are you going to tell? You’ve been branded with the Kravinoff emblem. You’re one of mine now. If I go down, you go down.” 

Kravinoff emblem. This symbol of the sun belonged to the entire Silver Colt guild. It wasn’t something only for him to claim. Her mother wore a golden sun pendant around her neck. Her father had it tattooed on his shoulder. She had it embroidered into her hunting jacket. That didn’t mean they were all claimed by Kraven. The sun united them together against the moon worshiping Lycan. It didn’t claim them. Her brand meant nothing to her except a physical reminder that she lived a lifetime of lies. Her sun, charred into her skin like a farmer’s cattle, did not signify anything other than a sun. She gave it no power over her. No matter who manipulated her body, her mind would never belong to anyone but herself. 

Unless he managed to sever what little grasps of sanity she was still desperately clinging to down here.

“We’re not werewolves,” he stated. “Neither Cal nor I have experienced any change besides feeling stronger and more youthful than usual. We’re not one of them. We’re just enhancing our bodies to be better hunters. Clearly, blood isn’t what transforms a person. We were wrong in our assumptions.” 

The Silver Colts were wrong about a lot of things. 

The broken, naked wolf girl laying half unconscious in front of them was one of those things. 

They were two abused, degraded women confined to a torture chamber with a hot-headed narcissist and his psychopathic wife. It didn’t matter where either of the girls originally came from, only that they ended up in the same place, at the same time. While one’s story was going to end in this room, the other’s was just about to begin. 

Aylin stepped forward when she noticed the girl shivering. She had no comfort to offer her, no blanket, or clothes for warmth. All she had was herself. Aylin placed a hand over the girl’s forehead and gently stroked it over her hair like her mother used to do for her when she was ill. She could tell the girl had a high fever from the heat radiating from her skin and the cool, clammy sweat clinging to her forehead. Her body was starting to shut down. 

"Give me your shall, Sergei,” she demanded. 

Kraven shrugged it off and passed it over. Ever since he branded her, he’d been much more compliant to her wants. It seems she had him fooled. When he told her she would want for nothing if she agreed to his terms, she didn’t think it would happen so quickly. As long as he still believed she would give her body over to him, he seemed to adhere to her. 

Aylin draped the Lycan shall over the girl’s torso. She was so petite that it nearly reached from her shoulders to her ankles. Aylin rubbed her hands down the girl’s arms to help warm the chill in her bones. She hoped that maybe the feel of Lycan fur against her skin might be of some comfort to her. She was so out of it that Aylin hoped she wouldn’t take much notice of the morbidity of the pelt. 

“You’ll be home soon,” she leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’ll be welcomed home by the ones you love. Think of your mother. Your father. Anyone who brings you comfort. Imagine their faces smiling back at you. They love you so much and they’re so excited to see you again. Your pain is all gone. It’s all over. You did so well. You were so strong but now it’s time to rest. You’re ready to go home.”

The wolf girl gave a quiet moan, her brows scrunched together, and then relaxed as a small smile graced her chapped lips. It wasn’t much but it’s what Aylin would have wanted to imagine as her last thoughts on this plane of existence. She’d want to be thinking of the people she loved most in her world. In times like these, she missed her big brother. He would have noticed she was missing. He would have come searching for her. She wondered what Emir’s last thoughts were as the bullet lodged into him and blood poured from his stomach. She wondered if he thought of her or their mother right before the wolf’s teeth sunk into his flesh. 

Peter’s teeth. 

She couldn’t think about that. She had to push that thought away. All this time she had been searching for reasons to hate him to make killing him easier. Here it was. Right in front of her. The perfect answer to all her problems. And, still, she couldn’t find a single ounce of hate left in heart to aim at him. He was too soft. Gentle. Caring. Sad. Those big, grief-stricken solid brown eyes. 

She didn’t hate him anymore than she hated the girl in front of her.  

Aylin could feel Kraven’s stare burning a hole in the back of her skull but she refused to turn around. This was between her and the girl. If she was going to kill her, she was going to do it her way. Her freedom came with a heavy price and she wasn’t going to pay it lightly. 

“What’s your name?” She whispered down to the girl. 

The wolf mumbled out some pained, unintelligible sounds. Her dulling emerald eyes cracked open into tiny slits to look up at her. 

“Stop delaying the inevitable,” she croaked out. “My name will not save me. You don’t deserve to know it. It’s all I have left that is mine and only mine. I’ll take it to my grave.”

She was right. Her name would not save her but it would soothe a piece of Aylin’s frantic mind. It would give the girl an identity she could hold onto after her death. A name to remember her by when she thought of her in the future. She would not have to be the nameless Lycan ruthlessly slaughtered at her hands. She was also correct in saying that Aylin didn’t deserve to know. Knowing that bit of personal information would only be used to serve Aylin, not the girl. She would be dead whether Aylin knew it or not. She didn’t care how her memory stuck around with a Silver Colt. She had the right to keep the last of her secrets even if it left a heavy weight of guilt and unsolved answers on Aylin’s mind. 

She reached her hand behind her back, “Give me your dagger, Sergei. Let’s finish this.” 

She felt the hilt press into her hands.

“I don’t want blood all over my sh-” Kraven started to speak but Aylin cut him off. 

“It will wash out.” 

She was hyper focused, zeroing in, on where she assumed the forever nameless wolf girl’s heart was under her chest. She wanted to be as precise and quick as she could to make it as painless as possible. 

This was going to happen. She was going to take her life. Right here. Right now. It was suddenly too real. 

Aylin’s vision blurred but she fought off the tears. In another world, it could have been Peter laying here, half dead, with her dagger raised above his chest. This was what he wanted from her. He wanted her face to be the last he saw. He wanted this death at her hands. In another world, she would have never hesitated. Now, she couldn’t see past the haze of tears clouding her sight. The lump in her throat grew heavier with each passing second. 

All she wanted was to go home. 

“Once I do this, I can go?” She asked, her voice thick with heartbreak, seeking assurance that this won’t all be for nothing. “I get to walk out of here and go back home to my mom?” 

Kraven paused for a beat too long. His silence was deafening. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as all the alarm bells started ringing in her head, “Sergei? Answer me.” 

When she got no response, Aylin whipped around to face him, overcome with dizziness at how fast she spun. Whatever numbing drugs were in that tea earlier had all worn off. She could feel every twinge of pain branching out through her entire body. Her knees felt weak like they were struggling to hold her own weight. Her rapid heartbeat sent shockwaves of anxiety penetrating through her chest. Kraven’s dark eyes bore into her with a look that told her all she needed to know. 

She was not going home. 

Ever.

“After you complete the ritual, I will bring you upstairs. I will bathe you, Calypso will reclean your wounds, and then I will bring you to bed to rest for the remainder of the night. While there, I will have you tied. You are not to be fully trusted. Not yet. You will not experience this basement again, as long as you behave, but you will not have the freedom you seek. You are mine now, Aylin. You made a promise to me. We will care for you, treat you kindly, but you will not leave until your deal is done. You have promises to keep and debts to fulfill.”

There was no freedom in her future. She was still a prisoner. She was naive to think she’d ever be anything other than that after experiencing this basement. This was going to break her mother. She wouldn’t ever be able to understand the weight of what Aylin did to get in this position. She would never understand where her daughter went or why she disappeared. Peter would think she abandoned him. He’d think she chose her guild over him. He’d never know just how alike they really were or how much comfort the memories of him brought her down here. He’d never know how much she fought just to keep him safe. She trimmed off parts of her soul for him and she’d only be remembered as another disappointment in his life. All the pain she suffered through was for nothing. All hope was lost as the reality of her situation took over. 

A single tear slipped through her tight hold to carve a path down her bruised cheek. 

She swallowed at the lump in her throat threatening to send her into hysterics. She was so weak, in so much pain, and so tired that her willpower to keep upright was draining. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and turned around to face the girl. 

Her death would truly mean nothing when there was no hope left to be had. There was no escape in sight. 

Aylin wished they could trade places. Death was better than what Kraven had in store for her. She wished she was the one on the table instead, waiting for the dagger to hit, waiting for it all to end. Death was the only escape from Kraven. The girl had helped to grow her fire and give her hope when Aylin was at her lowest. Now, there was only darkness. For both of them. 

Give ‘em hell. 

The time for hell giving had passed. She had missed her shot. Even with Kraven’s dagger clutched tightly in her hand, she knew she couldn’t overpower him. The drugs had worn off. She could hardly hold her own arm above her head. Her shoulder muscles trembled as she wrapped both hands around the hilt and hovered it over the wolf girl’s chest. 

At least she could end the girl’s misery before Aylin’s own life was lost to Kraven. She’d be a murderer but at least the girl wouldn’t have to suffer any further at the hands of a Silver Colt.

She could have the freedom Aylin dreamed of. 

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, mostly as an apology for herself since the girl’s eyes were closed. 

I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I was a part of a life that caused you so much suffering. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to get either of us out. I’m sorry it was all for nothing. 

A massive portion of her carved up soul would be shed with this futile murder. 

She wasn’t sure how much soul she had left to hand over. 

Kraven placed a steading hand against Aylin’s hip, “We’ve wanted her dead for some time but something about having her blood in our system made it impossible to kill her ourselves. It was like that with Parker, too, all those years ago. Like it’s their last defense against death. We figured we might as well keep her around until someone took care of it for us. Your failed solo hunt was a perfect opportunity for that. Or so we thought.” He grazed his nails up her side as he molded his pelvis against her bottom. “All will be set right soon enough. Pierce down with enough force to break through her sternum then use the curve of the dagger to pull downwards towards her stomach and rip her open.”

Aylin could feel his cock twitching against her ass as he spoke. He was getting off on the thought of mutilation. She let her hatred for him blaze through her and push out the hopeless numbing that had taken hold. He ruined her life. He had a hand in her every move even before her own conception. He had lied and manipulated and murdered and tortured until he got what he wanted.

Well, he did it. He got his prize. Here she was, branded and claimed by him, doing exactly what he wanted like his obedient, little pet. She’d kill for him. She’d spread her legs for him. She’d birth his children. She’d lose every bit left of herself because he gave her no other options. Groomed until she was nothing but a shadow of who she once was. She wasn’t just killing the wolf girl today. She was killing herself along with her. 

Aylin steadied her shaking breath and closed her eyes. She mentally placed herself on the table instead. She looked down into her own hazel eyes and hated the woman she saw staring back. Her hair was clean and waved around her soft, rounded cheeks. There was no blood or bruising painting her skin, only an air of innocence written all over her face that she no longer recognized. There was sadness and grief too but nothing like the hollow emptiness she felt now. This was the woman she was before she left on her solo hunt. This was the woman who she had been before she found Peter and learned the truth. A woman kept in the dark and living a life of lies. 

She could never be this woman again. She could never go back. That Aylin was gone. Forever. 

With a rage driven, exasperated, feral scream ripping from her throat, she drove the dagger straight down with every bit of declining strength she had left in her body. Her stab landed true. The wolf girl never even opened her eyes to watch the incoming blow. She never cried out in pain. Her body simply jerked into itself at the sudden attack but quickly collapsed, listlessly, back against the table. 

A spray of warm blood splashed against Aylin’s face. It splattered across her clenched mouth. Without thinking, she instinctively licked at her lips to remove it, tasting the copper there. She stumbled backwards into Kraven in shock. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor. She couldn’t finish the job. Not yet. She was too weak. It had taken everything she had in her to make sure she killed the girl with a single strike. Her body was failing her as the adrenaline flooded through her veins. The clotting wounds on her back ripped open. Her blistering thigh rubbed with a searing fire against her other leg. A flash of horrified agony ricocheted through her body. She was unsure if the pain was physical or mental. 

It didn’t matter. 

The wolf girl was dead. Aylin was dead. She had killed them both. 

Murderer. 

Kraven was crouched by Aylin’s side. He was scooping her limp form into his lap as he sat on the floor. His hands were all over her. Grabbing at her ass. Groping her chest. Pushing against the thin fabric protecting between her thighs. Pulling back her underwear to probe his finger inside of her. His tongue was bathing over her blood splattered lips. Lapping it up. Licking along the blood on her cheeks. Pushing his blood stained tongue back into her mouth to forcefully tangle with hers. She could taste the metallic as it mixed with the salt from her flowing tears. She couldn’t move to stop the assault on her body. Her hands were shaking as she openly sobbed, losing all control, while he molested her. 

He was moaning into her mouth, “You look so sexy covered in blood. I’m doing everything in my power not to fuck you over the table but you need to finish what you started. Soon…soon…I can have you soon.” 

He was collecting her in his arms and pushing them to a stand as the basement spun around her. She couldn’t catch her breath as the whirlwind of spiraling emotions overtook her. Her vision fuzzed black around the edges. She felt like she might vomit except there was no food in her stomach to bring up. All that was there was the taste of acid burning up her throat. 

Kraven steadied her in front of the dead wolf girl, holding her upright by clutching onto her hips. There was a desperation of longing in his voice, “Now finish the job. Get her heart. Throw it in the fire. And we can finally put this behind us.”

She could never put this behind her. She would never shed herself from this guilt. 

Murderer.

Aylin stared down at the dagger sticking from the wolf girl’s chest. Dark, fresh blood soaked over her small breasts and trickled in thick, slow lines down her side to pool over the table and sink into the cracks in the wood. There was no name to remember her by. Nothing to memorialize her with. There would be no loved ones to mourn for her. No happy memories shared between old friends. No last goodbyes. They would burn her body until there was nothing left but the polluted memories Aylin held. She was gone with nothing to show for her sacrifice. 

Peter was right about the Silver Colts. 

They were a bunch of violent murders. She included herself in that group. She deserved everything Kraven did to her. She deserved to be punished for her crimes. 

Her slack hands were being placed back on the hilt of the bloody dagger by Kraven. He wanted her to finish this quickly so he could get to fucking her. 

She couldn’t move anymore. She was only remaining upright because his arm was wrapped around her waist. Everything about her was limp. 

“I know you’re weak but just a little more. We’re almost done. I’ll help guide yo-”

He was cut off by an ear splitting shriek from upstairs. 

They both froze and whipped their heads towards the sound. 

“Sergei!” Calypso was shouting. There was fear evident in her voice. It was an unusual, alarming sound to hear from her. From the look on Kraven’s face, it was one he didn’t hear often. They listened to her hurried footsteps banging above their heads as she ran towards the bookcase door to throw it open. “We’re under attack! Fire!” 

His brows furrowed with confusion and he pulled away from Aylin, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She tumbled against the table, holding herself upright with her forearms, and watched as he leaped up the stairs and disappeared from view. 

A hushed, breathless silence fell over the basement.

Aylin stared down at the wolf girl then back to the stairs. She was alone. Uncuffed. 

Her heart leapt with a sense of hope she thought was long lost. 

She could hear a frenzied commotion happening above her. Lots of bewildered shouting. Lots of stomping footsteps back and forth. 

Aylin pushed herself up and away from the table. She took a few stumbling steps towards the stairs before collapsing at the bottom. Her knees cracked against the concrete floor but she was shocked to find that there was hardly any pain as her bones made contact with the hard surface. She stretched out her back, waiting to feel the terrible sting of her wounds, but felt merely a light tickle. 

Her breath began to grow rapidly as a wave of warmth spread throughout her veins. She could feel the liquid fire traveling down her arms and into her finger tips. It spread throughout her chest and coursed down her legs as it consumed her entire body in its bathing glow. Aylin squeezed her eyes shut then reopened them, searching around the basement as if she was taking in an entirely new sight. What was once dark, damp, and dreary was now exploding with colors she never noticed before. She could make out each varied speckle of gray and brown and tan in the cobblestone walls. The light from the still burning fire raged in beautiful hues of deep orange and vibrant yellows. Light danced across each surface like a delicate ballet for her eyes to savor. 

A strength flowed through her. A power unlike any she’d ever felt. Aylin had never been a weak person apart from when she’d been tortured into submission. She had always been physically strong and capable. But this…this was different. This was an inhuman type of strength. Something was happening to her body. A change was taking over. 

She stared down at her bloodied hands in front of her, able to make out every line of her skin with a rapidly improving vision. She focused in on the different tints of red, some dark, some lighter, that stained her fingers. It wasn’t her blood. It was the wolf girl’s. 

Lycan blood. 

Aylin’s eyes widened as she staggered to her feet. She had tasted Lycan blood. It had only been a few drops but clearly that was enough for it to have an effect. It was morphing the very fabric of her being with each passing second that ticked by. Her strength returned to her in a way she never thought possible. 

The unmistakable smell of smoke reached her nose to drag her attention away from her shocking, new developments. Her sight darted up the stairs. The bookcase had been left open. Thick, gray and black smoke was starting to billow through the door and creep along the ceiling down the stairs. She could hear the blaze of roaring fire as clearly as if it was in the room with her. She could hear Kraven and Calypso moving in a panic above her. The accuracy of her acute hearing allowed her to place them directly in the kitchen. They were distracted. 

This was her one chance. 

Aylin paused for only a moment to take one last look at the Lycan girl, nodding her head in her direction as a silent sign of respect, before she darted up the stairs with a remarkable agility for someone who could hardly stand only moments ago. The last gift the girl had given her was that of her blood. It was a gift she would not waste. She would get out of this hell. She would regain back control. She would enact revenge on both their behalf. The Lycan would not die in vain. Aylin would make sure her death was not wasted. 

She burst across the Kravinoff hallway, emerging from the basement like a gazelle escaping a lion. Her elbow slammed into the opposite wall to break her stride. She wasn’t used to being able to run this fast. Her body surged with power and speed. It electrified her skin. Vibrant colors flashed across her vision, swirling around her, as she stumbled down the hallway. She could hear every panicked breath the couple took in the room beside her. The heavier, deeper one was Kraven’s, panting in anger, as he tried to douse the growing flames. The lighter, more birdlike breathes were Calypso, desperately spraying water from the kitchen sink hose. She could hear their every breath even over the sounds of the roaring fire. Through sound alone she could visualize the fire crawling up the kitchen curtains and licking at their house made of wood. If they weren’t fast, it would quickly eat up everything in its path. Smoke rolled out into the hallway and slithered with thick layers of black over her head. She crouched down to keep under it. Whatever had started the fire had been her saving grace. She may have killed off her old self in that basement but she would be reborn again thanks to the flames. A phoenix emerging from the ashes. 

Aylin made her way down the hall with a near silent stealth in the opposite direction of the kitchen fire until she landed at their backdoor. All it took was a quick switch of the lock for the door to push open. 

She leapt into the chilly night air and broke out into a sprint back towards her house. 

Running for her life.

Running for her freedom. 

Her lungs expanded and filled as she drew gulps of air into them. It tasted sweeter than honey. The night had never looked so bright like she was gifted with her own personal night vision. She would have guessed it was morning if it weren’t for the explosion of stars plastered in the sky through the treetops. They were brighter than ever before as she neared a clearing in the overhead branches. Beautiful. Stunning. She could have been looking at a photograph straight from the Webb Space Telescope. The sight was so mesmerizing, her frantic sprint slowed to a light jog. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the vibrant milky way splitting across the sky. 

She could stare at its hypnotic beauty for hours. 

The sounds of screams drew her back down to planet Earth. Her head darted around to search through the woods for the alarms. Through the trees she caught sight of another blazing fire down the dirt road from Kraven’s cabin. Behind that fire was another breaking out. Three different houses were ablaze. Distraught shrieks of chaos erupted in their little town. She could hear people running into the woods, running towards the destruction, all trying to extinguish the flames before their entire forest went up like a box of tinder. The Silver Colts were under attack. This was no accident. Those fires were intentional. They were being targeted. Houses were being set to burn while everyone slept. 

Her newly eagle eyed vision set straight towards her own home. They lived on the outer edge of town. It was quiet and dark in that direction. Her mother would still be safe. Aylin left the chaos behind her and sprinted, barefoot and nearly naked, through the forest towards her chance at freedom. 

The mossy ground under foot hardly touched her soles before she was pushing off again. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her hair blew out from behind her like a cape as she took flight. She sprinted like her life depended on it. She ran from that basement with every ounce of strength the Lycan blood allowed her to have. Every smell consumed her, every breath felt like ice in her lungs, every sight swirled in pools of color around her until she no longer felt human. 

The spirit of the wolf soared beside her and carried her in record time to the one place she thought she might never see again. 

Her charming, humble cabin with its peeling, painted brown wood and faded, white trimmed windows. It had never looked so perfect, so dreamy, so inviting in her life. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she jogged towards her safe haven. Pine needles softened her tread under her bare feet to welcome her home. 

She slammed open the front door, accidentally ripping it from its hinges, and stumbled inside. She was drunk from the overwhelming power flooding her body. 

“Mom!” She screamed into the quiet house. “Mom! Wake up! We have to go! We have to get out! 

A small, black shadow darted out from under the couch and past her ankles in reaction to her cries. She jumped back with a shocked yelp, ready to pounce and attack the intruder until her sights settled on the frightened cat lurking under a table leg and eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Fuck, Kedi. Scared the shit outta me. Fuckin’ cat,” she mumbled, holding her hand over her chest.

Her breath was catching in her throat. Her heart was racing. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe the longer she stood still. Her body needed to run. Move. Jump. Climb. Fight. Anything. Her emotions all tumbled together along with every new smell. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender vanilla from her mother’s body lotion clinging to every surface. She could smell Kedi’s dander in his fur. She could smell the spinach and feta filled gözleme her mother had eaten for dinner still lingering in the air even though hours had passed since it was last cooked. 

“Mom!” 

The sound of her own voice was too shrill in her ears. She could hear a battering ram chorus of moth wings hitting against the porch light. Every pur rumbling inside Kedi’s chest, as he slinked out from under the table to rubbed his side across her legs, vibrated in her own head. Her heart beat was thumping in her ears at an unnaturally rapid pace. 

“Mom! Wake up! We have to…have to…go…” 

It was too loud. Her skull was cracking under the pressure of her own voice. The smells were making her dizzy. Colors blurred together and swirled in front of her spinning eyes. 

Aylin stumbled through the living room towards her mother’s bedroom door, shoving it open, and collapsing onto the cold, hardwood floor. 

Her bed was empty. The sheets were pulled back and tossed to the side like she had run from a sound sleep. Her slippers and robe were missing. She must have heard the commotion in the village. She must have heard the fires and gone to help. 

Except that Aylin would have met her along the way. She would have seen her running in the opposite direction. 

Something wasn’t right. 

Aylin’s breath was picking up speed into quick, short bursts. Her knees and forearms dug into the wood under her as she pressed her throbbing forehead down to the floor. Her entire world was shifting, tilting back and forth, until she felt like she couldn’t hold on any longer. What was left of her fingernails, clawed into the wood in a desperate attempt to try and keep her balance. 

There was too much stimulation piling on and suffocating her from every angle. There was no place she was safe, nowhere to hide, when it was her own body fighting against her. 

She clasped her palms tightly over her ears and let out a deafening shriek, curling tighter into herself, and begging for it all to be over. 

An arm snaked around her neck and a warm, strong hand tightened over her mouth to silence her.  

Her eyes shot open. She could hear everything but she couldn’t hear her attacker approaching.  In an instant, she scrambled out of the hold, flailing onto her back, to violently kick up at her assailant. 

Kraven had found her. He was going to drag her back. He was going to hurt her. He was going to-

Peter caught her ankle in his grasp before she could make contact with his chest and lunged on top of her. He pinned her to the ground, hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, and fastened his knees over her arms as he sat on her chest to stop her from striking him. 

“Shut up,” he hissed. “It’s just me.”

Aylin blinked up at him in confusion. All her senses that had been launched into overdrive, redirected themselves onto him instead. The edges of his outline waved in front of her bloodshot eyes but his face was as clear as it could get. His chocolate brown eyes had always seemed so dark and solid of color to her before. Now, they were flecked with specks of lighter caramels and circled his pupils with a honeyed bronze. They were nearly as bewitching as staring into the night sky. 

Her lips parted as she stared, wide eyed, up at him. Frozen in place. Mesmerized by the details of his face. His thick eyebrows raised in confusion. The way his nose dipped into a perfect slope. His succulent bottom lip peeking out from under his scraggly mustache. Every freckle over his tanned skin and every soft hair on his head was crafted with a transcended beauty. 

He was back. 

He was still here. 

He hadn’t left her. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he hurried her. “We have to get out of here. We have to-” He paused as he focused down on her face. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head ‘no’, still unable to pull her attention away from his eyes. They were like a cup of steaming hot coffee on a cold, rainy morning. Comforting and safe. If she dared to look away, the overwhelming senses would flood her again. He was her anchor keeping her from getting lost in the thrashing waves.  

“Your pupils are blown out. Your heart is racing. I can smell the adrenaline sweating out of you. Your skin is on fire,” he rolled off of her in horror, taking in the sight of her injuries and dried blood, slowly connecting the dots, “You look like…are you…” 

“Lycan blood,” she breathed. “I can feel everything and nothing at all. I’m falling and flying at the same time. I’m broken and whole. My brain is on fire. I feel like…like….’m gonna…” 

“Have a heart attack? Because that’s exactly what’s about to happen,” he hissed through worried, clenched teeth. “Your heart is about to explode if you don’t calm yourself. Not everyone is built to handle wolf blood, Aylin. It’s going to kill you if you can’t calm down.”

Her skin was tingling and breaking out a cold sweat. An uncomfortable, squeezing pressure gripped at her chest as her heart raced. Her breath felt constricted in her throat. Waves of panic rocked over her. 

Kraven was going to find her. 

Her mother was missing. 

She killed the Lycan girl. 

Murderer. 

“Peter,” she whimpered. “‘M don’ feel good.” 

“Fuck,” his distressed eyes darted around the room before landing back on her paling face. “Okay. I need you to listen to me, Aylin. You need to calm your body. You over stressed yourself. Pushed yourself too far. I’m gonna sit ya up, ‘kay?” 

He wrapped a protective arm behind her neck to avoid the wraps covering her back and helped her into a sitting position. He carefully leaned her back against her mother’s bed. He knelt down between her open legs and gently grasped her face in his large hands, covering her ears to help muffle the overpowering noises hitting her from every direction. 

“Follow my breaths,” he whispered. Even with her ears covered, she could still hear him perfectly. “Breathe with me.”

Peter pressed his forehead against her sweat drenched one, locking his eyes with her, as he demonstrated taking a deep, long breath. She held onto the intoxicating color of his eyes like a drowning person clings to a life preserve and followed his lead. 

Deep inhale for four seconds. Hold it for seven. Exhale for eight. 

Repeat. 

Inhale. Four. Hold it. Seven. Exhale. Eight. 

Peter continued the process until the sounds of her pounding heart started to slow back to a normal rhythm. The adrenaline leaving her body caused her to slump over with her cheek resting on the cool floor as he gently released her from his hold. She curled herself into the fetal position. 

The weight of Peter’s heavy hand, his palm pressing against her forehead, feeling her temperature, gave her the tiniest warmth of comfort. She let her eyes close and leaned into his touch. He would protect her. If Kraven came calling, he would keep her safe. 

He belonged to her. That’s what she had told him right before she dragged him from his confinement. Peter Parker was hers. She was safe with her Lycan but he wasn’t safe in the Silver Colts territory. They had to leave before the fires were put out. They had to get out before Kraven noticed her missing. Their time here was limited. 

The fight was leaving her body. She felt like her entire soul was draining out of her pores as exhaustion replaced the adrenaline. 

“I have to find my mom,” she muttered through sleepy breaths. “I have to get us out of here.” 

He swallowed, his attention flashing between his concern for her wellbeing and keeping an attentive eye on what was happening outside of the cabin, “I think the Lycan blood is leaving your system. Your heart has calmed down. You’re going to be okay. The worst of it is over but you’re going to crash once it’s completely gone. It’ll suck out every last bit of energy you have left. I have to get you out of here before you’re out cold.” 

He wasn’t listening to what she was saying. 

“My mom-” 

“How much blood did you get?” He asked, interrupting her. 

“Jus’ a drop or two,” she murmured. “Peter. My mom. Hafta find her. Gotta get’us out. All of us.” 

“Well, she’s not here, is she? We can’t go looking for her or wait for her to come back! There’s no time!” He shot angrily in her direction. He pushed himself up to his feet and paced anxiously around the room. “Where are your car keys?” 

Aylin tried to lift her head off the floor but was overcome with a nauseating dizziness.

“Left ‘em on the table on the porch before…before…he…”

She let her words trail off, unable to finish her sentence. 

Peter darted from the bedroom in search of the keys. She groaned. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going to look for her mother. He couldn’t be seen out there. She couldn’t be seen here. There was no time. Nesrin would have to find her own way out but she knew nothing of the true horrors lying under the surface of this guild.  

Aylin pushed herself onto shaky legs. She clutched onto her mother’s mattress as the room spun. Her eyes squeezed shut until she was able to steady her vision once more. When her eyes reopened, they focused in on Kedi sitting quietly on the mattress in front of her, gazing at her curiously with wide, amber eyes. He got up and headbuttted the top of his head into her arm as if willing her to keep moving. 

“Thanks, bud,” she whispered down to him. “‘M okay. I’ll be okay. Jus’ hafta go away for a little while. I got’ta warn mom.” 

She gathered what was left of her strength to shuffle towards the door and out into their small kitchen. Through the smudged, glass window over their sink, she could see out into the dark forest. Her sight wasn’t as vivid as had it been when she first ran from the basement. It was already settling back to its normal state. A blazing fire in the far distance illuminated through the dark trees. There was only one now. She couldn’t tell who’s house it belonged to but, whoever it was, there wouldn’t be much left once it burned out. The entire village would be focused on helping their neighbors but, once the fire was under control, they would be out for blood. A hunt like never before would begin. The village had never been directly attacked like this before. The Silver Colts would not take this lightly. Her and Peter needed to be as far away as possible. Any Lycan within the area, or anyone seen conspiring with one, would have their head on a spike. Literally. 

She wondered if it was Peter who started those fires. 

It must have been. 

With a surge of unmistakable devotion, Aylin reached for the empty grocery notepad left hanging on the refrigerator. She grabbed a pen from the kitchen drawer and scribbled a quick note. 

“Take dad’s truck and get out. Don’t speak to anyone. Trust no one. Pack as little as possible and run as fast as you can. Go to a hotel. Somewhere with people. Not safe here. I love you. I’ll find you again soon. -A” 

Peter had saved her. He had given her a way to escape. He had taken her from the clutches of her prison just like she had done for him. He did not abandon her and showed up when she needed him most. Her infatuation for him was growing. 

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn’t belong to her. They belonged to each other. 

Aylin took a step away from the note and stumbled backward. The pain was starting to return. She was so tired. So broken. Her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. Everything was draining just like Peter said.  

Her sight blackened around the edges as her knees gave out. 

Before she could hit the kitchen floor, Peter wrapped her up in his muscular arms. The last thing she felt was the feeling of safety as he cradled her to his chest, his voice echoing in her drifting mind. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

[CHAPTER EIGHT]

Tag List Requirements: 🌒A reblog of this chapter will automatically put you onto the next chapter tag list. If you no longer wish to be put on the next list, simply don’t reblog this chapter. The list is updated with every chapter depending on who reblogged.🌔

TagList: @theorgansarerotting @sincericida @moonyslove78 @lazyxsquirrel @101maverick

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you’ve had about their work. If you liked something in particular, let us know! We love to hear it!

[pparkerized]

a new kind of enemy || tasm roleswap au

summary: after the tragic death of his uncle, peter isn't handling it so well. with his desire to exact revenge on the man who killed him growing stronger, until one day, he realizes just how he can give himself the power to fight back. but of course, there are consequences to his actions.

originally posted to ao3 in 2021 but later deleted when i thought about rewriting it, i was set on rewriting it but then stuff got in the way and i forgot. but reposting the full thing here for that one anon who asked and whoever else wants to read,, hope you like it!

word count: 2,716 words

[fic under the cut!!]

~~~

The lab was shrouded in complete darkness, but Peter didn't care. He was far past caring the moment he made his decision to come here. It would have been almost entirely impossible for someone like him, a teenager most of all, to be able to break into Oscorp like this — such a high security lab with guards sweeping the perimeter from every corner. 

But he'd quickly discovered how to get past them. After all, Gwen had told him all that he needed in order to get back inside. But not even she knew what he was about to do right now. His mind wandered back to the field trip when he and Gwen had wandered off and the blonde had shown him a few of Oscorp's secrets, Peter had been in awe at all of them. Then again what egghead wouldn't be?

For a moment Peter asked himself, what had brought him here? Why was he so willing to do this? But very quickly the answer had made itself clear in his mind. He lacked the strength and ability, the power to avenge his Uncle who had died just four months prior to this. Ben hadn't deserved his fate, he'd deserved to live a long and happy life — not have it cut short by some asshole with a gun… 

It was that day Peter had decided that people just weren't worth it. Good ones were rare to come across, but even then, how could you know how to trust them? The police were worthless, they hadn't done anything to help. And both himself and Aunt May were suffering because of it. 

So here Peter was, standing in the vaults of Oscorp, staring at the vial of serum on the desk. A more rational side of himself argued that this was a terrible idea. That he was going to destroy himself just so he could exact his revenge — but another part of his mind, the one that was burning with a desire for revenge was egging him on, telling him that it was a good idea, the perfect idea. And that it'd all be worth it once the man who had murdered his Uncle was taken to justice. Proper justice.

Once he'd gotten these powers and took them out for a little test drive, he'd set on finding the criminal and he'd make him pay. Aunt May believed that he was on a school trip for the next few days so he'd have plenty of time to search.

Peter wasn't stupid, unlike the rest of the employees at Oscorp. He knew that Spider-Man, New York's latest vigilante, had gotten his powers from the venom of a spider that had been part of an experiment here. He'd done plenty of research, in fact, he'd even taken a brief glance of the room when Gwen had been showing him through the different labs at Oscorp. Sure, the experiment had been shut down and the spiders all killed, but Peter knew that Oscorp would've kept at least some of the spider's venom somewhere. They'd most likely be hoping to use it for something. 

So if Peter could get this venom and use it on himself? He'd have the same powers as Spider-Man. And that was all he needed in order to avenge Uncle Ben. 

His eyes raked over the desk and he quickly set to work on finding the serum. It was here, he was sure of it, this was the only place it could be. Oscorp's deepest vaults. He snorted to himself, for high security there wasn't exactly much security going on to keep anyone out. 

There! His eyes flashed with determination as he found what he was looking for. A vial cased within some glass that was filled with green liquid. A note was attached to it, Peter's eyes narrowed as he read the messy writing.

SPIDER-VENOM EXPERIMENT #111

DESTROY

He scoffed lightly and opened the case, taking what was inside in his hands and he gazed at it with wonder. So, this was it? This was what had granted Spider-Man his powers. 

Peter then proceeded to snatch a clean syringe off of the desk beside him, carefully pouring the liquid out into it.

He held it up, adjusting his glasses and he swallowed hard. This was it. It was now or never. If he was caught now… Then he'd be done for, and he'd have no opportunity like this one ever again. He'd never be able to do what he needed because like this, he was weak, frail — he wouldn't be able to do anything on his own this way.

Before he could dwell more on the thought, or even listen to the rational part of his mind screaming at him to stop, Peter jabbed the syringe into his arm. He watched as the green liquid disappeared into his bloodstream and pulled the syringe out of his skin once it was completely empty. 

There was a fluttering feeling in his chest for a moment and he shifted uncomfortably. His arm started aching where he'd put the syringe in and concern welled up inside him. Maybe this was just part of the process, a little pain, after all it was a foreign substance that his body had never dealt with before. Spider-Man had probably gone through the same thing.

Suddenly, a sharp pain sliced its way through his body and Peter let out a sharp cry, crumpling to the floor as his legs gave way from underneath him. His body trembled as his skin burned, he felt almost as if he were on fire, he knew that wasn't the case but in this moment he felt like it. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as another scream tore through his throat, almost ripping his vocal cords apart as the fire in his body burned hotter and more violently. Every part of his body was in pain, and he desperately wanted it to stop.

His heart was racing and his breathing was coming out in ragged, uneven pants. He felt his ears burn even hotter, the tips especially — his teeth ached with such pain that Peter had to keep his jaw unlocked. He clawed at the ground, not expecting a harsh screeching sound to fill his ears as he did so, but he didn't have time to think about that. He curled in on himself as the burning continued to spread throughout his body, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he could barely hear anything over his own pained shrieks.

After a couple of seconds of more intense pain, the pain decreased, enabling him to move out of the fetal position he was currently in. The burning subsided a little, allowing him to shakily push himself to his feet — but the pain wasn't entirely gone. With a shuddering breath Peter heaved himself up to lean against the desk, 

He stood there motionless for a few minutes, until there was nothing but a cold fire etching through his veins. As each minute passed, the pain started easing and he finally let himself shift in place, still gasping for breath as he hadn't been able to breath at all before.

He'd done it. He'd actually done it.

He glanced down where his hand was still gripping his shirt tightly and to his utmost surprise his skin had become a pale, sickly green color and his fingernails were unnaturally sharp. He furrowed his brow and turned in place, his trembling hand lifted up a large shard of glass that had lay broken on the desk.

And when he looked up at his reflection, he let out a surprised breathy chuckle. Of course. Things always came with a price. Peter ground his teeth together, his teeth which had also sharpened themselves to a point. He clenched his fists, not caring if his nails dug into his skin so much that they drew blood.

When Spider-Man had gotten his powers, he'd become a miraculous hero, a sight to see — but why, then he'd used the very same venom on himself, had it turned him into...

This?

His skin, like what he had seen on his arm, was now vastly paler — with darker dark green veins visible through his skin, on his neck and cheek. His ears had also become pointy at the tips; he noted that it must have happened when the tip of his ears had burned significantly more painfully earlier. And what caught Peter's attention most were his eyes. 

His irises, which had been a light chocolate brown, were now a piercing green — the sclera had also changed, becoming what Peter saw was a mix of yellow and green. His glasses had fallen off when he'd collapsed to the floor, but Peter had barely noticed, he could see clearly without them now.

He dropped the shard with a sharp inhale. He could barely think straight, yet he had a million thoughts racing through his mind at that moment. What was he going to do like this? How could he go home to Aunt May looking like this? He'd give her a heart attack just by walking through the door! 

He started tugging at his hair as his thoughts spiraled on. What had he done to himself? Why did he turn into this? He didn't feel anymore powerful, he just felt… Strange. He was a monster he was— 

Peter stopped tugging violently at his hair as he let out an abrupt laugh that stopped him in his thoughts. 

Another laugh followed. And another. And another. After that he found himself shaking with uncontrollable laughter. And among the manic laughs, a choked sob escaped his lips as the reality of the situation hit him once again. His smile, which he didn't even notice he was doing at first, became mangled on his face until it appeared more like a grimace. 

He turned again, his body slumping as he did so, and then his gaze fell on something before him, something he hadn't even noticed when he'd first entered the room. He'd been too preoccupied with the venom that he'd completely looked past this. 

It was what appeared to be a black and green suit of armor. Attached to it was a glider coloured in the same fashion. He stumbled forward, almost drawn to it in a way and he looked in awe at what was now before him. Maybe… Maybe he could use this. If the venom had only cursed him with this new appearance rather than bless him with powers, perhaps he could use this to his advantage. 

He lifted a clawed finger and froze as a loud, shrieking alarm filled his ears and he seized up in panic. Shit. He glanced back towards the suit and narrowed his eyes, he didn't have time to think about it, he needed to get the hell out of here while he still could. Not caring if the glass pierced his skin, Peter punched right through the glass — he must've gotten some kind of strength because he never would've been able to do that before. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline rushing through him at that moment. 

As the blaring alarm continued on, Peter gazed at the armor once more, a more satisfied expression settled on his face. The edges of his lips curled upwards into a grin, and his green eyes were filled with a crazed gleam. 

He could work with this. Maybe he should take it for a little test drive… 

~~~

The suit was pretty fantastic to say the least. Though the armor was powerful and could deal with a lot of damage, it still felt light on his body and not as heavy as he thought it would've been. The glider had been tricky to figure out at first, but soon enough he was gliding above the skyscrapers in New York like it was nothing. If anything, it was rather a bit like skating, something Peter was very familiar with. All he needed to do was stay on the board and keep his balance, by leaning to the side to steer in each direction and to lean towards or back whenever he wanted to accelerate or go backwards. 

His body was still throbbing with pain, but it was barely noticeable now and it was becoming more numb with each passing second. His mind however was still a complete jumble of thoughts, no matter what he did he couldn't clear it out. 

However, there was one thought that he caught out of all of the rest.

Long blonde hair, with a star tattooed on his left wrist. 

A vivid flash of the person in his mind caused him to clench his teeth in his anger.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, right, the entire reason why he'd done this to himself in the first place. 

Knowing that there'd be no luck finding his target tonight, Peter wondered if he was still even in Manhattan. But he wouldn't give up, not until justice was finally delivered. And then maybe he could deliver the good news to Aunt May. That the man who had ripped their family apart was dealt with, then again, she'd ask questions and Peter wasn't so sure she'd be able to comprehend what had happened to him. Which was why he'd taken all he needed to know about finding something to reverse the effects, including the last remnants of what had been left in the syringe containing the spider's venom. 

He'd been lucky to get out of there before security had arrived. No doubt now they'd be trying to figure out who took their high-tech suit and glider, and the venom along with it. Harry would probably have a lot to deal with, Peter felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend, he'd only just gotten back into town two months prior and already he'd have so much to do.

Especially since Norman had died, then again, Norman hadn't exactly been the best person. And he had a feeling that maybe this suit had been for him, after all, Peter knew that Norman had been desperately searching for a way to cure himself of the genetic disease that had slowly been eating him up from the inside for years. Peter was glad that Harry hadn't shown symptoms of it just yet. 

He came to a halt at the top of a building near the empire state and he cast his gaze over the city. 

He couldn't find the man who had murdered his Uncle alone. Not in a city as big as New York that was for sure. He needed help. Which was something he never thought he'd say. Spider-Man was an option, though the vigilante had only been on the streets for about two months so far and he didn't have such a good reputation with the police — Peter remembered Gwen telling him about her father's frequent rants about him — maybe he could be of some help. He needed to find him and fast. 

It seemed that with the transformation his lust for revenge had only increased. He'd become even more desperate to seek out the criminal and put an end to it all. And he would, oh he wouldn't stop until he found that man and made him wish that he'd never been born. Peter swore that he would do whatever it took to ensure he got his revenge, he would kill him— 

Usually, such a dark and intrusive thought such as that would have made him cringe in disgust and fear. But now with the venom having changed so much of him he barely felt anything towards these new tainted thoughts. Besides, this man was terrible, a murderer, he deserved it. Peter would not only avenge Ben but also make sure that his murderer would never kill another person again. Killing him was the only way to put a stop to this suffering that Peter was unable to endure anymore.

He'd need help though. He needed Spider-Man's help. His mouth then set into a thin line and his eyes gleamed as he looked down on the streets of Manhattan. 

He needed to get the attention of Spider-Man. And he knew just how to do it.

[shefollowedthestars]

baker!peter parker who....‧₊˚ 🧁 ⋅ ☆

baker!peter parker whose recipes are all taken from may and mary's old homemade cookbooks because he wants his bakery and all his desserts inside it to feel like a comfortable and safe space for his customers - he wants it to feel like home.

baker! peter parker whose favorite customers are kids and pets. whenever a little kid comes into the store, he always kneels down to their level, pointing to the display cases and describing the different items for them. peter has social anxiety, but for some reason talking to kids is so easy and natural for him. and whenever a dog comes in he has a special free item (very reminiscent of the pup cup) for the furry friend and you can guarantee peter is petting that dog at every chance he gets.

baker!peter parker whose love language is gift giving. whenever you're feeling down or whenever peter just wants to do something kind for you, he gifts you a tray of sprinkle cupcakes or a bag of raspberry scones. the feeling of coming home from a long and stressful day to your favorite dessert on the counter with a pretty bouquet of flowers is unmatched.

baker!peter parker who is also spiderman, and whenever he saves someone, he brings them back to their house safely, leaving them with a croissant - or two that always makes their face light up. he tells them it's made by his 'buddy' down at the parker bakehouse and the next day he suddenly, soooo surprisingly, has more customers

[ you keep telling him that someday someone is going to find out that peter parker of parker bakehouse is spiderman, because it's so darn obvious, peter! but he refuses to believe you and lives in his own little delusional world ]

baker!peter parker who always shows up to ned's with flour on his face. ned just always stares at him knowingly and peter awkwardly realizes he hasn't cleaned his face since he was at the bakery. he tries to quickly brush it off before you walk in, but you still notice and think it's adorable.

baker!peter parker who is the light of your life and so special to everyone in the community. the bakehouse is the place where anyone in queens can go to and experience a feeling of together-ness. everyone knows and cares for each other there and it's all something that peter has created himself. it's his whole world and he's forever grateful for deciding to start the business up.

[sincericida]

Oooooh Lizzy... I may be being repetitive, but "Sugar & Vice" it was a roller coaster of emotions. Honey and Peter lived so many things so intense, and there were so many emotions I felt through their history: passion, terror, despair, devotion, selflessness, smile, selfishness, hypocrisy, tears inconsequence, love, right, comfort, wrong,, warmth, trauma, pain, revenge, loss,abuse, darkness, conformity, light, redemption... And it was all so intense to witness, to imagine, to put myself in their shoes. How many times caught me crying while reading, without seeing a way out that wasn’t tragic. This story was my companion for a few months. And even though I, in my heart, did not want it to end, I feel that the end for them was redeeming, a fresh start. They needed to breathe. Only you’ve been holding the wrong hands all your life, knows how necessary it is to finally be able to breathe without fear - or with a little less of it.

I’ll bid farewell to this story as one who bids farewell to a dear friend, who needs to live in another state or another country. It will hurt, I will cry, but we will always have the most beautiful memories. I needed to write about what I feel right now - after having read two times. I needed to say goodbye properly. I owed it to that story. And to you Lizzy, which is simply so incredible that I don’t even know the exact measurement. His writing is pure emotion and art with which we are being graced here in this place called Tumblr. Never, but never stop. But take care of yourself first, and drink water. Love u.

I can’t talk anymore, I’m crying again. But I leave the image of our muse perfectly imperfect, and your new scar on your forehead.

sugar and vice - epilogue

[continued from Part 23]

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Ice clinked against the stainless steel of her coffee tumbler like hollow wind chimes. She brought the pastel pink container to her lips, taking a careful sip. She’d already spilled some of it in her lap, and now brown spots dotted the yellow of her dress. Carefully, she set the tumbler down beside her, taking a moment to glance up at the scenery around her.

It was a golden-yellow summer day with a cloudless sky, save for the smog hanging over the city. Despite last week’s heat wave, the temperature was more moderate today, giving New York a much-needed break. From a bench in Central Park, she sat beneath the canopy of towering oak trees. A breeze rolled through that chilled her skin delightfully, aided by the icy beverage in her cup.

Nearby, a flock of pigeons scavenged for crumbs. On this particular Saturday, construction sounds were minor, reduced to distant echoes. The bright sounds of a street musician’s violin floated on the wind from nearby in the park. She heard a whistle from a group of children in the distance as they practiced soccer kicks. 

Soccer would be good for Bella, she thought. The seven-year-old girl had tons of energy and legs that were longer than she knew what to do with. Ever since the Olympics and watching Space Jam: A New Legacy, Bella had been obsessed with becoming the next WNBA champion. She described LeBron’s performance as a masterpiece. 

Her aunt knew better than to let her personal opinion spoil the girl’s fun.

That had been a good day. Today was a good day. She mused to herself as she took a breath. She was aware of the fact that the day wasn’t technically over. And perhaps there wasn’t anything particularly different from yesterday. But as her muscles relaxed beneath warm rays of sun on her shoulders, she found peace.

“Mind if I sit here?” a kind voice said from behind her. The muscles in her neck pulled taut. Her heart seized up and tripped over itself.

She glanced over her shoulder to find a pair of doe eyes fixed on her. Cherry lips twisted into a lopsided smile. 

Impossibly, Peter Parker looked younger than the last time she saw him. The only sign of age in his creamy smooth skin were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, and a faint pink scar blending with the wrinkles above his brow.

Without the beard, he looked criminally soft. Big, bright amber eyes were fixated on her in a way that made her heart want to burst. She felt like she was floating in space and plummeting through the atmosphere. 

At the same time, the primal part of her brain screamed out shrill sirens. Just the sight of him and his soulful eyes felt like she was tearing off a broken limb. Watching as his teeth pinched his pouty lip gave her the sensation of ripping apart nerve endings. Her stomach soured as her heart ached. 

Beneath the heart, lava boiled in her belly. Her eyes were open wide, they could even be mistaken for shock. It wasn’t shock, however, but sheer rage burned in her eyes. 

Peter Parker, the persistent paradox. 

The only man that could stir every emotion in her, like the sun conjures every color of the rainbow out of drops of rain. He painted her world in vivid colors, and yet she was colorblind to everything but the golden hue of his eyes.

Peter Parker, who could make her feel stronger and weaker all at once.

She burned for him, in every sense of the phrase.

And at the present, he was holding his breath, waiting for her reply. She gazed up at him as emotions warred within her. He waited patiently, ready to accept whatever fate she thought he deserved.

She pursed both her lips tight, eyes narrowing. “I’ll allow it,” she said. 

His lungs came to life once again, as if he’d been spared the guillotine. Gently, Peter rounded the park bench and sat down in the spot to her right. She kept her nose forward, eyes focused on anything but him.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked gently, gazing down at the pamphlet in her lap.

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. “A brochure.”

He observed the glossy tri-fold sheet with a nod. “I see that.” Instantly, he recognized the pictures and logo on the pamphlet, recalling how he once read the same words. “ESU, huh?” he noted with a half smirk, observing the ivory towers of the campus nestled in Midtown Manhattan. “Thinkin’ about classes?” He bit his lip anxiously. “What d’you wanna study?”

She held still, remaining silent as she stared down at the brochure. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and it felt like razors being shoved into his eye sockets. 

“Dunno,” she answered with a gentle shrug. “Interior Design, maybe.” She cleared her throat and spoke with a little more volume. “Thinkin’ about applying for a grant for this fall.”

A smile warmed his eyes, though melancholy weighed down the corners of his lips. “What’s in the cup?” he asked, pointing his nose towards her coffee tumbler.

Lashes fluttered, she followed the end of his fingertip down to her beverage, almost having forgotten that it was there. “Oh,” she said meekly. “It’s a Mauna Kea.”

Peter quirked up a brow. “A what-ya-saya?”

She pinched her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from curving. “Mauna Kea,” she repeated slowly, enunciating the syllables. “Means ‘White Mountain’ in Hawaiian.” She hesitated for a moment, licking her dry lips. “It’s the name of the tallest mountain on Earth,” she declared, mustering confidence, “from peak to summit.”

A crease formed in Peter’s brow. “I thought Everest was the tallest mountain?”

“Tallest by altitude,” she divulged with pride. “Mauna Kea is bigger.” She flicked her eyes over to his and was immediately captured by his soulful gaze.

“No joke?” he replied with a thousand-watt smile and rosy cheeks. 

“Yup,” he answered, as butterflies filled her belly.

He gazed at her as if he were witnessing the sunrise for the first time. “So, you’re drinkin’ a ‘White Mountain?’”

Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s a cold brew. Blended with honey, macadamia milk and ice, topped with coconut milk foam.” She intended to look down at her cup. Or at the pedestrians. Or the trees. Or the sun. She intended to look anywhere but at him. She really tried. “I made it myself,” she said, feeling heat crawl up her neck.

His eyes glowed, further enamored by her mere existence. “Wow. All this time, all I’ve been drinking is black coffee.” A smile glinted in his expression while his blush gave him away. “Just black coffee. Bitter. With extra sadness.”

She fought the smile her lips formed. “That’s a shame.”

“It is. People tell me I should take more risks, though. Go out on a limb.” His eyes wandered across the park before shifting back over to her. “I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and in his eyes she could spot his trepidation. If he looked young to her before, now he looked like a blushing boy asking his crush to prom. He gazed at her with the same terror, his heart in his throat and on his sleeve. “What’s your name?”

A fire burned bittersweetly in her heart as tears burned behind her eyes. She gazed at him, feeling her emotions swell. “Mari,” she answered, truthfully. She studied the bourbon and topaz facets of his irises and the lovely curve of his cupid’s bow. “But all my friends call me ‘Honey.’” 

Peter’s lip trembled at that, eyes glistening despite his attempt to control it. “Honey,” he repeated with a murmur, as if chanting a prayer, or a protection spell. As if it was the answer to everything in the universe. In his universe, at least. “It suits you.”

A bittersweet smile warmed his features as he gazed at her, lost in the universe and freefalling towards her singularity. Her eyes went glossy as she mapped the pores, freckles, and scars on his face like the constellations in the sky.

“I missed you,” he said, endearingly.

Her heart throbbed at the pain in his voice. “I know.” She licked her lips, sadness filling her expression. “You hurt me,” she said somberly.

With misty, red eyes, he whispered back, “I know.” He swallowed hard, tears swimming in his gaze. “I’m sorry for that. M’sorry for a lot of things. But I don’t regret a single moment.” 

Eyes glistening, a warm smile overtook her features, lighting up her gaze. She nodded in silent reply.

The sight of it made him want to die of joy. “If it doesn’t sound too forward,” he began gently, speaking with measured formality, “I was gonna ask you to come home with me.”

Home, he said. The significance of the word wasn’t lost on her. A tear rolled down her cheek, sliding along the curve of her grin. “Already?” she breathed out a laugh. “Geez. That was fast.”

His smile faded; he melted into enraptured awe. “No,” he whispered, eyes glowing with admiration. He leaned forward, breaking the invisible barriers between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as his calloused fingers brushed over her jaw, triggering a shiver down her spine. “I’ve waited years for you, remember?” he quietly rumbled. “I’ll keep waiting. For the rest of my life, if I have to.”

The sweetness of it all made her dizzy. It made her feel like her heart had spilled open and she would bleed out on the grass. “I’ll take it,” she sniffed, as Peter thumbed the tears from her cheeks.

“Take what?”

“The rest of your life.” 

He melted in her gaze, staring down at her lips. “Sweet girl. You are my life.”

Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The sensation made her heart flutter, her mind soar, and her brain sizzle. It made her wounds heal and her soul sing. It made life worth living. It made hope real.

When they parted from the kiss, they were breathless and dizzy, hearts thrumming together in sync.

The honey hues of his chestnut eyes were fixed on hers. “So,” he said, thoughtfully. “Mauna Kea. Ever see it up close?”

She smirked. “Nope. Never been to Hawai’i.”

“Me neither,” Peter shrugged, his eyes alight with life. “Wanna change that?” 

End of Volume 1

A Note From Your Storyteller:

Whew. That was long.

I can't believe this has come to an end. Before I began writing, I was skeptical about this story, but honestly I could've never anticipated or expected the overwhelming support and love that I've gotten. People have made art from my art. They have showered me with gifts for my gift. If you'd say any gift is an expression of love, then gifted art is the ultimate expression of devotion. I love that you care about my characters, and about me!

What's next?

Good question. I've been at odds with this answer, and now it feels like I really need to commit to a path. My imagination is full of many more places that Honey and Peter can go. I could probably write 2-3 novels about these two with all of the effort I put into making these characters come to life. Realistically, I'm a mom with a baby, and I'm about to be a one-person band for the next few months. I'm excited to share these stories, but I'm not sure when or how, or even what that will look like.

The best thing you can do to interact with me is to keep your eyes on my updates from my Ko-fi page! I'm hoping to allow that to become a place where the S&V 'fandom' (wtf that sounds so weird what happened what is this life I am not worthy) can gather and where I can share updates.

In addition to S&V-related news, I'm going to post writing tips, best storytelling practices, AMAs, my favorite fics of the week, answer questions, and maybe even offer commissions. Keep in mind, none of this will be gatekeeped (gate-kept?) or behind a paywall. Even if you're not a regular... er, um, patron?... (barista?) on Ko-fi, you can still hopefully find some interesting stuff to check out.

But even if you don't do any of that, because... who cares, right? I do want you to do one thing for me. One tiny thing that will make the world better. One small thing that could end up changing someone's life.

The next fanfic you read, if you feel any emotions about it at all, please hit "reblog."

You don't have to write a long review, or leave a comment, or add any tags to it. You don't have to do anything more than click the reblog button. But please reblog. When you reblog, you get to share the gift fanfic writers make with someone else, regardless of whether you know them. And subconsciously, you tell the writer 'yes, I see you, and I think other people should, too,' and that small thing can save someone's life one day.

Forget engagement, forget likes vs comments vs reblogs vs community labels vs filtering settings—

Stories are gifts. They are expressions of love put to words. They are emotions lived, repackaged, wrapped in a bow, and then shared with others, along with a kind little note that says 'here's this moment of my heart, I hope it moves you the way it moved me.'

Reblog. And fill the world with a little more love.

[lovelettersforthedamned]

ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️

A Little Reminder

--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

--word count: 1.4k

--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!

love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".

You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help. 

As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you. 

Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”

“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue. 

You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter. 

****

“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you. 

As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby. You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped. 

Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face. 

“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.

He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?” 

“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”

This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried. 

You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.

Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers. 

“You need me to answer that right now?”

“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too. 

Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?” 

He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands. 

Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!” 

Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine. 

He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation. 

As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.” 

Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?” 

You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.

“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed. 

Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked. 

--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333

[backtothefanfiction]

Professor Peter Parker

Summary: The first day of college nerves are suddenly made worse when you realised the guy you f*cked last night is your new Physics Professor!

Warnings! 18+ ONLY! This is some of the filthiest smut I have ever written and posted on here yet. Female reader and pronouns, Age gap (everyone is of legal age, Peter is a very young Professor), Oral (F + M Receiving), Dirty Talk (so much fucking dirty talk), praise kink, edging, P in V, Peter Parker (YES he does need his own warning), One Night Stand... or is it?, ITS SEX PEOPLE, JUST STRAIGHT UP SEX WITH A LITTLE PLOT FOR ADDED TENSION AND POW!

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: Consider this my formal application piece for the literary prostitutes society. There are no words for this, so I'm just gonna type/sing Don't Lose Your Head from Six. "Sorry not sorry but what I said, I'm just tryin' to have some fun..." But seriously though this was so self indulgent and I can't believe this came out of me. It's very much giving Aria and Ezra in Pretty Little Liars but older and much more Peter Parker. Also I am really sorry about if the tense keeps changing, I sometimes have a problem with finding my rhythm and I really cba to spend the time working it all out and changing it.

First day of college. Standard level of nerves for a first day. Are you running on just a couple hours of sleep? Sure. Still a little tipsy from last night? Okay, yeah, maybe just a little, but that’s a good thing right. Takes the edge off. But then again numbers and science had never let you down before. You can do physics. You’ve got this.

You took a deep breath, hand hesitating on the door handle. ‘This is the first day of the rest of your life.’ You said to yourself, breathing deeply.

You found a spot somewhere in the middle of the room. Not so eager you were at the front but you also didn’t want to hide away in the back. That and you were pretty sure you were due for an eye test and if you sat any further back you wouldn’t be able to read the board. You got out your notepad, flipping open to the first page, your fingers smoothing across the fresh paper comfortingly. You reach for a fresh pencil from the novelty pack your Mom had bought you especially for your first week, knowing you prefer the feel of writing in pencil than pen, the ink always getting smudged on your hand from your messy scrawl. You pluck the one with tiny zebra all over it from the clear case before placing it back in your bag. Your fingers drum the back of the pencil on your page nervously as you wait. You tried not to overthink things as your stomach began to churn. Had you really turned up this early? You took a quick look around the room at the other 5 people who had actually been there before you. ‘Hey,’ you reasoned to yourself, ‘at least you weren’t as early as them.’ 

You yawned. Damn you were tired. Although you had this early class, when your new room mate suggested you go out with the guys who lived across the hall you couldn’t say no. To be fair, it had been a good night all considered. You had met some new people, exchanged a few numbers, agreed to go to the end of semester drama club performance even though the term had only just started, drank way too many jello shots, got snuck into a local bar and then ended up going home with a tall brunette with the softest yet devious brown eyes you had ever seen who completely rocked your world. 

You absentmindedly rubbed your thighs together, squirming slightly in your seat as you thought back to his head between your legs. The lewd moans he’d pulled from your lips echoing around your brain. It sent a fresh new wave of arousal straight to your core.

‘Not the time or place.’ you berated, instead forcing your mind back into the classroom and the task at hand. ‘Physics of Matter with Professor Peter Parker. He was probably middle aged’ you thought to yourself. It was always the case with classes like these, middle aged men finally leaving the lab for the first time after finally completing their life's work, now relenting to their wife’s begging to spend more time with the family. Or older men with white hair, wrinkles and tweed, desperately holding on to their independence, understimulated by the idea of retired life when all that knowledge of matter and the universe was rattling around their brains. ‘Young hot professors were only to be found in the movies or on TV’ you daydreamed as you tried to distract yourself from the growing pit of nerves in your stomach.

You check your phone every few seconds as other students file into the room, finding their own seats as you count down the minutes. 5 minutes… 3 minutes… 2 minutes… 1 minute… … He’s late… 1 minute past… 2 minutes past… 3 min-

“Okay, okay, settle down!” A voice called out as the classroom door opened, far younger than she expected and slightly familiar. “Welcome to Physics of Matter,” the voice continued as he made his way towards the board, picking up a bit of chalk and lifting it to the board as he spoke, “I am Professor Parker, but please,” he said dropping the piece of chalk back onto the little shelf at the bottom of the board, “call me Peter.” He said finally turning around.

SHIT!

DOUBLE SHIT!

You dip your head towards your page as you sink a little bit down in your seat. Hopefully he won’t notice. ‘FUCK!’ your head was suddenly screaming as all those memories of the night before flooded your brain again. His messy hair. His naked body. The way he had moaned into your cunt- FUCK!

You subtly glanced around the room from your head's dipped position. This had to be some new prank show right. There’s no way this happened in real life. There had to be cameras. He’s an actor right? Ashton Kutcher was about to burst through the classroom door shouting “YOU’VE BEEN PUNK’D” any second followed by the actual Professor Parker, right? Right?

“Now I’m not gonna ask you to get your books out this lesson,” he began to say playfully, his voice carrying around the room as he walked back and forth in front of his desk surveying his new class. “Today is about you getting to know me and me just going over all the things we are gonna be covering over the course of our year together.” He said, talking a lot with his hands. “As much as I’d love to start getting into equations with you, I’ve learnt that that tends to be futile during our first lessons. I mean, just by a show of hands, who went out drinking last night?” Professor Parker asked and a shower of hands across the room went up, Peter’s gaze scanning across the faces of the raised hands as he continued, “Keep your hand up if you’re still a little bit drunk-” his voice cut off as his eyes finally landed on you, his own oh shit face befalling him.

You felt your skin crawl as people lowered their hands and began following his gaze to you. You moved your hand up to your face as you sank down in your seat further. ‘Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring!’

8 HOURS EARLIER 

“I couldn’t help but see you staring.” He said as he sidled up to you. ‘Holy fuck’ he was gorgeous. Tall, lean, perfectly messy brown hair and the most delicious biceps (not too big) that were flexing under the cuffs of his fitted T-shirt you really just wanted to wrap your fingers around and squeeze. Damn. “Is she okay?” He said turning to your friend.

“Yeah she’s just-“ your roommate started before nudging you and breaking you from your hypnotised gaze on this absolute Adonis of a man. “She thinks you’re really hot!” she shouted over the music to him.”

He raised his eyebrows as he gave a small chuckle, flattered, as you cringed. They both laughed at you. “Do you wanna dance?” he asked as he took your hand.

“Yes, she does!” your friend said, pushing you off your stool. His other hand comes out to steady you as you almost slam into his chest. You blush before turning to give your roommate a death stare. 

He flashed one of those charming smiles again before he began to guide you away from her and to the dance floor. His hand doesn’t leave yours as he starts to bop and bounce, easing you both into the music. You slowly relax, smiling as a giddy feeling churns in your stomach, as you begin to bop with him to the music.

The music swells and he gives you a twirl under his arm before he pulls you closer to him. “So have you got a name or am I supposed to refer to you as flower for the rest of the night?”

You frown. “Why Flower?” 

“Isn’t that the name of the skunk in Bambi who is all quiet and has those big eyes and blushing cheeks and-”

“Don’t call me Flower.” you quickly say, slightly embarrassed by the way you had gone all goo goo eyed and helpless over him.

“Okay, then what can I call you?”

You hesitate for a second as you think about giving him your real name but what would be the fun in that, especially if this only turned out to be a one night stand. “Trouble.”

He laughs, his head dipping to hide his amusement. “Is that so?” he says from beneath his lashes. “Fine, if that’s how we’re playing it, you can call me Professor Brat Tamer, Professor for short.”

You feel your arousal soak your panties the moment he says it, the words going straight to your core. What have you gotten yourself in for? It’s like he knows too from the way he’s smirking. He turns you, pulling you back into him, his hands resting on your hips as he begins to grind himself against your ass. “Now, are you gonna be a good student?” he coos against your ear only loud enough for you to hear. “Or are you gonna be like your namesake says and cause me a whole lot of trouble?”

He can feel the way you relax your body back against him, your eyes closing as you relish in the feeling his words elicit in you. 

You smirk as you look back at him, “I’m sorry Professor, but you may have your work cut out for you.”

An hour and a half later he’s pulling you into his apartment, your back slamming hard against a wall of exposed brick as your mouth latches onto his. Both of you had done so well keeping your hands to yourself the whole way back, but the moment you got through the door it was like a starting pistol had gone off, both of you suddenly in a race for pleasure.

You moan against his mouth as his tongue slips between your teeth. You can taste his final Jack and Coke he had had before you left. Your skin felt like it was burning under his touch.

“Fuck.” You gasp as his mouth is suddenly moving across your jaw and down your neck, his teeth and stubble grazing you slightly in his hunger for you. 

“God Trouble, you sound so fucking pretty.” he coos against your chest, his hand moving to paw at your breast, bunching it up to spill over the top of your dress as he leaves wet kisses across the skin.

Your fingers wrap around his messy tresses as you pull his head back up so you can connect your mouth with his again, a small growl escaping his lips at the slight pain. You kiss him messily, both of you breathing heavily before you push him back, allowing you room to drop to your knees on the hardwood floor. Your fingers immediately begin to fight with his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking sending arousal straight between your own legs.

“Fuck.” He pants as he looks down at you, his hand reaching to cradle either side of your face as you pull down his jeans and his boxers in one swift pull. “Uh, baby, baby, baby.” he coos as you take his length into your mouth and immediately begin to work your tongue up and down his cock.

His fingers move away from your face, grabbing at the hem of his t-shirt and you watch as he pulls it up and over his head, exposing the rest of his body to you. Fuck he really was gorgeous. “Oh my god.” he cried out when you began to swallow his length down your throat, your nose pressing to his pelvic bone. “Uh,” he said, his head tipping back, “she’s not trouble, she’s fucking perfect.” he says as he drops his head back forward to watch you, his thumb reaching to wipe away a stray tear at the corner of your eye.

You take his length out of your mouth as you gasp for air and he thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. “Come here Trouble.” he says as he takes your face and chin in his hands and lifts you from the floor, pulling your lips back to his as he smashes his mouth into yours.

He begins to kick off his shoes as well as his jeans and boxers that now sit tangled around his ankles as he continues to kiss you, freeing himself so he can lift you up into his arms, your own arms throwing themselves around his neck, as he carries you to his bedroom.

You can’t help but cheekily bite at his lower lip as he stops just before the foot of the bed. “Oh she has some bite does she?” he says against your mouth. Your teeth almost clash together from how close you are as you grin, waiting to see what he’ll do or say next. “Okay,” he says as he pauses a little for dramatic effect, “I can bite back.” he says before throwing you back on the bed.

You let out a small squeal as you're caught by the mattress springs and pillows. You quickly prop yourself up on your elbows so you can see the devilish look on his face as he pulls off your heels before he stalks up the bed towards you. He leans over you, attaching his lips to yours once more, his tongue sliding deftly into your mouth and out again with every kiss until his last, when he uses it to suck your lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it. He releases it just as you’re beginning to feel it bruise, his lips instead attaching to your throat as his hands come up to pull down the top of your dress. He had already clocked that you were sans bra from how low the back of your dress was and is even more grateful now he can immediately latch himself onto your nipples, his tongue lapping at the small sensitive nibs, one and then the other.

You moan under his touch, your eyes falling closed as your head tips back, fingers gripping tightly at the covers beneath you. When he looks up at you, keening under his touch, he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Look at me baby.” he softly commands and you oblige, your chin pressing to your chest as you gaze straight into those big brown eyes. It’s the sexiest eye contact you’ve ever held. It’s like he’s fucking you with his eyes as his fingers begin to snake their way up your thighs, lifting the bottom of your dress up to your hips so he can pull down your underwear. He takes one feel of them before saying, “Fuck, trouble, these are soaked.”

You can only nod in agreement, as all words seem to have left your brain. ‘Fuck, he’s so fucking hot’ you think, as he kisses his way down your middle, over your dress until he reaches the hem where he can start kissing at your skin. You sigh, your head falling back again at the sensation of his lips kissing across your hips and then down your thighs. 

His fingers spread your legs and he gives a small nip to the inside of your thigh and you gasp at the small feeling of pain, that quickly turns to pleasure, as yet another wave of arousal floods between your legs.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping.” he says as his finger scoops up the arousal thats begining to drip down your thighs, bringing it up to his mouth. You watch hypnotised as he sucks on his fingers. “Damn, trouble, you tast so fucking good.” he says as he slips his fingers from his mouth. It’s so filthy. He has barely done anything and you’re a fucking goner.

His tongue suddenly crashes between your folds. “FUCK!” you cry out loudly. His fingers trace over your thighs, reaching for your own fingers which you entwine with his. He’s got his eyes closed, savouring every moan, every little gasp he pulls from you. 

He can tell you’re getting close from how your cunt begins to grind itself down against his tongue, chasing you’re high, but to allow you to have it would be too easy. He listens closely to your breathing, your moans; one… two… he suddenly moves his mouth away and you want to scream. He playfully nips at the inside of your thigh, almost hard enough to bruise. You really do scream now in frustration. “Told you I could bite.” he says coily as he mumbles against your skin. 

He licks another stripe through your folds as if in apology, as if to soothe the sting but his tongue flicks at your sensitive clit before he sucks it hard between his lips and you cry out again. “Mmmm.” he hums against your cunt, “you sound so pretty when you scream like that.”

You want to cry, you are so sensitive and overstimulated but suddenly he’s lapping at your pussy again and you’re melting back into the bed as your muscles begin to relax again with the long slow licks of his tongue.

When you both begin to feel the build of your climax again he doesn’t pull away this time. He lets you have it, your thighs closing around his head, hips bucking off the bed as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. He keeps going, his mouth lapping up everything you’ll give him until you're pulling yourself away from him. Tears well in the corners of your eyes from the over stimulation as you pant and whine and rub your thighs together, desperate for the feeling to dissipate. He grabs at your ankles, holding you still as you flop back into the pillows at the top of the bed.

“So good for me Trouble, you’re doing so good.” he says as he crawls up the bed to kiss you. 

Although he’s wiped at his mouth, the taste of you still remains and you lick it off every part of his mouth you can reach as he settles himself between your legs.

His hands slide up your thighs before they’re grabbing ahold of your waist and suddenly he’s flipping you, his head crashing into the pillows as you straddle his hips. Your lips race to chase his as you continue to pant breathlessly into his mouth, another flood of arousal soaking between your legs. 

His fingers reach for the bottom of your dress, lifting it up and off your head, leaving you finally, completely naked before him. “Fuck, trouble,” he moans as his eyes drink you in, “has anyone told you how absolutely fucking perfect you are.” You giggle and blush as you lean down to kiss him. “No. No. Look at me.” he says as he takes your head in his hands and moves you away from him so you have to look at him. He’s giving you that look with his eyes again as he holds your face in place, not allowing you to break eye contact with him for one single moment as he begins to grind his hips up against you, his rock hard cock grinding against your clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. “So fucking perfect.” he repeats. “Now tell me, trouble, how do you want me to fuck you?” You can’t think, your eyes closing as you try to focus your thoughts as his skin drags across your clit teasingly. He gently taps your cheek with his fingers, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. “Eyes on me Trouble,” he says, “find your words, tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You shake your head as you close your eyes again, really unable to think. “Options.” you say breathlessly, your eyes flying open, before he can punish you for breaking eye contact again. “Give me options.” 

“Okay.” he concedes with a small nod and a smile. “Okay, pretty girl.” he repeats again soothingly as he pulls you back down closer to him, his lips kissing you sweetly and encouragingly, aware he’s over stimulating your brain. “I can fuck you like this.” he says as he looks into your eyes. His hand slowly trails down to wrap around your throat, his other hand still cradling the back of your head as he flips you again. “Or I can fuck you like this.” he says as he continues to slowly grind himself against your sex. “Or,” he says as he lowers his head down to the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply as he speaks directly into your ear, “I can flip you over and fuck you from behind.” You sigh as his words go straight to your core again.

“The last one.” you say breathlessly as your eyes close.

“MMM.” he hums into your ear as his teeth nip at your jaw, satisfied with your response. He pushes you back into the bed slightly as he lifts himself onto his knees, his hands moving away from your face and you watch him eagerly as you await his next move. He leans over to the bedside table, reaching into the draw for a condom, lazily tugging at his length with one hand whilst he uses his teeth and the other hand to open it up. You’re almost starring as he’s rolling it down the length of his cock, fully taking in his erect size. He smirks when he looks up to notice you nibbling at your lower lip.

“Come here, trouble.” he says before he’s flipping you over, your head finding a comfortable position on the pillow as he lifts your ass into the air. 

He slides his fingers down your opening before placing two fingers slowly inside you, stretching you out and you let out another breathy moan at the feeling. He pumps them in and out of you a couple more times before he slowly lets them slide out of you, his fingertips dragging agonisingly across your clit before he uses them to pump his cock again a couple times, shifting himself into position.

His fingers grip tightly onto your hips as he lines himself up and slowly pushes himself inside you, your back arching with the stretch, head shifting as you let out another moan of satisfaction into the pillow. “Mmm, let me hear you baby.” he says as his hand removes itself from your hip to reach for the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he turns your head back towards him.

“Fuck.” you hiccup as he pulls himself out little by little before he’s slamming his hips forward against your ass, pushing himself in even deeper.

“Fuck, trouble. So fucking tight for me.” 

You lose all ability to speak as he begins fucking into you, slowly building his pace until he’s fucking into you at a wicked speed. You want to scream again, your face screwing up in ecstasy as his cock continuously hits that spot inside you that makes you want to explode. His other hand reaches around for your throat, pulling you back up as he leans over you so he can stick his tongue back into your mouth. It adjusts his angle somehow, making the feeling in your cunt even more intense. Your mouth falls open as he holds it there, you’re panting and moaning into his mouth. “Look at me.” he encourages as his thumb rubs soothingly across your jaw. You can’t help but obliged. 

It’s too much. It’s the hottest, most filthiest sex you’ve ever had. You know you’ll never be the same again. Nothing, no one, will ever compare to this. “Please, please, please.” you find yourself repeating as your eyes close again. You’re so close and he knows it because your cunt is constricting like a vice around his cock. 

He moves his hand down to circle at your clit between your legs. “Come on, trouble, give it to me,” he coaches, “Fuck, baby!” he snarls against your mouth as he smashes his lips to yours again, pulling at your lips bruisingly. 

You pull your mouth away from him, wailing, gasping for breath as your body convulses around him, his pace only slowing slightly to help you ride out your climax. “So good.” he coos, “My trouble, so fucking good for me. Atta girl.”

His pace is steady as he feels you begin to relax again but you’re still so stimulated. You’re surprised he’s still going. “Your turn.” you say to him breathlessly and he smiles. When he doesn’t say anything you decide to push your luck. “How do you want to fuck me?” you coo, now you’re the one who’s eye fucking him.

You watch as he closes his eyes, head falling back. He chuckles then, something low and devious. He suddenly pulls out of you. It makes you feel so empty. You’re about to whine but then he’s flipping you over and pulling your legs together and then over his shoulder as he bends you in half. He lines himself back up with your entrance and slips back in with ease and you gasp as he bottoms out, the position making him hit that devastating spot inside you instantly. He leans all the way over so he can kiss you, his mouth swallowing every moan, gasp and breath that leaves your mouth as he pounds down into you like something fierce.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” you whine as the sensitivity grows too much. His pelvis is slamming against your clit with every thrust. Now you really are crying, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel yourself clamping down on his cock again. 

“Oh my god, baby.” he says. “You’re so fucking wet. So fucking good. Such a good fucking girl.”

It’s a guttural wail you let loose into the room as you cum and his head dips down as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, his thrusts growing even faster as he chases his high. “Stay with me, Trouble,” he says, trying to ground you. He lifts his head, hand reaching for your face, forcing you to look at him. “Just a little bit longer, baby, just a little bit-” but he can’t finish his words. He’s so fucking close. One pump, two- he suddenly stills as he buries himself inside you, his forehead pressing into yours grounding you both as he pumps his seed into the condom inside you. You whine at the feeling of his cock pulsating against the still extremely sensitive spot inside you.

“You did so good.” His voice reassures as he strokes soothingly across your cheek forcing you to look at him as you breathe deeply and heavily in your come down. “So fucking good.” he says as he kisses your forehead before slipping out of you. 

With his body no longer crowding you you fully relax back into his sheets, your eyes closing as you try to regulate. You think you might even pass out. You think you may even have blacked out for a second, but you know you haven’t as your eyes fly open and your body jumps at the feeling of a cool damp cloth between your legs.

He watches you content as you suddenly relax once more, the cool washcloth doing wonders to soothe the hot swollen feeling between your legs as he cleans you up. You definitely black out then, completely exhausted.

You are disturbed again a few minutes later, a soft reassuring hand brushing up your legs. “Here.” his voice says softly as he sits on the side of the bed next to you, waiting for you to open your eyes and look at him so he can pass you a glass of water.

The cold liquid does wonders to help regulate your temperature and you can’t help but stare at him again in wonder as he sits before you in a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. He leans over you, kissing the top of your head, breaking you from your sex induced stupor.

“You can stay if you want.” You nod your head, you have no energy to move yet.

“Okay.” he says with a soft smile as he takes the now mostly empty glass from your fingers. “I’m gonna go get you another one of these,” he says motioning to the glass now in his hands, “you go to the toilet, there’s a spare toothbrush under the sink, get yourself ready for bed and when you get back we can cuddle.”

You still have no words, just dociley nod and agree. You wobble slightly as you try to stand, blood rushing back to your limbs and his hand reaches out to steady you. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” You say as you sway slightly and wave him away.

He just chuckles. “Whatever you say, trouble.”

You crawl into bed beside him 5 minutes later, tucking yourself into his side as his arm wraps around you. “You really are Professor Brat Tamer huh?” you joke as you nestle into his bare chest.

“And don’t you know it.” he smiles, pulling you tighter into his side so he can place a kiss to the top of your head.

You wake just after 6am, sneaking from his bed with a smile on your face as you pick up your clothes before doing the walk of shame back to your student halls. The sun is just coming up and the leaves are just starting to change, you can still feel the alcohol in your system as well as the after effects of your orgasms and you know, although you’re tired, today is gonna be a great first day… or was it?

________________________-

@tarzinnia @withahappyrefrain @xenasolos @sincericida

Is this a one off? I don't know. Is there a lot of room for this to turn into a collection of shorts... yeah, maybe.