Reblog To Put One Of These In Your Mutuals’ Pocket When They’re Not Looking

Something is happening to me...

morning~

i just know atsumu LOVES gossip , he is just so damn interesting in how you discovered that your coworker was cheating on her husband with the boss. he’s on the edge of his seat, gasping like never before “NO WAYYY” he leans in eyes widening “ HOWD YA KNOW ?! YOU CAUGHT EM’ HOLY—” he’s now fully invested, he wants every single detail and he will complain if you don’t know everything.

atsumu is sitting cross-legged in front of you, nodding along like this is the most important thing he’s ever heard. he interrupts every few seconds—“wait, wait, back up. so he found out from his cousin? NOOO, that’s so messy.” “and then what? did he leave ? please tell me he left ‘er.” by the time you’re done, he sighs dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “holy shit that was good.” he grins, poking your cheek. “babe, ya gotta keep me updated. this is important.”

atsumu definitely pulls a “who are we to judge” after destroying the person he was talking about

:3

Fantasy right here

unsubtle ✩ peter parker

word count ✎ 5.4k

tropes ✎ avenger!reader / enemies to lovers / smut

warnings ✎ masturbation, dom/sub, nipple play, overstimulation, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, peter parker doesn’t just have bde he has a big dick, handjob, voice kink, grinding, cowgirl, multiple orgasms

summary ✎ on a mission with the avengers, the team unexpectedly crashes at a motel and you get stuck sharing a bed with peter, who you can’t stand. to make matters worse, you’re ovulating and can’t sleep without touching yourself.

a/n ✎ hey besties, i’m reposting because it didn’t show up in the tags yesterday :(( like i said yesterday, i’ve been dying to write and post fics for a long time but i was too insecure and scared to try. part of the reason why i was inspired to make a new blog and give it a try is because of the great writers i followed so i want to thank @duskholland @worldoftom @venomsilk @vendettaparker @userholland @t-lostinworlds for their beautiful writings that motivated me so much when i need it. you’re all icons ♡

You were in hell.

No, really. You weren’t much of a religious woman but right now, you felt like there was some deity out there who had decided to curse you with the worst luck possible. Here you were, doing a good deed by helping free people being held hostage by a Hydra subdivision, and you were rewarded by Tong making you share a room in a dusty, cramped motel with another Avenger you couldn’t stand. Just your luck, there was only one bed and, after almost killing each other to see who would take the floor, you both gave in.

And now you were lying next to the guy, sharing his body heat, whilst your own body was thrumming with arousal, at the height of ovulation. And Peter, deep asleep as he was, smelt fucking heavenly, like your very own personal temptation.

There was no chance of you sleeping. None. Not with your thighs rubbing together as you lay on your side. Not with the way Peter was shifting behind you. You closed your eyes and prayed. Whatever you had done, you would undo it. You didn’t care. You would do whatever it took. Just take away the need, and you would serve soup at a homeless shelter for a month if it meant being able to get some rest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking deep breaths. A minute passed. Then another. Another. You listened to your heartbeat and Peter’s even breathing.

Cursing silently, you shuffled away from him. “Peter,” you whispered.

No response.

Spider boy was dead to the world.

You carefully slipped one hand down to unbutton your jeans, and made as little movement as possible to work your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. Pausing, waiting. No response from your companion, so you pushed a little further, stretching your underwear. The noise of the slick between your thighs was audible and you winced, waiting for something, anything. Peter was still asleep, so you swiped your fingers up your slit. Shaking at the abrupt touch, you forced down a gasp, and drew your hand up just a little to stroke in minute circles against your clit.

Trying to keep yourself still was difficult. You needed more friction, more speed, but your arm shook and so did your hip, tugging at the blanket thrown over the both of you. Your other hand slipped over your mouth, pressing down hard to muffle the soft whining that tried to escape you. And when Peter shifted behind you with a soft noise, you ripped your hand out of your pants, swallowing.

You paused, listening, waiting, wondering if he was going to stir and catch you in the act. The sound of his breathing as it evened out seemed so loud in the otherwise silent room. It must have been several minutes before you dared to slip your fingers back to where they were. You bit down on your lip, rubbing gently again, keeping your arm so tight to your body that your muscles started to ache. But it was worth it – the pleasure was slowly growing between your thighs, and the fabric of your panties muffled what must have been an impressive wet noise.

Peter arched, groaning, and rolled onto his back. Freezing, you yanked your hand out again, placing it on your stomach. Other than a long, deep exhale, he didn’t move, but now his arm was braced against your back, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin t-shirt. You pressed your lips together, and then you shuffled a little further away. The blanket slid up, just about covering part of you, and cool air wafted against you. Gritting your teeth against the sudden cold, you took a deep breath, then slid your hand back down once more. Just one orgasm. Just one. Then you could sleep.

You wriggled your panties down into your pants, fingers going straight to your clit. You needed to make this quick and quiet. So you moved in fast little circles, your hand over your mouth again as you tried to stop your hips riding your hand they way they seemed to be trying to. The wet noise was almost audible now, and your cheeks burnt with embarrassment. If Peter woke up right now—

Oh god, he was a fucking coworker you didn’t like, and here you were touching yourself whilst he slept beside you. And yet you didn’t stop, pressing your head into one of the pillows beneath you that Peter had brought along for the mission. Bad idea. He had apparently used it before, and it smelt of him, masculine and arousing. The scent seemed to drop straight to where your fingers were stroking, and you whimpered.

Peter stirred.

You froze. Fuck, fuck—

Nothing.

You almost growled. It was like he was unwittingly edging you like this, interrupting you before you could reach that edge. God. What you wouldn’t give for him to just fucking slide into you, right now. His fingers, his dick, whatever he was willing to spare for you. You needed it.

Wetting your fingers with your slick again, you returned to touching yourself, panting softly into your hand. You couldn’t keep doing this. You were going to go insane. The need throbbed beneath your fingers, like an ache that wouldn’t go away, and you moved your hand to bury your face in the pillow, sneaking your fingers up to play with your nipple. Anything for more stimulation, for more touch, for more.

Your thighs trembled, and you fought to keep them from moving too much, to give yourself just enough space to touch without broadcasting to your sleeping companion that you were trying to cum with him lying next to you like this. Your breathing came sharply into the pillow as the heat coiled beneath your fingers and began to grow.

Peter rolled onto his side once more, chest towards your back, and you bit down a whimpered curse as you stilled. A shiver rushed through you, and you wanted to scream.

A low chuckle filled the air, curving down your spine like a warm touch. Your eyes shot wide open.

“You’re the least subtle person I know, Y/N,” Peter murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

That heat between your thighs throbbed again. “You were awake,” you panted.

“Yeah sweetheart, I was awake the moment you said my name,” he told you. “But you didn’t say it again, so I thought I’d wait and see what you wanted. And let me tell you, I wasn’t disappointed in the slightest to find out.”

You stilled. “I—I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—“

“I’m not mad, Y/N,” he said softly. “Hell, I was waiting for you to ask me for a hand.”

Your mouth went dry and you immediately found yourself wondering what Peter’s big fingers would feel like between your thighs, working your through that urge. “You,” you swallowed, “you’re…ok with…me…”

“Y/N,” his voice was breathy, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You felt hot. “I just…I need…something.”

“How about we get your clothes off and I start you off with my fingers?” Peter suggested gently. “Then maybe after that you might be able to think clearer.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you watched as Peter eased your fingers out of your pants. Warm golden light filled the space when he switched on his lamp, and he let go of your wrist to hook his fingers into one of the belt loops on your jeans, tugging you back under the blanket so that your back was pressed against the firm slope of his chest. Your ass met his hips, and oh, ok, ok.

Peter tugged at your pants, working them down to your knees. Your thighs were wet, and you bit your lip as he pulled them up to slide your jeans over your feet. There was a soft sound as they were tossed with their bags, and then Peter’s hands were at the hem of your shirt, stripping that off. You were quickly left in just your bra.

“I’m going to pull the blanket down, ok?” Peter asked.

You nodded. “Sure.”

Peter folded the blanket over, baring your torso, and you arched to let him unhook your bra and slide it off you. Your nipples were immediately obvious, but you didn’t have time to cover yourself before one hand was cupping a breast, the other tossing your bra to join the growing pile of clothes. The big, warm hands groped at you gently, thumbs pebbling the stiff nipples, and your hips bucked. Your ass rocked against his erection.

Peter rolled you onto your back, and knelt up over you. His head immediately dipped to your breast, and his now free hand slipped between your thighs. You almost choked on your moan. His fingers were big, and rough, and they rubbed gently against your clit with just enough friction to have you almost sobbing at the touch.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, and ran his tongue over your nipple.

You squeaked, grabbing hold of the blanket, and Peter reached down to guide your hand to his shoulders gently as he stroked a little faster.

“You’re so fucking wet, sweetheart,” he added. “Must hurt where my fingers are, huh?”

“God,” you gasped, “yeah, it hurts…”

Peter gently probed at your slit with a finger. “I can fix that.”

“Please,” was the only thing you said.

If this were any other time, you would be more coherent, more sexy, more verbal, but Peter slipped a finger into you and you threw your head back and moaned. His thumb came to rest on your clit and began to rub, hard and fast. Tremors rocked your body at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, and Peter leaned over you, his mouth on your nipple, one hand resting on your head as his finger fucked you. The wet noise of that combined with the wet noise of his tongue, and you gripped his t-shirt tight, your hips bucking desperately into his hand.

Peter brushed another finger along your slit, and slowed his hand down, gently working it into you. You whined, another tremor rocking you, and you tried to relax. Peter’s thumb kept rubbing at your nub. Your nails dug into him. Peter grunted softly, and when he had gently spread you open for him, he sped his hand up once more, angling his fingers to—

You came with a cry, clamping down on his fingers and wriggling your hips desperately as the sudden orgasm washed over you. Holy shit. Holy shit. You weren’t the most experienced woman in the Avengers, sure, but coming that quick, that hard—? You could hear yourself whining as Peter worked you through it, all the while his lips sucked at your nipple and his thumb rubbed at your clit until your muscles felt like water.

Your hips quivered as he kept stroking, the sudden electric overstimulation pulling a groan from you. Peter nodded wordlessly and slipped his fingers out of you. Laying back, you watched as he raised his hand to his mouth and began to lick his fingers clean. Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. He kept those big brown eyes on yours as he did so.

“Is,” you swallowed, your lips trembling, “this your wicked plan to have your way with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter teased, leaning over you. “I’m just doing you a favour while you’re suffering.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, sure, you’re totally,” your words caught in your throat as his hips slotted between your thighs, “free of ulterior motives.”

Two strong arms came down either side of your head as Peter leaned closer, the warmth of his defined abs separated from your own by the old white t shirt he wore. Fuck, he was broad. You had always wondered what the hell that spider bite did to him to make him that big. And yet he didn’t scare you. Sure, you’d seen superheroes and mutants and super soldiers before, but a boy like Peter who’s your age, a boy as powerful and relentless as him, there should’ve been something stressing you about him. Especially since neither of you like the other and are always fighting even during missions, driving Tony and Steve crazy. Though you had to admit, you probably would have been just as turned on by him if he was scary.

So you had a thing for putting yourself in danger…

“Well, that depends,” he murmured. “Are you feeling better?”

“…what happens if I say no?” You asked.

Peter grinned. “I have a couple ways of dealing with that.”

You blinked. “…yeah? Does one of them involve needing protection?”

“Probably.” Peter looked at his bag, then at you. “But if it helps, I’m clean, and since my spider-bite, I don’t even know if I have a chance of knocking anyone up.”

Still, you watched him reach over into his bag, and he pulled a little foil packet out of one of the pockets, handing it to you. His hips pressed against yours as he did so, and if he was trying to hint at something or if it was a genuine mistake, well – you neither knew nor cared, because you could feel his cock pulsing through his jeans. You couldn’t believe Peter Parker had a big dick.

“Your call,” he said gently.

You blinked. “…what’s the thing that doesn’t involve needing protection? Just…so I know.” Jesus, there was no way that thing was gonna fit in you.

“I mean you might have noticed I’m a pretty talkative guy and I like to run my mouth,” Peter said.

Your brow arched. “Are you being delicate with me? Right now?”

Peter gazed at you. “Not a fan of delicate? How about I just offer to eat you out then.”

You swallowed, nodding as your breathing wavered a little. “That…that works,” you agreed.

“Glad to hear it.”

Peter’s head immediately ducked, and you watched, squirming a little, as his lips pressed to your ribcage. The slide of his skin tickled yours as he slowly kissed your stomach, then your hipbones, and then two fingers were spreading your thighs wider, and his tongue licked a long, broad stripe up from the base of your slit to your nub.

“Ohmyfuckinggod,” You gasped out as his nose was pressed directly against your clit. His lips surrounded it, sucking.

“Hard and fast or do you want a bit more to build you up?” Peter asked, his voice muffled.

“Whatever means you don’t fucking stoP!” You yelped. “Oh fuck, don’t—don’t be a dick about this!”

“Yes ma’am,” Peter chuckled.

One hand slung over your belly, holding you against his mouth, as the other cupped your breast, gently squeezing, playing with the nipple. Your hands clung to Peter’s head, your nails digging into the scalp. Peter purred pleasantly, the vibrations hitting your clit and jolting your hips into his mouth.

You abandoned holding his hair, rocking desperately against his mouth as the man between your thighs—oh god what was he doing with his tongue, fuck yes—ate you out like you were his last meal. You slung your thighs over his shoulders, your heels digging into his muscular back as you thumped your fists against the lumpy mattress beneath you, sucking in heavy breaths.

Your back arched as he abandoned pinning you down to grab both breasts, his thumbs teasing and tugging at your nipples. You watched him play whenever your eyes could meet his, looking at the mouth and the pink flash of tongue and always those big brown irises, looking at you like he could give you head blindfolded.

Oh my god maybe he could.

Nails dragged over your ribs, down your belly, before fingertips ran over the scratches and back up to play with your breasts again.

“Peter,” you felt your stomach swoop, “Peter, fuck, oh my god, fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Both your hands clapped over your mouth as he pinched gently at the stiff peaks of your breasts, and you came with a muffled scream, your hips riding his mouth frantically. He just pulled you closer, let his lips rub against the sensitive nub of your clit, of your folds, and shook his head to work that friction until you were sobbing beneath his tongue.

You twitched beneath him, your skin oversensitive to even the gentlest brush, and Peter let your whimper under him like that for a good few seconds as his tongue lapped gently to bring you down from your orgasm. Slumping limp against the bedding, you panted sharply, whining when the bastard kissed at your thigh, scratching you. A thumb teased your nipple. You slapped his hand away, and all he did was chuckle.

“God you’re cute when you’re coming,” Peter murmured, and damn him if that didn’t make you throb. You’d barely recovered from your last orgasm, you didn’t need to want another one.

“Shut up,” you panted.

He was watching you the whole time as he wiped your slick off his chin, somehow managing to look innocent like he hadn’t just had you screaming into your own hand, and slid down onto the mattress to lie next to you. He didn’t speak, just waited.

That throbbing didn’t go away.

You looked at the little foil packet. Then you looked over at Peter, and one hand reached for the button on his jeans. He didn’t help or hinder you, just let you unzip him, tug down the hem of his jeans and push your fingers past his black boxers.

Yeah, he was about as big as you thought he was.

You felt yourself throb again. Well, if all else failed…

“Is that gonna fit?” you heard yourself ask.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. “Fuck, that’s a question I like hearing,” he admitted. “It should do, never had a problem with it before.”

You swallowed, and Peter arched up to let you pull his jeans down until his boxers were visible. Reaching in, you freed his cock from his boxers, and ran your fingers over it. Peter moaned softly.

“You often get asked if it’ll fit?” You asked.

Peter reached over, his fingers slipping beneath your chin. “Y/N. You don’t have to.”

Your brow furrowed. “I never back down from a challenge. You know this.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself because you’ve got something to prove,” Peter said softly.

You shot him a grin. “Worried you won’t last, Spider-Man?”

You barely saw his hand grab your waist before you were being tugged into his lap and Peter was sitting up, shucking his shirt off. “My dick is a one and done offer, but remember what I just did to you with my mouth and hands,” he purred. “You’re practically in heat so I need to make sure you’re completely satisfied. And I’ll take as long as I need.”

You exhaled heavily. “You always this talkative?” you croaked.

Peter kicked off his jeans and moved you to straddle his waist as he tugged his boxers down. You felt his cock just about pressing against your clit, still erect enough to be able to do so.

“So,” Peter’s voice cut through your thoughts, “you want the condom?”

You shook your head. “Nah.”

He nodded. “Ok. So, what’s your favourite position?”

“Uh,” you paused, “I—I don’t know, I haven’t exactly done all that much.”

Peter nodded. “Stay in my lap then, it’ll make it easier for you to control things like that.”

How could he say this in such a blasé way? It was like he was discussing the weather. You just nodded, watching as he sat back, and then you clambered onto him. Your eyes found his cock, and then your hands, wrapping around him and rubbing gently. The man beneath you moaned, brown eyes disappearing briefly as they shut.

“Move at your own pace,” he said softly, and lay down, his hands running up your belly to cup your breasts.

Your lashes fluttered as your wrist jerked, moving slowly up and down his cock. Shuffling forward a little, you braced the tip of him against your folds, wetting him. His tongue flicked out to lick his lip, and his thumbs gently circled your nipples as you lowered yourself. The slightly burn of the stretch was more from your lack of action than lack of preparation, and you kept it slow, letting yourself adjust as the first inch filled you. A soft moan filled the room, and you shut your eyes.

“You ok?”

He was watching you when you opened your eyes, hips dropping a little further. “Yeah,” you breathed, grasping his forearms as the next inch slipped in. Another moan, louder this time, escaped you. His eyes were fixed on you, gauging your every reaction, checking for pain, for nervousness. You let a little more of him fill you. “You gone all shy, Parker?” you added.

His brow rose. “You’ve got half of my dick in you and you think I’m shy all of a sudden?”

You spluttered, pausing. “You’re not talking,” you pointed out.

Peter grinned at that. “You want me to talk?”

Fuck. You’d been caught. “It’s just weird you’re not running your mouth, that’s all.”

Peter’s eyes were fixed on where you were slowly slipping more of him into you. “That’s what you’re telling yourself, huh? Whilst you’re naked and sinking down into my lap? After I just made you cum twice?”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and Peter reached up to drag your head forward so that his mouth pressed against yours. Heat surged through your body, and you returned the kiss eagerly as your ass met his lap, legs draped either side of him. Both hands came back to your breasts, palms rubbing against your nipples, and you braced your hands on his chest as your back arched. Your hips rolled a little, working gently back and forth on him. A low groan buzzed against your lips.

“All yours, Y/N,” Peter murmured softly, and nipped at your lower lip.

“You’re not gonna help?” you teased.

His eyes glinted. “Later. When you ask me to.”

As you used his chest to lean up and start to rock, you had to wonder what he meant by that. But it didn’t take you long to stop caring about that once you began moving your hips.

Your eyes closed, and you began to roll, back and forth, the pressure of him filling you sating some of that irritating need that had been plaguing you all damn day. And for all the thickness of him, you were wet, and there was no trouble letting him work in and out of you. The rough pads of his thumbs on your nipples sent little flecks of heat to your core as you rode him, and he seemed content to let you do what you liked without much other than a few soft groans.

“S-so.” You opened your eyes and your mouth went dry at the sight of the pale grey eyes gazing up at you in curiosity. “W-what? What’s the look for?”

“You’re cute,” Peter told you casually, and his thumb slid down between your thighs.

You bowed as he began to rub at your clit, and now his hips started to oh so slowly thrust up into you. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he kept it languid and casual, like it was no big deal that there was a woman on top of him with his dick in her.

Fuck. Maybe this was no big deal.

“Penny for your thoughts, Y/N,” Peter drawled. “You ok?”

You nodded. “Been a while.”

His thumb pressed a little harder and you whined. Licking your lips, you arched and started to move a little faster in his lap, breath catching.

“You’re quiet,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Peter grinned, sounding genuinely amused, “are you saying you like the sound of my voice?”

Your cheeks burnt. “I’ve heard worse,” you muttered.

Peter snorted, and bucked his hips a little harder, his large hand palming your breast. “So you want me to talk to you while you ride me, is that it?”

“Mmm, maybe,” you whispered.

He smirked. “Sure. I can do that.”

Bracing yourself on his chest again, you sat up and began to bounce on him, a soft gasp escaping you. Peter’s breath came gentle but sharper, and the smirk wavered just a little.

“How long have you wanted to fuck me, Y/N?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes even as a soft wave of heat rolled over you. “Not answering that!”

“That,” he exhaled, “is code for ‘since I met you’ isn’t it?”

Groaning, you nevertheless sped up as the touch of his thumb started to work you slowly up, pleasure building gently. “Shhh and let me, mm, do this,” you complained.

Peter just laughed, the sound breathless and punctuated by sharp pants. “Hey, you asked me to talk,” he reminded you.

“Regretting it,” you panted.

There was a wet noise coming from between your thighs, and Peter’s hips rocked a little as your nails dug into his skin, the wiry hairs that covered his chest brushing against your fingers. Your eyes met his for a moment, and when he ran his tongue over his teeth, all you could think of was how he had reduced you to a mess with just his tongue. Shivering, your eyes closed, a bolt of heat pulsing around where he filled your.

“So should I shut up?” he breathed.

You groaned as you sped up, chasing that coiling heat. “F-fuck, just d-don’t stop!”

“No?”

His thumb slowed down just a little, enough to be noticeable, and you keened, your body moving frantically against his to make up for the loss of sensation.

“Fuck you,” you groaned. It wouldn’t be long. Your body was tensing, expectant of the relief.

“That what you’re into?” Peter’s thumb pressed harder all of a sudden, moving faster. “You like thinking, fuck, thinking ahh- about me taking- taking it away, Y/N? Leaving you hanging?”

A frustrated noise ripped out of your throat. “Don’t you dare!”

Almost—

There was a soft chuckle below you as you closed your eyes. “C’mon, Y/N.” His thumb—

You let out a sharp cry as you came around him, nails raking down his chest and pulling a sharp gasp from his lips before his moans curled along your skin with each clench of your walls around his cock. Your lips parted, heat flushing your body, and you shook in his lap. His name escaped you, filling the room, and finally you sagged against him, breathless and hot.

“Better?” Peter asked cheerfully.

“Yeah,” you gasped, slumping down onto his chest. “Yeah, I’m, I’m good.”

“Glad to be of service.” His hands gently grasped your shoulders, gently stroking, and you felt him twitching inside you.

“You—right, you didn’t,” you managed.

“Nope,” he agreed. “I can take care of it, though.”

You sat up, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine. You can—I’m good. Just give me a second and you can—yeah, go ahead.”

You were on your back before you even realised it, the man kneeling above you, arms caging you in. You gasped as he gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“This ok?” he asked casually.

“Yeah.” You wriggled your hips. “Should’ve known you mutant types were into this.”

Peter just chuckled. “You think a radioctive spider made me kinkier?”

Your thighs slid around his hips. “I’m just saying. You all get worked up so easily and that radioactivity combined with your skintight suit can’t be helping your temper.”

“My deepest,” his hips slid forward to meet yours with a gentle slap, “apologies, Ms. Y/N. Here was me thinking you enjoyed the skintight flight suit and mask.”

You moaned gently. “…all right, maybe it’s not the worst.”

“I knew you secretly liked it.”

And then he was fucking you, driving down into you fast and hard. Your head fell back as you arched up into the movements, heels digging into his back. The sound of them was noisier now after you’d gotten what you needed from him, and you felt less desperate now. You damn well hoped so, after three orgasms.

Possibly four, if he was determined.

His breathing was heavy, and when you looked up, gazing into the brown eyes, you found them lidded and hazy. It was a good look on him. You’d seen the full spectrum of his emotions, and here and now, with him leaned over you, it was the first time there hadn’t been a hint of sadness in there. You bit your lip, wanting to kiss him all of a sudden.

“Feel better?” Peter panted, his large hand spanning your hip, thumb rolling over your clit again.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, eyes fluttering shut, toes curling. “A-again?!”

“Can’t, god, can’t have you waking up in the—the night just to—mmm—get yourself off,” Peter teased with a wavering smirk that was undermined by his breathlessness.

“Much—much appreciated!” You managed to shoot back, but the way he was drilling you like this was rubbing up against your sweet spot, and you were starting to feel that heat coil between your thighs again even though you weren’t certain you’d get there before he did. Still, you cracked your eyes open to look at him, green meeting silver.

“Glad to be of service.”

His eyes shut tightly, and he trembled, his nails digging into your hip as his lips curled back over his teeth. A growl rumbled in his chest and his muscles tensed. It was—god, it was something to watch. You had never had sex with a guy who was as ripped as him before. In the dim light, the cuts and ripples of his muscular chest shone even before. Not to mention the freckles on his nose and that tongue.

“This—fuck—it’s ridiculous,” you complained, the frustration in your words as tattered by the moans that escaped you as his smirk had been. “H-how are you, fuck, this attractive?”

The brown eyes opened, meeting yours. “Keep talking.”

“Nnfuck.” You strained against his hands as took him in. “A-aren’t you d-done yet?”

“No.” It was firm. His thumb moved faster. “Talk.”

“Too good for the d­-damn Avengers,” you gasped out, as your toes curled. “Way too good!”

“Yeah?” His voice was ragged all of a sudden.

“Seriously,” you moaned, “you’re all like this- and- god- th-they’ve got sticks- up their-!”

Peter’s thrusting was growing uneven, and you weren’t going to last much longer either. His fingers flexed around your wrists, reminding you of all that power coiled under his touch, capable of pinning you down, of hurting you, but you knew he never would.

His teeth flashed in a grin. “C’mon. Cum.”

You obeyed, tipping over that edge and clamping down on him for the second time this evening as he fucked you through your fourth orgasm. Thumbing at your clit, he was shaking, but he didn’t stop, not until you were groaning from the sudden sensation of too much. Then his hips were sliding away from yours, and the hand on your wrists gripped his cock and stroked rapidly. Twitching, he spilled onto your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed, slumping onto his knees.

You were still panting from your own orgasm, the strings of his cum hot and wet on your belly as you lay back. Arms still above your head, your eyes closed, and you let your legs relax, swinging wide open against the floor below you. After a moment, Peter fell to his side next to you, raking his nails through his chestnut curls. Slowly, the sweat began to cool on your skin, and you shivered.

“Let me.”

Peter moved around to your right, and a few moments later, you felt a cloth wiping the mess from your skin. You rubbed your eyes, exhaling heavily.

“That was good,” you murmured.

“Good?” he repeated. “Fuck, I’m losing my edge.”

The cloth left your belly. you rolled over, looking at him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stroke your ego. That was perfect. I needed that.” Your brow arched. “Better?”

Peter grinned. “Absolutely. I enjoyed myself too, in case you were wondering.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Your ego.”

“Almost as big as my dick.” Peter reached for his clothes. “You wanna dress, or sleep naked?”

“Naked,” You replied, pushing yours above your head. “We can just snuggle up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Peter pulled the blankets back, and shuffled closer to you, rolling you into his arms and tucking you beneath the covers. You curled into the warmth, relaxing.

“Next time you feel the urge, you’re welcome to ask for it whenever,” Peter murmured in your ear.

Your cheeks flushed.

"Thank you, chief" we all say in unison

Omg I forgot I have tumblr oops, but here’s the geto to the gojo art hehe 🤭 p.s I still don’t know how to use this app 😭

Worm? :(

cdr’s thoughts on bucky’s blue henley

how dare you come for me with these six fucking words 

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

- 

Bucky’s trying to do laundry. He hates it when the compound crew does it because frankly, all he’s got is time most days and it makes him feel a little funny when other people wash his clothes. They shouldn’t have to do that– paid for it or not. Anyway, he’s trying to do laundry, but of course– who decides to fuck up his perfectly domestic day? 

Yeah.

Keep reading

Hidden from sight

Synopsis: In a state of humiliation, you attempt to hide an injury from your master, Sukuna, this, of course, does not go to plan.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Foolish.

That, you were sure, was what Lord Sukuna would call you when you returned to the estate.

He was a harsh, and strict man. He never liked for you to stray from his presence too long, and more than anything else, he was mean. He said what he wanted, and always meant it.

You had begged the king of curses to allow you a day amongst the townsfolk, a day to explore the gardens outside of Sukunas domain, a day to see and hear and feel the world you so rarely saw.

The king, of course, was not too keen on this. You were not a member of kitchen staff, or a concubine, or a groundskeeper either. Like many people on the compound, you were simply a servant to the king. Yet, your relationship was not one that could be compared to your peers.

Beloved to the king, perhaps being too strong of a word. You were special to him, however. He expected your attendance at his meals or downtime. One might think you were close, but the truth of the matter was:

You hardly knew the king.

And he barely spoke to you either.

You had come to the palace an adult, knowing little of the king's mannerisms. Meeting him on rare occasions proved a thrilling experience. He was unlike any man you had ever met.

One evening, your presence was needed in the bath chamber. You had been told to assist in the cleaning of your king. Nonplussed as you were, you pled your case. An uninformed and inexperienced launderer. You were in no position to touch the king, too dirty yourself to even wish for such a position.

Having been told to never deny the king of anything he demanded, you were certain the response would not be one of pleasure. You escaped that day unscathed, a mere,

"Then depart from my sight"

Uttered from him, eyes closed, hand shooing you away.

But time passed and with the phases of the moon, so too did your relationship with the king alter. Night after night you grew more and more certain the king was calling for you directly. You grew acquainted with the king, with his bloodthirsty antics, with his unforgiving nature, with his intolerance for rebellion.

You served him through it all.

Twas' your job.

A launderer.

A foot servant for your employer.

You were sure, he would not be forgiving if you returned to his estate in such disarray. Only having warned you to be mindful a mere two hours prior, you limped from the ache in the side of your pelvis.

Your feet shook on the uneven ground beneath you. You had only just left the village you so desired to see, basket in hand full of goods to bring to your fellow maids. Evening was falling and the memory of the king's warning flooded your mind.

As you had made the trek back, the sight of a deer in the woods had shocked you. Certain you were looking at a curse, you gasped, lunged for cover, and promptly tripped over a stone lining the path through the woods.

Too eager to protect the contents of your basket your hands had been too occupied to catch your weight. You were certain there were scratched on your knees, but the real pain came from just above your hip, where an ill-placed stone had bludgeoned your flesh.

Dark red sept through your kimono, it had never looked so much like your kings. But he would not be pleased. Of this you were sure.

Foolish.

Too easily frightened.

Weak.

You knew little of Lord Sukuna's vast abilities. One thing you knew for certain was that the king had the ability to feel the souls of those around him. He knew when someone was guilty when someone was excited and fearful. He could sense it as if he was feeling those things himself. For this reason, before drawing too close to the palace gates, you steadied your heart and mind, reaching for peace as to not alert Sukuna of your presence so soon.

You went first to the washhouse, and rid yourself of the filthy clothes. After which, you were at once able to see the depth of your injuries. It had hurt, your way back to the palace, but after seeing them for what they were, you had to fight to keep the spike of panic from rising. How could you hide this? Hide it from him?

You wash your kimono of the coppery smell, disposing of it behind a pile of extra wash bins. You occupy your hands by dabbing at the open wound, wrapping yourself in a linen cloth, and dressing in one of the extra cleaning uniforms.

You were so caught up in walking in a straight line back to the estate, you almost forgot your gifts and whine out at the thought of making the trip back to the wash house. But you steel yourself and do it.

By the time you make it to the kitchens, it is far later than you intended. You simply drop the basket off on a staff table, wobbling to your chambers.

All you want is to sleep, to hide yourself from all the noises of the estate night shift, but the throbbing pain in your side is intense, and worse, you've bled through both your linen bandage as well as a laundry uniform. Even so, you are too tired to come up with a way to right this, you decide, that will be the job of tomorrow y/n.

-

Of course, when you arise the next morning, unable to sit up, you regret your choices of the night prior. Unintentionally a wail escapes your lips, the pain is so deep, so unchanging that you want to cry. You feel the humiliation once again from yesterday, what would Sukuna say if he knew of this? Would he remove you from the estate? Or would he simply look at you with disgust? Would he ever speak to you again?

Something you were sure of, at least, was that there was no way you would be able to work, bent over a wash basin, in the condition you are in. Knowing that, you were concerned with how long you could hide away in your chambers before someone came to get you.

Several maids had already come to speak through your door, asking about your trip, the basket of goodies you left in the kitchen, and eventually, in concerned tones, if you were alright.

You reassured them in a comforting voice that you were quite well but exhausted from your journey and would likely retire before dinner was served.

You had never been up however, still, the other launderers did not question your words, sure you just needed a nights more rest. There was, however, a person in the estate you could never evade, and contrary to popular belief, it was not Lord Sukuna. He certainly did not care enough for you to need to hide yourself from him, however, his loyal servant and chef, Uraume, always had everything in order and was aware of all the "goings on" that occurred within the estate walls.

Only a few minutes after the communal dinner bell was rung did Uraume arrive at your chambers, requesting your presence. Unfortunately, they were not so easy to dissuade. I have no appetite did not work, I long for rest, did not work, I tire from my journey, did not work. None of it worked. They were determined, if nothing else, to see you. There was nothing to be done.

In a grand effort, you slid from your bed to the floor, a dull moan muffled by the mattress as you strained your legs to rise but it was a tireless endeavor. Wincing, you shuddered to the door, opened it a crack to meet th Uraume's stern eyes.

"You are unwell." They announced.

You knew you could not lie, not directly. Still, you attempted to fib your way around it, claiming your menstrual cycle was nearing, but it did not work, claiming you had eaten something foul in the village, they merely squinted at you, you were blundering, grasping for straws. In your desperation, you did not notice Uraume's foot slip out to the threshold, slowly pressing your door ajar.

You had been resting your weight said door, and yelped at the pressure. The chef raised an eyebrow and pressed on more firmly. You called out their name and stumbled to the floor.

"You've been attacked?" They question but the pain is so intense you can simply shake your head, in a show of patience you rarely see from Uraume, they brush the hair from your face.

You knew they could use reversed curse technique on themself, but the management of this injury was something that would likely take time.

In the moments it took Uraume to lift you to your bed, and start to clean your wound they had you recount the story, in between each sentence you begged them to keep this from the king. Do not say a word, I beg, followed by, I pray you wouldn't speak of this, ending your story with Lord Sukuna mustn't know.

Even with all the begging, they never once promised you a thing. Pressing your gouged pelvis more firmly still, they wiped your eyes of tears. And when you finally met their gaze, their look seemed to whisper, do not be stupid. You could only hope.

-

Your hope had been stupid.

You knew it had been last night when Uraume had bandaged you up, you knew it had been when you fought to dress yourself this morning, you knew it had been when you trudged to the wash house, you knew it had been when you began to set up a bin full of sudsy water and even now, bent painfully over, scrubbing away at towels, you knew of your fate.

You had been invited to dine with the king. Once dismissing yourself for not being worthy to wash your king's body had been shockingly, acceptable at one time. But you knew you could not skirt this. You could not deny your presence to him twice.

And in his presence, you knew you could not hide. Uraume had been the one to collect you before the evening meal, washing you, clothing you, and redressing your wound. You walked with intention now, three steps behind the personal chef to the king. You found, however, that you would not be having dinner in one of the many dining rooms, but rather, in the kings chambers.

In an attempt to plead once more, you made to grab Uraumes robe, they simply gave you a look of greatest disdain, opened the door to Sukunas chambers, and bowed.

You could not meet his eyes, you could feel them as they traced over you. Despite the fiery pain, you fell to your knees. You did not speak, Uraume left, and you stayed glued to the floor.

"I hold no affection for those who hide from me."

You could do nothing but nod in your place on the floor. "Yes, my king."

"You know this."

"Yes, my king." You nod again,

"And yet-" You can hear his voice ever louder, he has gotten up from his place on the bed, coming to you, his steps echoing in your ears. "You evade me like an elusive snake." He paces around you steadily. "You hide yourself from my presence, and you beg" He spits it out, vehement, "beg- Uraume to keep your condition from me."

He has stalked behind you now, and begins to creep ever closer to your side, bending to your position to whisper in your ear,

"Did you believe I could not find you, did you think, even for a moment, you could fool me?" You cannot read his tone, nor his face, too ashamed to look.

He stretches back to his full height. "You have always been the one who's appearance I delight most in. Yet, now, you only appear at my demand. Must I demand you to speak as well in order for you to tell me why you have shamed me so?"

Shaking your head quickly, you heave, "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I did not want to- to show you-" You began but Sukuna cuts you off, whirling around,

"That much is very clear. Tell me why without the blabbering nonsense. I wish not to hear apologies fall from your lips now."

You murmur once more, ashamed, but speak up, "I am such a fool." You look up, resigning yourself, you want to see his face, "I wished not for you to see me as such. I am a weak and poor worker. Please, know, I did not mean to shame you."

Sukuna does not respond. Silently making his way to your form, "You cannot even stand on your own. Do you intend to lay there all night, or do you expect aid to be granted to you?"

He sounds genuinely curious, you are unsure of what to say, you had no plan. Your head falls to your lap but in a sudden movement, Sukuna is before you, one arm stretched out to catch your crestfallen face, "Look at me." He speaks gentler than you have ever heard.

With one hand on your jaw, and another cupping the back of your head he huffs air from his nose. "You are a fool."

You cannot look away from him, but all you want now is to hide your face.

"So very foolish." He speaks clearly, "To hide from me, to work in such a condition." Before his words even hit you, you are struck but the grasping of your waist by his other two hands. His eyes remain open but within a moment all your pain is gone. An unintentional noise escapes you at the immediate relief you are brought.

It cannot be said whether the shock of Sukunas RCT or the grasp he had on you caused you to fall limply into his grasp but you have no time to prepare before he is lifting you tenderly into his arms. An unseen sparkle in his eyes. He carries you the few feet to his bed before he lays you across his lap.

"Your condition is not ideal. You shall not work. You are to stay with me" He is petting your hair rather oddly, as if you are a wounded animal he has found.

Attempting to rise you start, "I feel- I- I must extend my gratitude-"

But he is placing a hand on your stomach to keep you down, "You will extend your gratitude by never hiding from me again."

There is no room for argument. You nod up at him. He has one arm still under your knees, another on your waist, and a third stroking your cheek.

"I will never allow you pain again." He murmurs. "Never again." His palm is large enough to cover your face wholly. "I shall keep you within my sight henceforth."

And it is at this moment that you wonder if, perhaps, you are closer to the king than you had originally thought. If you, by chance, meant something to him? If he had been worried for you. But in your dazed state within your king's arms, you smile to yourself, thinking tiredly of how kindly and merciful he had always been to you.

What you did not yet know, was that it was he that was a fool for you.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

I'm kinda into that whole vouyerism / polygamy thing with the avengers. It's kinda hot

Ok, what if it was tony's bday and he asks reader to give him a sex tape of her and Steve, But Steve only finds out about it when Tony shows the team I Love u baby♡♡♡♡

Happy Birthday Tony

Warnings: Language, Smutish-Smut Stuff

Here you go love! 

1 Week Earlier

“But it’s my birthday,” he says with a grin.

“So,” you fold your arms across your chest, “why would you even want something like that? Weirdo.”

“Oh p–lease, who doesn’t have a sex tape out there?” Tony’s question is rhetorical as he sits at his desk. “I know Romanoff does and the girl she’s in it with. First class. A-mazing. Wilson has more than one floating about, don’t get me started on Barnes, and we know I do.” There’s a devilish smirk on his face. He’s obviously proud of his tapes. “That only leaves Rogers. I know you and Rogers have been blowing off steam together.” He says the words with air quotes. “So, help me get some dirt on the boy scout.”

“No.”

“Come on,” he whines. “Please. For me.”

“As much as I love you, it’s not happening,” you remark. “That’s just weird.”

He folds his arms across his chest, “Okay then, you forced my hand.” He says the words with a finality that is scarily ominous. “I dare you.”

Your face falls, because in all the years you’ve known Tony, the two of you have always had a friendly game of dare going. Nothing too extreme, but you had never, ever backed down.

It’s a pride thing.

Keep reading

જ⁀♡⊹｡° praying ' feet don't fail me now '

( bachira meguru x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series!!

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — bachira meguru x fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, goes from ages three to the u-20 game,

♡ synopsis — Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you. And in his mind, that was all he needed.

Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you.

You met him on a hot summer afternoon when you were three years old. The playground was swarming with noisy children, sticky fingers clinging to juice boxes and crusty sand-covered toys.

You were holding court beneath the big slide, where your popularity bloomed even back then. Kids circled around you like satellites—laughing when you laughed, watching where you pointed.

And then you saw him.

A boy, perched on the edge of the sandbox with wild, shaggy hair and the widest yellow eyes you’d ever seen.

He was talking—to no one, it seemed—and moving his fingers through the air like he was painting something only he could see.

Sitting in the sandbox alone, tracing shapes into the sand with a stick.

He wasn’t crying, but he looked like he had every reason to.

Some kids had called him weird.

Others said he talked to himself.

One even pushed him when no one was looking.

But you saw him.

You left your kingdom beneath the slide without a word.

He blinked when you crouched down in front of him. “Are you playing with someone?”

“My monster,” he said, not looking at you.

Most kids would’ve laughed. Or backed away. But you tilted your head, curious. “Can I play too?”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I want to meet your monster first.”

That was the beginning.

From that day on, Meguru Bachira had two friends: his monster, and you—and that was more than enough.

As the years passed, your worlds stayed tangled.

In elementary school, you were the girl who could talk anyone into anything. Kids followed your lead like it was instinct, and adults praised how well you got along with everyone. But no matter how many people clung to your orbit, you only ever circled one boy: Meguru.

You sat with him at lunch. You picked him first in group games. And when kids whispered things about him—about the way he laughed too loud or talked to things that weren’t there—you told them to shut up.

“You like him?” someone once sneered in third grade.

You blinked, as if the question was ridiculous. “Obviously.”

Middle school was harder. Puberty made people mean, and popularity became currency. You were rich in it—liked by everyone, admired for how honest you were, how you never put on a mask. 

Kids whispered louder. They laughed when he answered questions too fast or smiled too wide. And you? You heard it all. You were too sharp, too outspoken to let it slide. 

But people still talked behind Bachira’s back. Sometimes to his face.

One day, after someone called him a freak in the hallway, you stormed up to him, face red with fury.

“Next time they say something, I’ll say something back. I don’t care, I’m not letting them get away with it.”

But he shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.

“No. Don’t. You don't have to do that. I have you—and my monster. That’s enough.”

That was the same year he discovered soccer. T

he same year he kicked a ball for the first time and heard his monster cheer. 

And the same year you sat in the grass for hours, watching him practice alone with a makeshift goal and an old ball.

You never understood why he loved it so much. 

But when you saw the fire in his eyes, the way he looked alive in a way that only happened when he played, you figured... maybe it didn’t matter.

High school came, and with it, new uniforms, new pressures, and new boys who thought they were better than they really were.

One day you stood near the edge of the soccer field, sipping a red Icee, watching as the team ran drills. You weren’t really paying attention—until you overheard a few boys near the bench whispering:

“Let’s not pass to him in scrims today. Freak always plays like it’s a one-man show anyway.”

“Coach only keeps him because he racks up assists. Still plays like he’s in his own head.”

“Bet he talks to the ball.”

You didn’t even think. You just moved.

Your hand flew out. Red Icee hit cotton. It splattered across their white jerseys like blood. They shouted, stepping back in shock.

“What the hell?!”

You raised an eyebrow, voice sharp. “Let’s look at some stats, shall we? Most goals? Bachira. Most assists? Bachira. Fastest recovery time after injury? Bachira. So tell me, exactly how do you think you’re winning?”

They stammered. One tried to argue, but you weren’t having it. You turned and walked away, your ponytail swaying like a battle flag.

From across the field, Bachira had seen everything.

And it was in that moment—shirt soaked in sweat, breath still heavy from drills, the sun catching in your eyes as you marched away like some kind of storm goddess—that he swore he fell in love with you.

He didn’t tell you right away. But he started finding new reasons to walk you home. 

New excuses to hang around your house. 

New ways to make you laugh. 

And every time your hand brushed his, he swore his heartbeat was doing backflips.

It wasn’t until one late afternoon—walking home in the sunset, sneakers crunching against gravel—that he finally said it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You stopped. Blinked. Turned to him slowly. “You think?”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “Okay. I am in love with you.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer, hands reaching for his hoodie. “Took you long enough.”

You kissed him first. He kissed you second. And somewhere in the distance, his monster laughed.

Then the Blue Lock letter came.

You were sitting beside him in his room, feet tucked under a blanket, when he opened it. You gasped before he could.

“Oh my god. Meguru, you—this is—this is huge!”

He stared at the letter. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You’re going, right?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“What if they’re right? What if I am a freak? What if I get there and it’s just more people like them? I can’t do it without—”

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Meguru. Look at me. You are not a freak. You’re brilliant. You’re a genius on the field. And they’ll see it—you’ll make them see it.”

He blinked, eyes glassy.

“Prove them wrong,” you said. “Prove them all wrong.”

You kissed him like it was a promise. And a week later, you were at the train station, hugging him tight, trying not to cry as he boarded.

“Come back to me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised. “And when I do—I’ll be the best.”

The day of the U-20 game, you were there. Front row, signs painted in yellow and black, wearing his number.

You screamed every time he touched the ball. Cursed when he got knocked down. Jumped up and down like a maniac when he scored.

And when they won—you didn’t wait.

You ran past security. Dodged the guards. Your shoes hit the pitch like thunder.

He turned just in time to catch you, your arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

“See?” you grinned, breathless. “I told you!”

He laughed, holding you up, the stadium a blur around him.

And then, he said it—quietly, just for you.

“She’s gone…”

Your smile faltered. “Huh? Who—?”

“My monster,” he said. “She’s gone.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head.

“I’ve met some amazing people,” he whispered. “But no one like you. Thank you. For everything.”

Then he kissed you. Right there, in front of everyone. With his silly smile and wild eyes and heart full of fire, Meguru Bachira kissed the girl who had been there from the very beginning.

And he knew—

He didn’t need the monster anymore.

He had you.

bachira my love, idk why i don't write for you more

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