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𖢥 ˚ 𓉯ྀ ͚ 𓂃 ˖ ࿔ ───── 𝖘𝒾𝓍𝓉𝓎-one letters over four nights. and counting. thirty from their sender, thirty-one replies. each letter looked as likely as the others. the essence of his next-door neighbour was impossible to mistake. there were a few letters, maybe twenty back, where he tried…tried to match that energy. the fun. the artistry. but he didn’t have the materials. not like his next-door neighbour…who’d been in that space for a while. crayons, markers, stickers, pom-pom balls, tinsel pieces. all that good stuff.
he looked at the strew of parchment papers on the foot of his bed…and then plucked for two colours. red and blue. because his neighbour knew, and for the most part…found it cool. ‘just cool’, he’d seen in one letter. he wrote back wondering why it’d been ‘just cool’?…and received: ‘i don’t have you on a pedestal like everyone out that window. xo’. ouch. but he couldn’t be upset. not really. that was real and it was honest.
the letter after had asked: ‘without that, who would you be?’…a total left turn. and he didn’t respond. he couldn’t. because to understand himself required willingness to look at flaws and past mistakes without hiding from them. and the young man behind that spiderman mask hid a lot. from everyone…and anyone. ‘maynard? what? are you german? seriously, how did you even come up with that?’ … ‘honestly, i panicked. i was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. one of the strangest moments of my life.’
the butterflies were pretty sloppy. but he knew his neighbour really liked butterflies. and flowers. and the stars too. spiderman lifts the blue pen from the lined paper and begins folding and folding and folding until it was compact enough to squeeze into his paper-pressed envelope. he gets out of bed with a pained groan, head swimming and feet numb—after four nights, the dizziness was trying to get better.
he slipped both feet into his provided slippers, with the sticky-bubble-things at the bottom and gripped the chilly pole. if he wanted to leave his room, he had to take this pole. the intravenous bags were decorated in spiderman-faces and pizza-prints; from gifted booklets. then, he snatched his mask up, which was hanging from the footpanel…spiderman pulled the shield over his face before turning that knob and tipping out of the door, gown wagging behind him.
he loved how those wheels sounded above the tile. they were wonky and wiggled out of place every once in a while. spiderman thinks it’s intentional though. the loud chugging keeps the night-shift nurses alert and on their toes. because there were people here with self-defeating habits who enjoyed hanging out on the roof. mm.
spiderman landed at his neighbour’s door. it takes him a moment to strain his back downward and toss the envelope beneath the available opening. he straightens up fully, coughing, and leans in, peeking through the fuzzy glass. it wasn’t too opaque, he could see a figure…his neighbour; who’s pulling pink latex glues over both hands.
he’s nothing but a floating spider-mask to you. so creepy. disturbing. but intriguing.
after adjusting the tubes around your ears—mindful of escaped coils—and the prongs of the nasal cannula, you shuffle over and crouch for spiderman’s letter. chunky flowers. lopsided flowers. mix-matched shaped stars. “oh, wow…what’s with the bump in quality?” it’s cool how his lenses contract and tweak slightly. almost like, if his brows were wiggling. or whatever.
“you’ve inspired me,” spiderman said, bare fingers tracing the outline of the steel handlebar. “mind sharing some colours?” that’s when you blink over a shoulder and stare at the shelf filled with creative utensils. extensive, it was. but needed. and definitely not happening. he can stick to his blue and black pens. sorry, spidey. “i’ll see how i feel after reading this,” waving his letter about. “what’d you write?”
he released the handlebar and clapped that cold hand over his thigh. “that’s for you to open and find out…” he’s blushing so hard, he’s about the same colour of red as his mask. softly rocking using the tips of his slippers, “but, uhmm-i think you’ll really like this one…i’ve…cleaned up my handwriting some-you’re welcome.”
spiderman’s holding his left hand against the cool wood just beneath the window. he guessed the small point of contact made distance feel a little less…fixed. he doesn’t know it, but on the opposite side of the locked door…your right hand has found the same spot. palm settled without the slightest idea that his was already there.
“thanks. only had to beg in about forty letters,” and he can hear the wheeze of both lungs working tiredly to fill with air through the blanket of mucus. you prayed that when spiderman came over, your breathing would be a little less laboured. a little less terrible. “…is there anything i can do?” his lenses dip in patent sadness, “please-let me get you something.”
well, if he had a fresh pair of lungs in his gown pocket. sure! that would be freaking awesome. and totally life-changing. but he wasn’t that super. so, “how about’a pepperoni pizza and brownies?”
comic book nerd!frat boy cameron cade. who is your insufferable situationship. i ❤︎ chocolate girls + i paused my game to be here graphic tops. lego sculptures that he does not mess around with. tongue piercing 𖬺 d!piercing. navel piercing. ear piercings. tattoos. spotify playlist is perfectly crafted and used at every party. loves a backwards cap. empty weed 𖬺 edible packets in the pockets of his jeans 𖬺 sweats. will wear a pair of crocs until the tread is smooth. has the cutest reading glasses ever. lewd manga on his shelves (porn addict / major sex freak! - eggplant, peach, cherries, watersplash emoji user) such a flirt + has the dirtiest mouth ever! beefy arms, chunky pecks, insane ab definition, tiny asf waist, gigantic thighs, packing a massive one.
:: [wild party animal] so his attendance is shitty but somehow aces all his classes because he’s just THAT smart and everyone is confused as hell. drake’s thank me later 𖬺 take care. blink-182 fanatic. ex-volleyball player. if you need homework answers, don’t worry, he’s gotcha covered! casual drummer. manicured nails and toes. cropped tees; strongly secure in his masculinity. still uses snapchat. hawt, niche, thirst-trappy video-game streamer. cum-stained socks. will ‘jokingly’ call you mommy (secretly submissive!)
politicial activist!reader. who is filling in for frat!sweetheart best friend this academic year. reader, a serious man!hater, runs that house like the freakin navy. strictly handles their public social media account, conducts appropriate service projects; fundraisers, toy-drives, clothing donations, frequent meal 𖬺 kitchen volunteering, and is constantly doing damage control / playing messenger for their hook-ups 𖬺 baby mamas. the boys are scared of you! you will never pay for a mechanic again. you will always have a male body to model your designs. co-voice of university’s radio station. event planner for university’s fashion society. stress pastry baker 𖬺 stress smoker. mixed jewellery believer. stick and poke shattered tattoos.
:: art heaux. fabric junkie. creative eccentric. new hairstyle every other week. hot sauce in my bag swag. ‘rooting for everybody black’. sza’s ctrl. 2,000 followers on fashion tumblr blog. golden grillz. shhh… finger tatt. light brown uggs. solange knowles signature uni-liner. black in suburbia. vince staples’ future wife. former teen vogue intern. issa rae rapping in the mirror. janelle monáe’s i like that. 2010s optimism. cam cam’s cigarette scented hoodies. ‘no honeybun. sure sweetie. yes baby.’ fenty makeup; matte red luvvr. will block cam at the slightest inconvenience.
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I wanna say that I love all of your Tyriq/cam fics 🫶
𑄝 𑁤 thankya! 💋 i’ve been on&off with these pieces for sometime nowwww! fratboy!cam. mechanic/racer!cam. ++ one wish willow. i feel like my work is super repetitive though! idk! i feel like i’m losing my audience. yes, i write for myself first, but if that were purely it, i would keep all this in my notes. it’s my soul’s duty to share & UGH! i feeeeeeel like i’m slipping a bit. again, thankyou for the love, it means soooomuch!
i love your blog! your creativeness is everything🫶🏼🤍
𑄝 𑁤 omg )-: i didn’t see this! thank you! thank you! thank you for the love!!!! i swear by pinterest, polarr filters & dafonts. & those cute copy-paste symbols!
♡⃕ ∿ genres && warnings: fluff && suggestive at the end but nothing in detail !! also, the reader doesn’t know that peter is spiderman
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…can kinda be like a small puppy and keeps himself lying on your lap. your lap is like his haven, and he feels himself let go of everything when he lies on top of you; clinging onto your thighs and sighing against them
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…let’s you try out different makeup looks and products on him, and ofc he would be the best boyfriend on earth to let you know about a new product that your fav brand just dropped. juvia’s place has a new blush palette? getting it! fenty beauty has a sale? already ordered your fav products and sent you the confirmation email
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…gives you new ways to experiment on how you express yourself. even if it’s him being the experiment for your creativity, he doesn’t mind it. he’ll even assist if you're still stuck, even though he knows nothing about what you’re doing
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who uses emoticons heavily and is not ashamed!!! “ :D :(( ^3^ ” are his favs to use when texting; he uses them even more than emojis tbh. don’t introduce him to kamojis, you might unlock a new addiction for him
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…if not deep into his studies, always the best person to shop with !! especially if you’re one to get tempted easily, he knows how to steer you away and spend more money than you need to. but also great at remembering what you needed from each store you go to :)
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…after a shopping spree, asks for a haul of what you got and finds different ways to say how much the pieces suit you. even if it’s basic stuff, he’ll still mention how much he loves it on you
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who created a pinterest account just to send you inspo for hair, nails, makeup looks, etc. personally, he enjoys looking through nail sets on there and imagining you scratching his head with said sets
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who loves loves lovessss a good head scratch. some days he’ll just show up unannounced at your apartment and lie down on your couch, gently taking your hand and placing it on top of his head. if you reach a certain spot on his scalp, you may hear a certain sound coming from peter
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…please do hot oil treatments on him. listen, explaining to him might sound a lil crazy to him, and dangerous, but after hearing that you’ll be massaging his scalp, he was quick to agree. during the treatment, he loosened his tense body and let himself feel heaven as you massaged the oil into his scalp
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who isn’t big on pda but doesn’t mind leaving lil pecks to get you flustered or just to catch you off guard. preferably, he likes longer kisses, longer moments of intimacy instead of something that’s rushed (unless horny). who said that ???
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…will never stop wanting a makeout session, no matter how long or late in the day it is. he savors the tingling feeling that he gets when you’re on his lap and lightly scratching the back of his neck and letting his lips chase after yours. he adores the little noises that you let out when he presses his hands more intensely on certain parts of your body than others. please don’t let it be a night where he has been feeling a bit more needy than usual cause he’ll be clinging on and kissing you like it’s the last day on earth
𐔌 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘪 💭⭑.ᐟ ꒱
♡⃕ see i was gonna keep going and add nsfw but i wanted to tread lightly with peter
♡⃕ this can be interpreted with any peter !! I did have tom’s peter in mind but any you find fit is okay as well
♡⃕ if you guys want more boyfie!peter, lemme know 😋
𓈄࿔ 🕷️ ⋆˚࿔. ❝ in which [ ʚ peter parker! ⚛︎ ] wants what he can’t have. ❞ 𖢥 ౨౿ ⁺ ?! ✿ > incorrect movie timeline. obvious spoiler, but ¡nothing¡ more than that. ⋆ happy esnupi day! & happy petey day! happy august 10th! ⋆.𐙚 ̊ self-deprecating, rambling, & 𓍼 emotionally avoidant!parker. ⋆.˚ reader’s a niche celeb! oh what a cutie. ribs by lorde on the stereo! sad face emoji! 𖦏˚𓈒 .. give a girl a necklace & she’ll never take it off. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ꫝ mayor mention but it’s not mamdani )-: sigh. ｡𖦹°‧ >⩊<.ᐟ funny we’re never seen mamdani , esnupi or spiderman in the same room. ▷ let’s keep an eye open. — ᨳଓ ˙⋆✮ i’m from north jersey, so i use ‘downtown’ below as a small area within queens. but i know the borough does not have a single traditional downtown! ˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ lowercase intended! emdashes! improper spacing! ⣾⠉⢳⣰⠋⠙ ⠙⠶⣄ ⣀⠴ ˖ ᯽ ݁˖· /ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ
𖢥 ˚ 𓉯ྀ ͚ 𓂃˖ ࿔ ───── 𝖎𝓃 2019, zoom was just another app struggling for breathing room with competitors like facetime and houseparty. now, thanks to covid, zoom is as ever-present as a mcdonald’s cheeseburger wrapper. the zoom gathering peter parker is attending could almost be a scene in a television drama; something catered specifically toward teenagers and younger adults. the focus is on the center-most icon, and of course, there are also occasional cuts to various home pets and bedroom tours. because here, in this community, everyone is family.
peter has his video blocked though. not that anyone would be curious of him, but because he’s recently labeled himself a deeply private person. he knows it’s okay for people to be sad about not having any friends, to tear and choke up, but he doesn’t want any one of these strangers to see him that way. or to ask what the problem is. he doesn’t want them to see his red eyes, his tangled brown hair, or his shaking hand as his fingers twirl a spiderman-printed pen. a gift from the small boy he saved just nights ago.
but most of all, he doesn’t want them to see him fall in love all over again.
he was embarrassed. which was almost ironic, considering embarrassment required being perceived in the first place. and from where he sat—perched on the fire-escape ledge outside his apartment—that wasn’t happening.
but still.
if peter had friends—and ever told them the story of how he’s dedicated more than two years of his life to keeping up with this blog, just to figure out whether he had a real chance with its author, someone who didn’t know him from adam or melvin—he’d never hear the end of it. they’d laugh, obviously. and somehow, the thought of that alone was not only sad, but enough to make him want to shrivel into himself.
he doesn’t know it, but he isn’t so different from a few of these people; who lounge after the day’s work and wholeheartedly believe they have a chance with the author…romantically. sexually. everything sweet that’s in-between. it might’ve been what actually bonded them together, because seriously? spiderman? spiderman was cool, but he didn’t feel cool enough to have this. …it was still pretty wild to believe that you, someone who was once so skeptical of the masked-man, could have an entire site for him.
coded by ned leeds, graphically designed by michelle jones watson, loved harder by its star writer and photographer: you. my crawlspace…with four thousand, two hundred, and seventy-six followers (4,276). with over another thousand (1,000) in ghost-readers and other anonymous voters.
peter parker interacted with the blog under an anonymous handle too, random numbers strung at the end. sure, that wasn’t ideal. he wanted nothing more than to make contact under a pen-name that was his own—as if that would spark something—or with a handle that included ‘spidey’...but the anon-tag kept the wall intact. and the peace. and, most importantly, it kept his favourite coder, illustrator, and writer protected…he liked to tell himself.
he was scrolling { thegreatned42 }‘s instagram page all those nights ago and had come across a spidey tracker promotional post. buried in the caption below was a link to mycrawlspace.com. a site { thegreatned42 } promised spidey tracker would be collaborating with. and peter clicked ahead without thinking much of who the author could be—certainly not expecting to find himself spiderman the star of your work. but he was surprised. then sadness overrode flattery—
the laptop dings and the anxious-bug in his stomach triples in size. you’re here now; in the middle of his screen, wearing a cute spiderman tube-top and an even cuter striped cardigan. dangling from the slim, silver chain around your neck is snoopy squeezing a giant red heart. sophomore year, he thought sadly.
you wave and blow kisses to the toggled-on video squares. “guys, okay so. as you can see…i’m not the best icing-frosting-drawer-person, ‘kay? but, uh-i have heart and these sugar cookies are freakin’ bomb. so…that’s what matters.” peter grins, leaning his head against the metal, safety railing bars. cute, he mouthed.
the camera pans aside, and there’s mj, hunched over the closest kitchen counter with a sugar cookie balanced in one hand and a piping bag in the other. she presses slowly until a ribbon of red royal icing pours from the tip and curls across the cool surface of the cookie. it’s supposed to be a mini spiderman-guy, or at least resembling him. the cookie was much too small to have the detail her mind required.
she looks toward the camera, totally unbothered, and reminds the blog that she isn’t a fangirl. not like her dear roommate. mates*. this, she insists, is simply a nice gesture.
“i am [not] a fangirl,” you say from the corner, tipping the cam back. mj doesn’t even look up from her cookie. “i [am] a reporter,” you add. and she makes a low, unconvinced noise in the back of her throat, dragging the icing into another crooked red line, “with a bias.”
“pssh! no-no bias. don’t say that.” peter watches ned swoosh into frame with a massive stack of white sheets. goodie boxes. flat-packed cartons you’d begged him to unfold the night before, when you’d still had the patience to ask nicely. for some reason, he hadn’t. “oh perfect. you remembered,” you groan, with enough sweetness the sound to make it very clear you want to bite his head off.
ned drops the stack somewhere behind the camera, sending a small avalanche of cardboard skittering across the leftover surface. he gives you a sheepish smile before immediately starting to wrestle with the first box. and if peter were there, yea, he would’ve helped his buddy. and he would’ve accepted your scolding like a champ. oh, how that would’ve made his night.
opposite the blooming chatbox, { macey59 } from columbus, ohio, unmuted her mic, ‘what’s the occasion? child’s birthday party?’
mj snickered. “mmm…i wish,” you grumbled, sliding another cookie into its sparkly blue package. “every tuesday and thursday, for the last three weeks, we’ve been handing sugar and cold bottles out around the downtown office-“
downtown, with its crooked maze of asphalt patched over and over again and potholes gaped in wicked bursts. around this time in the evening, protestors—in their summer gear—lined the sidewalks and streets leading up to the mayor’s office, chanting WE WANT SPIDERMAN! SAVE US SPIDERMAN! and FIX OUR WATER!
this is how it went: adults got out of work at 3pm in their shorts and sandals patched thin at the heels. mothers with strollers and attached water bottles. fathers with cardboard signs. and kids—having been released from elementary and middle summer school classes, too small to be standing in the heat—sat bundled on the shoulders of their parents, holding up drawings of spiderman in crayon. all red and blue suits and smiles.
since the spring season, the town's water came out brown and red…when it came out at all. half the houses on the south end had their taps shut down completely. more than a hundred children and elders were in hospital beds downtown, their loved ones riding buses every early morning and night to sit by them. the plant's officials kept saying it was "under investigation”. the mayor's office blamed "infrastructure complications”. and the company spokesmen had stopped showing up to the journal meetings altogether.
no one knew what was happening. not even spiderman.
“-if anyone’s in the queens area, please, [swing by]. say hi. we don’t bite-“ mj blinks over from where she’s working. “and we’re always happy to see new-“ the blog-stream disappears beneath a black screen, and you’ve been replaced by a single line of red lettering: CRIME IN PROGRESS.
shit.
shiiiit!
peter crawled back into his sad apartment and flung his sad laptop onto his sad two-person-only sofa. he has a plan. well, not a plan, necessarily. more like a to-do list, with a godly amount of optimism behind it: beat the bad guy as spiderman and head downtown as peter parker. he wasn’t sure when he’d have the crew together in one place again. but maybe this was his only chance, and he couldn’t bring himself to waste it. he had to do this.
and as he flew through the city, webs snapping between the buildings, he promised the stars he wouldn’t fuck it up…
but not even spiderman could get everything he wanted.
𖢥 ˚ 𓉯ྀ ͚ 𓂃˖ ࿔ ───── 𝖇𝓎 ten-fifty, downtown is eerily cleared out. the sparkly blue packages and goodie boxes twist and tumble through the breeze, their ribbons fluttering. peter walks and walks and walks before sitting on a stoop. he pulls his phone from a front pocket and uploads my crawlspace. no new work. mm. then, he thumbs for instagram. { thegreatned42 } has a story posted!
: got to meet some cool, funky crawlers! thanks for coming out, we appreciate you guys! in white text written just below a selfie of ned (holding deuces), mj (caught mid-blink), { radicalavenger0 }, { kalicokiitt }, and my crawlspace’s beautiful author (hands folded into hearts).
he’d had his fair share of shitty birthdays, but this one was shaping up to take the cake. he breathes hard, chest rising and falling beneath the last-minute-outfit, and stares at you. only you. for seconds. then, before the pressure behind his eyes can turn into anything worse, he switches away from ned’s account and clicks off the phone. “whatever.” it’s whatever. because he’ll get you and mj and ned some other time…
𖢥 ˚ 𓉯ྀ ͚ 𓂃˖ ࿔ ───── 𝖆𝓃𝒹 it’s eleven o’clock when he reaches the multi-rise rooftop. it’d been his safe place in high-school. where he shared his first kiss with the girl he admired, opened his first rejection letter with the girl he swore hated him, and his first cigarette with the boy he considered his blood-brother. he hasn’t been up here in years and he…he isn’t sure why he feels so drawn tonight.
he takes a few steps along the rooftop before stopping dead. he spots the back of your puffy summer hair, stirring gently and twinkling from large edible glitter flakes. the sight of you makes something in his chest catch, so sudden that peter has to swallow around it.
you’re gathering your things though. he barely gets one foot forward when you hook your messenger bag over a shoulder and push yourself to your feet.
“oh-“ you glance around, shocked and startled. “i didn’t think anyone else knew about this.” peter opens his mouth. and he tries. but nothing. not even a sentence. just a tiny, humiliating squeak…he clears his throat and looks down at his mud-stained converse, fingers messing with the denim.
“it’s all yours.” and you were able to get four, maybe five steps in before the guy speaks: “no, no, no. you should stay-“ said as if the idea of bothering you took years from his life. “i mean-“ he fumbled, scratching the back of his hand. “you can stay. if you want. please. sorry…about that.”
“don’t be.” you shake your head with a small grin. there was nothing to apologize for. extending a hand toward him, “it’s fine. forreal.” then, you turn again, preparing to give him the space he’d apparently come up here for, but peter is speaking before he can think better of it: “i-“ he coughs…“i really don’t want to be alone right now.”
well…it was already late. five more minutes couldn’t hurt. so, why not? …“what’re you doing up this time’a night anyway?” carefully descending the roof’s slope.
peter’s shoulders sagged and he looks to the stars once to thank them for dropping you into his lap. “nothing important. i just, uhm…i needed, a place. to…to think.” he lowers himself down over the stone, mindful of the space between. two, possibly three feet. “how’d you find this spot?”
it was a funny story. funny, mostly, because you didn’t have one. “okay, so…” trailing off, searching for the words before giving a helpless shrug. “this’ll sound weird, but uh-i actually don’t remember. and my friends don’t either…”
you huff quietly through your nose, eyes drifting toward the night-skyline, trying to piece together something that literally refused to fit. “we think it could’ve been a high-school meet-up place. maybe. but then…” brows knitting. “that doesn’t make sense.” now looking at his converse sneakers, “high school wasn’t so long ago. we should remember something like this…right? even a little bit?”
“but we don’t.” another little shrug. “it’s really weird.” you chuckle, like laughing at this might make the strange gap in your memory feel a little less strange.
“i’m sorry.” your face tips into a small, confused frown. “about that,” peter clarifies, shifting slightly, “that must be-feel…uncomfortable?” the words come out awkwardly. but you understand what he means. and you thank him for being so nice.
“it was,” glancing away for a moment. “but now it’s just…whatever. nothing i can do about it. i don’t think, anyways.” was there some sort’a magic memory potion lying around new york? “what’a’bout you? how’d you…y’know?”
peter’s gaze slips off, unable to withstand the weight of your eye contact much longer. “hmm. erm.” he clears his throat more, thinking of something that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous. “i just-i like heights. i guess…it wasn’t that hard.”
you make a face, eyes narrowing, “so…what? you, like, climb buildings for fun?” he bites the innermost skin of his cheek, fighting the urge to smile big, “uhm, something like that, yea…good exercise.” there were about a hundred answers he could give you, most of which would probably raise more questions than they answered.
“good exercise,” you repeat, clearly doubtful, but still wiping that judgmental look from your face. and then, humming considerately, “…how many other hideouts do you have?”
he whipped his head around too fast and damn it he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. “i can show you.” he smiles with no teeth and immediately regrets every syllable. peter apologized once, and then he does it again and again. he needs to shush but he can’t and he braces himself for the polite excuse he’s expecting—
—“yeah. yeah. sure. that’d be cool…i bet.”
and this tells him that you meet too many people. you have this hunger for strangers. you write for almost six thousand people, so it was true! the new you must’ve liked attention, at least a small bit.
peter sighs, “cool.” …very cool. more than cool. better than cool, actually. this was fantastic. he fears he’ll fuck it up though. and he feels more insecure with every passing second, because you don’t speak to him again. what if that ‘yeah. yeah. sure’ meant ‘oh my gosh-would you please stop? would’you shut up if i said yes?’—
“how was your day though?” phew.
and you must be psychic because he blushes, gut spinning. “umm…n-not great.” that’s when you give up on whatever you were searching for in your bag. “it’s my birthday.” oh, happy birthday, you say. “i have no family. no friends. no work, so…i spent the day being…sorry for myself.”
you don’t ask permission to touch him; raising a hand to his knee and rubbing warmth into his body and throughout his entire soul. what’s your name? he gulped: “peter.” pupils so fat with desire. “parker.”
“well…happy birthday, peter parker.” removing that hand from his leg, you’re digging around that bag again. jewelry is clacking and candy wrappers are rustling. “-i have…i made these cookies earlier today.” finally. and holding the treat toward him, “that’s spiderman, if you can’t tell.”
yea. yeah. “i can see that,” giggling. it takes peter only nanoseconds to grab the cookie. the package crinkles under his palm and it was nice to see the end result of today’s blog-stream. even if the design was smudged and peeling away. “what was the occasion? birthday party? how old?” he teased.
you’re funny, peter. and he can’t let you know why he also finds that funny. there you go again, toying with the snoopy charm, for the sixth time. yes, he was counting. “so?” he asked, untying the ribbon that kept his cookie secure.
“no. wasn’t a party. it’was for the crowd downtown.” you shouldn’t look away, but you do and he can’t think of anything to say and he wishes a pigeon would be kind enough to babble intermittently. “somethin’s in the water. but i’m sure you’re aware.”
peter nodded. “very…very aware.” he could tell that you had a theory. or possibly two. but that conversation could be saved for another time. peter wags his bitten sugar cookie. “you bake like someone i use to know.” smooth. real smooth. “how’d you-what’s your secret?”
and you start talking to him.
you don’t just tell a story, you relive it. when you tell him about your favorite birthday ever, which was thirteen and rather than throwing some grand party, you bake cookies, cupcakes, and cheesecake with your mom and the boy you had a crush on in chef costumes, peter learns that he is capable of envying a thirteen year old boy.
talking to you again is like traveling through time and he cannot live like this anymore. alone. miserable.
after tonight, his body won’t allow it.
𑄝 𑁤 yes, it’s still august 10th! NOT AUGUST 11TH! trust me, this would’ve been posted much earlier in the day, but i had work! i missed 3hours in my shift & honestly, i’m still shocked they let me clock in. i should’ve just stayed home, but i need that bag.
tyriq knows your body better than he knows any playbook, and he’s tired of you hiding behind your silence. your best friend is done playing games; he wants the honesty only your body seems brave enough to give him, and he’s not stopping until you finally admit that he’s the only one you’ve ever wanted.
tyriq withers x blackfem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI • explicit sexual content, vulgar language + dirty talk, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl) possessive language, fingering (in the bath), oral sex (f receiving), spitting, marking/hickeys, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, praise/degradation, jealousy, best friends to lovers, size difference, breeding kink if u squint, kinda.
WORD COUNT: 3.5K
A/N: hiiii so this is the first fic ive written in years and i lowkey forgot how fun this is hehe. i’m already working on my next tyriq fic too, i have so many ideas for that fine ass man #whew. but lmk what u think pls! feedback is loved n vry appreciated, thank u for reading <3
The bath water’s almost lukewarm when you hear the beeping from the keypad on your front door.
You’re all too familiar with the sounds. The chirp after the code is entered, the door pushing open, the thump of his duffel hitting the floor. A familiar shiver runs down your spine as you listen to the familiar sound of his footsteps walking towards you.
Tyriq’s 6’5 frame fills your bathroom doorway, grey sweats low on his hips with a tight Nike Dri-Fit hugging his muscled body, a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and you watch his greenish grey do a slow scan of your body. From your brown eyes looking up at him to your lips adorned with the glossy, açaí and mango scented balm, over your supple breasts to where your body is a distorted shadow under the water. His mouth quirks, the muscle in his jaw tensing with restraint he’s convinced himself he had.
“I see somebody got started without me,” he says. His voice is rough, gravelly from practice. Your favorite sound.
“Just taking a bath, Tyriq,” you tell him.
He pushes off the doorframe and sits on the closed toilet lid, man spreading, his knees almost touching the side of the tub. When he’s comfortable he leans forward, pushes his sleeves over his elbows, and his hand enters your bath water. His fingers—those long, perfect fingers, trail up your shin. “How was practice?” you ask him, attempting to divert your attention.
"Whole practice was progression drills mostly. Coach was on my ass acting like I don’t know how to make the right reads. His hand glides over your knee, up the meat of your thigh, the water magnifying the friction of his thumb against your skin. "Nigga thinks Ion know exactly how to handle what's mine. Like I'ma miss the best part of my day."
His fingers trace the crease of your thigh, skating over the soft skin of your inner thigh before they slide home. He finds the wet heat waiting for him and parts your folds like he’s got the route memorized; thumb slowly circling that little peak of nerves until you’re arching off the bottom of the tub.
“Tyriq…” But you aren’t stopping him. You never do.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What you get up to today?”
How does he expect you to form words when he’s touching you like this? Your brain shorts out and your body does the opposite; softening, opening up for him like it’s instinct. He feels it and his smile goes all types of satisfied, a slow curve against your wet skin.
“Mhm, cat got your tongue already. Guess I’ll talk then.” Tyriq leans in and softly kisses your damp shoulder, then bites down hard enough to make you tense and soothes the spot with his warm tongue. “I missed you today. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this.”
He doesn’t give you a second to brace yourself before he shoves two fingers deep inside your pussy, the sudden, deliciously full feeling making you reach out to grab the edge of the tub, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even need to ask if it feels good because already knows, and he’s still grinning like it too.
“Missed how you feel right here,” he murmurs, crooking his fingers to hit that spot. Your hips jerk. “Missed this shit so bad. Always so wet for me. Fucking dripping’ in the goddamn bath.”
He sets a rhythm, a hard, deep curl of his fingers, while his thumb grinds into your clit. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.
Your hips are chasing the feeling of Tyriq’s thumb worshipping your clit. His fingers work you slow and deep, every curl of his fingers dragging like he's savoring it. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking your bottom lip like he wants to feel the sounds you’re making. “Look at me, pretty girl. Wanna see you while I'm inside you."
You part your lips like a Pavlovian response and his thumb enters your mouth, a moan escaping you as you feel it press down on your tongue. You taste salt and him, sucking immediately like your body already knows what to do with him.
Three fingers stretch you open now, so slow you feel every vein on his fingers. Your hips have a mind of their own; steady rolling up towards his hand as you make soft, needy sounds around his thumb. He watches your face the whole time, the little overwhelmed crease you get between your eyebrows, how your lashes flutter in pleasure.
"You hear yourself?" He sounds like he can’t believe he gets to have this. Tyriq’s forehead drops to yours with a groan, his breath dancing against your skin. "This pussy so loud for me tonight, mama. So honest, singing for me. Tell me what you need, baby. I got you.” He works you through the tremble, through the ache, until your thighs are soaked and shaking and you're biting down on him just to stay tethered. He’s controlling your climax, holding you right on the edge, watching, waiting, wanting to hear you say it.
He pulls his fingers from you, slick and shining, then slips his thumb from your lips. The air feels cooler without his hands on you. He stands up then, his tall frame towering over you as water drips from his wrist onto the bathmat.
“Five minutes,” he says, his voice almost strained. “I need you out this tub in five minutes. Don’t make me wait longer.”
He leaves, sucking his fingers before he even opens the door. The water all of a sudden feels suddenly unfairly cold.
Three minutes later you’re walking into your bedroom, towel barely knotted around your body.
He’s on the edge of your bed in his boxers, hands resting on his knees, looking like he counted every second he waited for you. Your bed’s still a mess from the night before; sheets kicked to the foot, pillows half on the floor, still smelling like the both of y’all.
His head lifts the second your feet hit the floorboards, his eyes fixed on the drop of water rolling from your collarbone down between your breasts.
“’Bout time.”
Then he stands up, moving towards you in two steps and the distance between you both is gone. Your towel doesn't last a few seconds before it’s pushed down, puddled at your feet before his mouth claims yours.
He doesn't ask. He just takes, and you let him. The kiss isn't sweet; it’s hungry, searching; his tongue sliding past your lips like he's been starving for it. There’s the faint taste of those strawberry-watermelon mints he always has and the smell of his skin, and you’re suddenly lightheaded from how much he’s taking. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. You nip his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth; a guttural sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. His hips grind forward, the hard line of his dick a strong, heavy pressure against your stomach.
“Missed this mouth,” he grunts against your lips, sounding half mad with it. “Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make when I got you like this…fuck, I missed all of you, baby.”
He doesn’t break the kiss until you fall back into the mess of last night’s sheets. He follows you down, knees forcing yours apart, his hands sliding up your sides like he’s finally allowed to touch what’s his. His warm lips make their way down your chest, tongue swirling around the barbell through your peaked nipple until you’re arching off the bed, hands cradling his head. You try to say his name, but he hushes you, his eyes dark and fixed on the wet heat between your legs. He pushes your thighs open with a gentleness that feels like a lie, his gaze heavy and focused. He hovers there, his breath fanning over your teased skin before he leans in and licks you open. A slow, needy drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit that feels like he's trying to taste every secret you've ever kept from him.
He pushes your hips back down with one hand when you buck, firm and flat on your stomach. "Be still." His voice vibrates against your skin. He eats you slow, tongue dragging through your slick, then pulls back just far enough to spit on you. You hear him groan at the sight of his saliva dripping down your slit and your whole body clenches around nothing. Then he laps it up, tongue working your clit in tight, maddening circles, and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly loud, raw, nothing you can control. Your thighs are shaking and he doesn't stop, his own sounds telling you he’s already holding on by a thread too.
"God,” you gasp out.
“What you callin’ out to God for? He didn’t make you this wet. I did.” He smirks, his thumb catching a stray drop of spit on his lip before he goes back to work. He fucks you with his fingers, pressing against your spot with insistent knocks while his tongue flicks your clit relentlessly; it’s so wet you can feel it dripping down your ass. He hums against you again; a low, arrogant sound that means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Tyriq’s fingers curl harder inside you to find the ceiling of your pussy, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to come apart right there.
When he comes up for air, you’re a writhing mess beneath him. Your legs won’t stop shaking, your chest is heaving, your inner thighs are slick with a mess of his spit and your own juices as your pussy throbs. Tyriq crawls up your body, mouth leaving a wet, burning trail over your skin until he’s hovering, all 205 pounds of warm, solid muscle covering you. His fist is wrapped around the thick length of himself, dragging through your slick folds, catching on your clit with a soft pressure before the head of his leaking dick taps against your clit. Once. Twice. Just a heavy, wet knock at the door, his jaw tight as he listens to the broken sound you make in response.
He holds it there, a heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes blow out when he touches you. Then he drags it down, slow and wet through your folds before pulling back to do it again.
“Tyriq… stop.” You’re whining but don’t mean it, and you both know it.
“Stop?” He taps the head against you again, a hot, heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. “You sure about that?”
"No, please. You know what I want."
"I don't know shit." He grinds against you, a deep, heavy smear of his dick against your clit that makes your thighs clamp around his waist. He lets out a rough, shaky laugh against your neck. "Talk to me. Lemme hear it, pretty girl."
"Please."
"Please what?" His voice is firmer as he sinks his tip inside you, pushing in just enough to stretch the skin, to let you feel how massive he is, then he drags all the way back out. He’s shaking too, his breath coming in jagged hitches. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"Put it in."
"Put what in?"
"Your dick, Tyriq. I need you inside me,” you whisper, the honesty of it stinging more than the ache between your legs. “Fucking me. Now.”
He makes a sound like he’s been gutted then pushes in slow, the wet slide of him opening you up inch by perfect inch. Your body takes him the way it always has, like some part of you was carved just to fit him. His forehead hits your shoulder, breath coming hot and broken. "Fuucck. Every time, it’s like the first time. Every damn time.”
His fingers splay over your ribs, thumb brushing your nipple as he starts those long, rhythmic strokes that make your vision blur. He grips your hip, holding on like he’s the one about to drown and a whimper leaves his mouth, shifting into grunts when he pushes deeper. "Pussy feels so fuckin’ good," he breathes in your ear. "So damn good, baby. Just like home.“
"Tell me I feel good too." His hips roll into you, deep slow strokes, the drag of him pulling a moan from somewhere low in your chest. "Tell me." Your nails dig into his back and he latches onto your neck, hips snapping harder now, your bedframe knocking into the wall now. "Say it, baby."
“You feel so good… nnmph, you’re so b-big, Riq.” The confession is pathetic, words that barely make it out whispered into the hollow of his shoulder as he bottoms out again. You’re struggling to keep up, your voice failing you every time his pelvis grinds against yours.
He loves it. You can tell by the way his grip tightens on your hip, fingers bruising your skin. “You struggling, baby?” He mutters, his voice steady as he speeds up, the wet slide of his dick inside you getting louder, slicker. He’s not being gentle anymore. He’s fucking you with a focused, heavy intent that makes your thighs shake and your toes curl into the mattress. His hand slides from your ribs to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Tell me how good."
You try to answer, you really do, but he’s so deep that every time you open your mouth, all that comes out is a broken, needy little sound. It’s crazy how fucked out he has you, but you’re addicted to the feeling. The way he’s splitting you wide; that thick, relentless slide of him filling every bit of you, makes it impossible to think. You’re just a mess of heat and friction, your body trying to swallow him whole while your brain tries to remember how to breathe.
Finally, you manage a sentence without stutters. "Please keep fucking me, Tyriq. I need you.” Your nails dig into the muscles in his back and he cusses, his right hand shoving a pillow you didn’t see him grab under your hips to change the angle; all while staying inside you, the both of you making sounds of ecstasy. His hips snap harder as his big hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
Tyriq kisses you gently at first, swallowing your whimpers and cries. Then his tongue passionately invades your mouth while his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your aching pearl again. His pressure is perfect; tight, firm circles that make your whole body tense up like a bowstring.
“You feel me?” he whispers with a strained voice, his lips against your jaw. “Feel how deep I’m in this shit? You take it so well, mama. Makin’ me never wanna pull out.”
He catches your mouth again, his tongue sliding deep as his thumb spins your clit into a frenzy. You’re close, so fucking close, and he knows it. He can feel your pussy fluttering and squelching around him, gripping him like a vice, telling him all the things you’re too overwhelmed to say. You wanna tell him how good it is, that you love him, that he’s the only one who could ever have you open like this, but all you manage is his name over and over, and he eats every sound right out your mouth, fucking you like he’ll never get another chance.
"You still thinkin' about that nigga?" His voice is thick with a jealousy he usually keeps under lock and key. You barely catch it, brain fuzzy, body strung out and so close to shattering it’s bordering on pain. "Whoever it is you be on FaceTime with or whatever at night." You can’t even find your breath, let alone an answer. Your brain is just a blur of his name and the way his dick feels like it’s rearranging you. Another whimper from him and pleasured cry from you as his tip kisses your cervix, the pressure so deliciously brutal it makes your eyes water. The wet slide of him is the only thing that’s real, as if he didn't just ask you something that matters.
His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in with enough strength to bruise you. He groans against your lips, the sound desperate, broken. "'Cause I’m right here. I don't think about nobody else when I'm in you like this. When I’m stretchin’ you the fuck out, claimin’ my spot deep in this perfect pussy.“
He speeds up with a frantic urgency, the pretense that control he’s so good at gone out the window. You feel his lips on your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave something behind, teeth scraping over your sensitive skin, and that does it.
Your whole body jumps like he hit a live wire, rewarding him using your pussy with a vicious tightening and gush of warm liquid, making him look down to marvel at the mess he earned.
But he’s not done and you know he’s not.
His hand slides down the side of your leg, fingers digging into the soft meat of your thigh then around to your ass, spreading so you feel everything he has for you. Your breath leaves you in a choked sound and your knees slip against the sheets, muscles clenching around him like you’re trying to hold him there.
His other hand glides over your ribs to hold you steady while he takes his time. Long, measured thrusts that start almost torturously lazy and feel anything but, every one fully bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your pussy. The sound feels pornographic; wet, hot, driving you delirious. Your own arousal sticks on your inner thighs, his length sliding through it every time he pulls back.
“Tell me the truth. When you’re alone and you’re touchin’ yourself, who’s the one in your head?” The world stops. It’s just the two of you, the smell of sex and the weight of six years of secrets. You’re boneless now, pussy clenching around him in a way that tells him everything before you even open your mouth.
"Riq…" Your voice comes out cracked, thin.
"Answer me." He’s fucking you like he has nowhere else to be, like he’s got all night to pull you apart, dick driving into you with a rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs. Your body’s singing for him, for this. His thumb circles your clit, tighter, faster, his teeth tugging your skin, and you’re right there again; every nerve lit up, nothing in your head but his name and the way he’s moving inside you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “I wanna know. Please, baby,” he whispers.
"It’s you." you gasp, the words raw like they’ve been stuck in your chest for years. Saying them feels like stepping off a ledge. "It’s always you, Tyriq, please,” you beg. He looks enthralled, half-crazed with it, pupils blown to dark green orbs of desperate need.
He stills. Buried to the hilt, both of you sounding like you ran a marathon, him pulsing inside you like your words went straight through him. His eyes search yours like he's looking for the catch, like he can't believe you actually said it. As if you just handed him a piece of himself he didn't know was missing. Then he exhales shakily and says, "There she go. There's my girl."
Tyriq kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s claiming something that was never anybody else’s. The first thrust back in motion knocks a sound outta you that gets swallowed straight into his mouth. If you felt like he was holding back before, all that held back energy’s exploding right now, his seed flowing warm and deep inside you as his his breath saws in and out through his teeth. The way this man always manages to unload an entire daycare inside you makes you feel grateful; both for him and the IUD he’s clearly at war with.
Always making sure he gets the last word, he’s still going like he’s trying to etch himself into the inside of you. Your mattress squeaks helpless under y’all and his hand grabs your jaw again with a firm pressure bordering on rough, but his thumb strokes your cheekbone to soothe you even as he pounds into you, drawing a second orgasm from you and a satisfied, soft smile from him.
"I know," he breathes against your lips, words breaking around a groan as your pussy spasms around him. His thrusts are punishingly good, punching blissed out noises from your throat.
His hand leaves your ass to hold your hand now, a sweeter, steady grip on your now laced fingers. “I know, pretty girl. It’s you for me too.”
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LANDLORDS!DAUGHTER!READER who sneaks out almost every night to get fucked by PETER PARKER. at first, peter was a little nervous to be messing around with you. your dad obviously wouldn’t be too happy to learn that he’s been sooo deep inside you that ur mind started to go numb. but, you always assured peter that you’re dad would never know. you’d kiss down his worries while snaking a hand up his shirt, fingers splayed over his hard stomach, gently grinding down on his growing bulge.
peter does in fact like a little FUN thrill in his life. something good that was catastrophic, or serious or, nerve wracking. he loves being able to shove his face between your thighs, lapping at the pretty, sweet spot until you come undone with his name slipping from your lips. or, waiting up for you to silently leave your families apartment so he can lay you on his mattress and sliding his thick length into your dripping cunt. all of noises go straight into your ear when he’d rock his hip. whimpering out praises, telling you how bad he’s been needing this. the risk was always worth the fun.
𝐁𝐍𝐃!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑
╱ with abnormally thick, excessive cum headcanons
╱ 18+ . bnd!peter parker x fem!reader . explicit smut . mutation kink . excessive cum . breeding kink . cum play . oral sex . anal play . sex toys . web restraints . overstimulation . edging . possessiveness . public play . consensual filming . dirty talk . praise . objectification . messy sex . mdni
navigation : kofi .
bnd!peter whose mutation makes his cum almost unnaturally dense, each load coming out in thick, heavy spurts that you can physically feel striking deep inside your cunt. his cock jerks so violently with every pulse that your thighs shake around his hips, and the release just keeps coming until your pussy feels stretched, hot, and packed far beyond anything you thought your body could hold.
bnd!peter who leaves a visible swell in your lower stomach after filling you, a soft, rounded bulge forming beneath your skin while his cock remains buried against your cervix. he presses his palm over it and groans when he feels the fullness shift beneath his hand, completely consumed by the knowledge that the curve is there because he’s pumped so much cum into you that your body has nowhere else to put it.
bnd!peter whose breeding kink becomes vicious whenever he sees that bulge, his fingers spreading possessively across your stomach while he tells you how perfectly your womb takes him. he starts grinding deeper instead of pulling out, forcing the head of his cock against the deepest point of your pussy while promising he’ll keep filling you until your body finally gives him exactly what he wants.
bnd!peter who makes you hold your own stomach while he cums, trapping your hand beneath his so you can feel the subtle swelling yourself. he keeps thrusting in short, rough movements as each fresh rope joins the rest, making you feel the pressure build until you’re sobbing from fullness and clenching helplessly around his twitching cock.
bnd!peter who loves fucking you from behind because he can watch your belly move, one hand under your stomach while the other grips your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. every deep thrust makes the rounded fullness shift against his palm, and he becomes increasingly frantic when he realises he can feel his own cum sloshing inside you while he adds another load.
bnd!peter who who keeps detailed measurements of how much he produces, collecting his release in a marked glass after edging himself for hours. he watches the level rise with shameless fascination, stroking himself through every prolonged pulse until thick white strands coat the inside of the container and slide down so slowly that they barely move.
bnd!peter who who makes you drink the entire glass while sitting naked in his lap, his cock hard against your thigh as he holds the rim to your mouth. the cum is so thick that it clings to your tongue and coats the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow repeatedly while peter watches every movement of your neck with dark, possessive eyes.
bnd!peter who insists you show him your mouth afterward, gripping your chin and making you open wide so he can check whether you swallowed every drop. if he finds even a small streak left on your tongue, he pushes two fingers into your mouth, scrapes it forward, and makes you suck them clean while praising you for taking everything he made.
bnd!peter who pours his cum through a funnel directly into your mouth, keeping you lying beneath him with your wrists webbed apart. he lets the thick release slide down in slow ropes, pausing whenever you struggle so he can watch it pool across your tongue before telling you to swallow and opening the funnel again.
bnd!peter who freezes portions of his cum into small cubes, then presses one against your clit and watches it melt over your swollen folds. the contrast between the cold cube and the heat of your pussy makes you jerk against the webbing while he slowly rubs the slippery mess over your entrance with his thumb.
bnd!peter who uses a clear dildo after filling you, pushing it slowly into your cunt so he can watch thick white cum smear across the toy from the inside. he films every inch disappearing into you, especially the moment the base presses against your soaked folds and forces his release to spill around it in creamy waves.
bnd!peter who records close-up videos of his cock stretching your cum-filled pussy, positioning his phone between your spread thighs while he thrusts slowly enough for the camera to catch every detail. the footage shows his shaft emerging coated in thick white streaks before plunging back inside and dragging the mess deeper with every stroke.
bnd!peter who takes photographs of your stomach immediately after breeding you, making you lie flat while the low bulge remains visible. he places his hand beside it for scale, then takes another picture with his fingers pressing lightly into the curve while your pussy leaks between your legs below.
bnd!peter who keeps a private folder devoted entirely to your creampies, organised by date, position, number of loads, and how long it took for his cum to begin spilling out. he remembers every video perfectly and can tell which one he wants just from the sound of your moans in the opening seconds.
bnd!peter who webs a vibrator directly over your clit and makes you watch those recordings, keeping your thighs spread so widely that you can’t close them around the sensation. he plays footage of himself filling you while the toy buzzes relentlessly against your swollen clit, increasing the setting each time the recorded version of his cock starts pulsing inside you.
bnd!peter who makes you narrate the videos aloud, forcing you to describe the way your cunt stretches, how much cum is dripping from you, and exactly what you felt when your stomach began to swell. whenever you become too embarrassed to continue, he turns the vibrator higher and waits until desperation loosens your tongue.
bnd!peter who pauses the video on the filthiest frame, usually the moment his thick release gushes around the base of his cock or spills from your open pussy. he makes you stare at the frozen image while he rubs your clit with two fingers, quietly asking whether you think your cunt can hold even more next time.
bnd!peter who uses his webbing to secure two vibrators at once, one pressed against your clit and another held firmly against your filled entrance. the vibrations travel through the plug and stir the cum packed inside you, leaving your lower stomach aching pleasantly while thick droplets gradually tremble free around the toy.
bnd!peter who makes you wear a glass plug after he fills your ass, fascinated by the sight of his cum visible through the transparent base. he keeps your pussy stuffed separately with his cock, alternating between watching the cloudy glass and staring at the bulge forming low in your stomach from the load he’s pumping into your cunt.
bnd!peter who loves double-filling you with saved cum and a fresh load, first pouring an entire glass slowly into your pussy while holding your hips elevated. once the last sticky strand slides from the rim, he pushes his cock inside and cums on top of it, packing you with so much that the combined pressure leaves your belly visibly rounded.
bnd!peter who collects the cum that spills from you afterward, holding a clean glass beneath your pussy while he presses carefully against your lower stomach. thick streams slide from your entrance in slow pulses, and he watches the container refill with the mixture before bringing it to your lips and telling you not to waste what your cunt couldn’t keep.
bnd!peter who masturbates over your spread pussy without touching you, ordering you to remain completely still while he strokes his cock above your entrance. when he finally cums, the first ropes land across your clit and folds, but the later spurts fall directly into your open cunt, gradually pooling inside while you’re forbidden from closing your legs.
bnd!peter who ejaculates so forcefully during oral that his cum floods your mouth faster than you can swallow, thick spurts coating your tongue, cheeks, and throat while his cock continues pulsing between your lips. he holds the back of your head without forcing you deeper, groaning as each swallow draws another release from his oversensitive body.
bnd!peter who loves watching his cum stretch between your mouth and his cock, withdrawing slowly after finishing so sticky strands remain connected to your lips. he gathers them against the head with his thumb, smears the mess over your tongue, and pushes his cock back into your mouth so you can clean every remaining drop from his slit.
bnd!peter who smears one load over your breasts before producing another for you to drink, coating your nipples in thick white ropes that cling instead of running off. he sucks the cum from your skin, lets it gather on his tongue, then kisses it into your mouth before handing you the full glass waiting beside him.
bnd!peter who makes you kneel between his legs while he fills a glass, keeping his eyes fixed on your face as he strokes himself. you have to watch each heavy spurt strike the bottom, listen to the wet sound of it accumulating, and wait until he’s completely empty before he finally allows you to lift the glass and taste it.
bnd!peter who becomes obsessed with seeing how long his cum remains inside you, taking timed photographs over several hours while you wear nothing beneath an oversized shirt. whenever a thick drip finally slides down your inner thigh, he records it, catches it on his fingers, and pushes it back into your pussy to restart the timer.
bnd!peter who webs your thighs tightly against your chest after breeding you, folding you open so gravity forces every drop deeper instead of letting it escape. he sits in front of you and watches your stuffed cunt contract around nothing, occasionally pressing a finger over your entrance whenever the first creamy bead tries to push through.
bnd!peter who uses his enhanced hearing to track every internal sound, pressing his ear against your lower stomach after filling you. he listens to the faint movement of his cum inside you, then looks up with a filthy grin and tells you that he can hear how full he’s made you.
bnd!peter who becomes painfully hard from the smell of his cum on your skin, his heightened senses picking it up even after you’ve cleaned yourself. he follows the scent beneath your clothes, finds the last sticky traces between your thighs, and licks them away before deciding your pussy smells too empty and needs to be filled again.
bnd!peter who makes you wear his cum beneath your clothes in public, filling your pussy before securing a plug with thin strands of webbing. throughout the day, he texts you still images from the video he took that morning, reminding you exactly what’s trapped inside your cunt while your stomach remains faintly swollen beneath your outfit.
bnd!peter who remotely activates the vibrator webbed under your underwear, increasing it whenever you try to behave normally around other people. the vibration shakes the cum around the plug, leaving you struggling to keep your expression neutral while peter watches from across the room and sends you clips of your pussy being filled.
bnd!peter who makes you choose where every load goes, offering you three options in that falsely sweet voice of his: your mouth, your pussy, or the waiting glass. whatever you choose first only determines the order because his mutated body can produce enough to fill all three before the night is over.
bnd!peter who deliberately edges himself for days to make the eventual release even larger, refusing to cum no matter how desperately his cock throbs. by the time he finally sinks into you, his balls are so heavy and sensitive that the first clench of your cunt triggers a load strong enough to leave your stomach visibly protruding beneath his hand.
bnd!peter who gets off on the contrast between his sweetness and the obscene mess he makes, kissing your forehead and calling you his good girl while his cock continues flooding your pussy. his voice remains gentle even as he tells you he’s going to breed every coherent thought out of your head and leave you too full of cum to close your legs.
bnd!peter who combines everything into one carefully planned night, filming your belly swelling as he breeds you, webbing a vibrator against your clit, and placing a full glass of saved cum in your hands. he makes you drink while watching the live recording on a screen beside the bed, the vibrator forcing your stuffed cunt to spasm around his cock as he adds another thick, prolonged load.
bnd!peter who ends every session by documenting the aftermath, recording the empty glass, your cum-coated lips, the low swell of your stomach, and the thick release still leaking around the plug in your pussy. he finishes with a close-up of his hand resting possessively over the bulge while he quietly promises that next time he’ll make it even bigger.
no girl there's nothing weird about writing older bf!toji pounding into younger gf!reader in her room while she grabs on her baby pink plushies nonono nothing weird at all
Cute, pure, innocent-acting reader sets feminism back a hundred years. I don’t know, I just really hate female characters (also in classic books and films) who lack any sense of cheekiness and dominance.
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pairing ⁀➷ theodore spencer x black! plus-size reader.
synopsis ⁀➷ the morning time may be the only quiet time you and theodore have together.
song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘donk’ by beyonce.
word count + warnings ⁀➷ 2.1k || nsfw content, 18+ content, no minors allowed!! morning sex, established couple, married life, you guys have children, foul language, pet names(lily, baby, babygirl) morning wood, sideways sex, choking with thick biceps (yipeee!)
‘body’s insane, how could you complain?’
ᥫ᭡
you’re disoriented when you begin to awaken, soft lashes blinking slowly as you silently come to. the blackout curtains you made sure to keep drawn each night, didn’t do the best job as the slightest peak of light shines it’s way into you and theodore’s quiet bedroom. misty clouds cascade over the morning sky, tiny drops of morning dew are sprinkled throughout the spencer’s trimmed lawn and across the window panes of each room.
both you and theodore had fallen asleep a few hours ago, an 80’s classic movie marathon being the very reason you two were snoring comfortably in the california king mattress. teddy laid behind you as the big spoon, while you curled in his embrace as the little one. your face rested on his outstretched arm as he fell asleep before you. you soon feel asleep afterward, completely unaware of your husband waking up until you felt him.
or it, more specifically.
you flinch from where you lay—a shiver up your spine, as a moan peaks in the back of your throat. you lived for these small moments. just you and he in the embrace of the other, while the rest of the world were non factors.
he made you feel like that same silly high school girl who dropped all of her textbooks on the floor during her walk to biology class, watching nervously as the cutest boy in school got on to his knees to help pick up her items. it’d been years ago—the both of you grown and accomplished so much in that amount of time, yet the one thing that remained was the everlasting love you two shared.
the sound of a low whisper and the pass of warm air across your face makes your eyes widen. “don’t you dare move.”
“oh…” you purr in surprise, the rough timbre of his half asleep voice startling you some. “is this how you want to greet your wife on this early morning?”
you nudge back barely an inch, but it’s just enough to make teddy groan out into the side of your neck. “with a hard on pressed into the middle of her ass? yes, i absolutely do.”
you’re laughing once more, with a soft exhalation, you pull the back of theodore’s head closer, stretching your neck out, you allow space for his kisses to deepen.
“you sound so pretty, lily, sound so good trying to keep your voice quiet.”
and theodore picks up on every little thing that you do because you were indeed trying to suppress your moans while he peppered you in fervent kisses. in a bedroom just a few feet down the hallway rested your two beautiful preteen children, nyle and lyla. the fraternal twin siblings were born nine years ago on a hot summer in may. your children were the greatest creations you could ever dream of having. both extremely witty and kindhearted, neither child held a single mean bone in their little bodies. being a mother felt like one of your biggest contributions to this world, able to see the purest parts of you and theodore implemented in both of your children.
you loved your babies dearly, but you knew that if they heard you awake in here, any serene moment spent with your husband would quickly be out the window.
so you remain quiet.
you and theodore hadn’t gotten much alone time in these passing weeks, both too busy with work and familial responsibilities, the very last thing you two thought of was having sex. before the twins and this quiescent suburban neighborhood came into play, you and theodore were able to fuck whenever and wherever you felt comfortable.
things were extremely diverse now, but your husband made it his duty to keep you satisfied.
happy wife, happy life was truly his everyday motto.
you wanted the woodwork on the backyards patio refurbished? completed!
you wanted to send the children to one of the most prestigious private schools in the state? finished!
you wanted him to slide his dick into you and keep your moans discreet while he fucked you from the side? done and done!
there was nothing your husband wasn’t willing to do just for you.
“i had a dream, baby.”
theodore’s voice vibrates across your soft skin, the ticklish feel of his unshaven bread brushing against you makes your eyes fall shut and your mouth pull open.
“yeah?” you sigh, arching your back into his chest, hand gently massaging your breast as theodore’s much larger hand rubs at your clit through the front of your panties. “what was it about?”
“you,” he states plainly, “it’s always you, baby, you know this.”
you believe that your husband may have been putting on, but you’re unable to hide the joy you felt from his statement. “mhmm, i bet it was.”
now theodore’s the one who’s smiling, nibbling down on your shoulder blade before kissing it ever so slightly. “c’mon, now baby, you know it’s the reason i’m poking at you like this, don’t play coy.”
your husband is a trip and you can’t help but to laugh at every silly little thing he says.
“yeah, well, why don’t you put that thing to some good use, huh?”
“you want me to put it to good use—want me to put it to good use, baby? you want this dick inside you, babygirl?”
theodore is being his playful self while wrapping you tighter in his embrace, a toned and robust bicep almost hugging the front of your throat as he pulls you closer. his opposite hand reaches to throw back the ruffled creme duvet from the both of you, exposing your partially covered bodies, he adjusts himself further so that he can easily slide into your awaiting pussy.
tugging your panties down the sides of your long legs, theodore allows them to stop right at the middle of your thighs before pulling his piece through the hole of his gray boxer briefs, holding on to the base, your husband taps his thick dick along the slit of your pussy. the steady smacking sound of your dewy entrance and his hard dick, makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.
the fresh smell of toasted decaf should’ve been the first thing that awakened you this morning, instead it’s the heated sensation of teddy’s thick, leaking tip as he smudges it against your slippery opening in a quick back and forth motion.
theodore would surely make you a nice mug of coffee right after this. you didn’t have to worry too much about it.
“ooh, shittt, fu—fuuuck, baby,” teddy groans in satisfaction as a high-pitched gasp escapes the end of your lips. reaching around, theodore grabs hold of your ankle and props your leg open so he can reach a better angle within you, the sole of your foot now resting on top of his strong thigh.
moving lower, your husband snatches away the oversized band graphic tee shirt that you were wearing. revealing your full breasts to him, teddy licks a stripe along the pad of his thumb, slowly rubbing the lubricated digit onto your stiffened nipple. it brings out a drawn hiss from you, small hand reaching up to hold his face closer to your own. the moment is more intimate than any time you and theodore have spent in the passing weeks.
here lies your husband, a profound furrow in those thick smooth, eyebrows of his. aquatic colored orbs boring into your own as he holds the front of your forehead to his. the lower half of his white t-shirt pulled up just enough for the v-line in his abdomen to show, soft light brown pubic hairs trailing along his warm skin while he grinds into you.
it’s tranquil, peaceful.
the house is mostly silent. you can hear the faint distant sound of your children’s television that they’d left on all night, combined with the calming humming tune of a baby bird outside the window. it’s a beautiful mix that you hope you hear for the rest of your life.
you stare up at theodore with the same wonderment you’d felt for years now, always so enamored by him and the strength he held, literally and figuratively. your husband nods his head slowly, almost as if he were answering whatever questions you had in complete silence, already knowing what that deep frown etched on your lips and the fluttering of your eyelashes meant.
“th—theo—“ you whine and begin to tremble, the ends of your nails scratch at the nape of his wide neck, tugging on the strands of his curls, while teddy only hums.
“i know, baby, i fucking know,” he coos, placing the gentlest peck to your lips, just enough to get you out of this hot headed daze. “what’chu thinking about? hmm?”
“theo—“ you can only repeat your previous statement, releasing a shaky exhale as you’re bewildered by his words. he knows your limitations, knows you can’t speak much right now and he certainly knows how difficult this is for you. “you’re—you’re, baby, i’m about to cummm.”
“why you waiting, baby? get what you need, i’m right—i’m right fucking here, lily, c’mon.”
and that little break in his voice—the one that falters in the back of his throat as he speaks to you, lets you know that theodore is just as close as you are. the pace of your husband's once fluid hips switch into a much different territory. digging his hips into you further, his lower half makes contact with your ass in the process, teddy wants you as close as possible. you note the shaking of his toned thighs as his dick warms inside of you, the grip he held around the front of your throat begins to tighten just as his own eyes shut close and tries to find it. needing a second to gather himself as he feels an orgasm forming in the pit of his stomach.
it’s a different story for you.
it didn’t take much, if not anything at all for you to cum like a maddened woman.
he finds your spot immediately, the tip of his reddened dick brushing along the beginning of your cervix, fucking into you so good it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. you attempt to moan, but struggle to do so as teddy’s bicep restricts your airway. his muscular arm keeps you trapped in place, while his dick slides into you without pause. you’d been choked by him before, but something about him controlling your breathing with those buff arms of his makes you clench around his shaft with every stroke he gave.
you go silent for a moment, allowing the sloppy sounds of your noisy pussy to ruminate through the room. you’re stuck in the position, face contorted into an open-mouthed expression of pleasure.
“oh, oh, oh,” you blabber out, absentmindedly, wide eyeing theodore as he’s the cause of this moment. “i’m cum—cumming, baby, i’m fucking cumming all over you.”
it sounds like you’re crying, folding in your lips to contain the gut-wrenching moans that beg to be freed, a small puddle forming underneath your spot in the bed while teddy continues to buck into you, entirely ignoring the fact that you’ll have to wash these sheets later today.
“you fucking—you fucking got it, girl,” he heaves. “i’m—i’m cumming baby, i’m cumming with you, holy fuck.”
you’d come apart in a matter of seconds, dragging your ridiculously horny husband right along with you as he groaned into the front of your head, continuing to push his hips forward until he’d been totally drained inside of you. a guttural growl remains muffled inside the silk bonnet you wore, hips stuttering brokenly as his spills ropes of hot semen into you, not pausing for even a second as he ensures he’s completely finished.
the two of you lay in the bed, allowing the room and your breathing to settle before both of you break into a small fit of laughter.
“morning dew and morning wood, huh?”
“oh, shut up,” you hide your face as he makes you laugh once more. you’re just a little dazed as your vision attempts to clear, but there’s a restriction around your neck as teddy grips you tighter in his hold.
“not yet, baby,” a kiss is placed to the side of your face. “let’s wait a while, yeah? lay here a bit longer, okay?”
theodore’s warm dick is still tucked snuggly between your walls and you can’t help but to instinctually clench around him. you knew your children would be awakening in a while and both you and theodore would be forced to face the busy world of parenthood. you pushed that thought away for now because this sacred moment was made only for you and theodore to share.
“okay, teddy.”
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