Myia

ship: quentin beck/peter parker 

word count: 323

warnings: nff, fem!peter, cunnilingus, gratuitous comma use. 

I’m pulling prompts from this list. I have nothing planned for tomorrow, but come back Sunday for some starker blowjobs. 

read on ao3

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Quentin truly doesn’t know what he’d done do deserve this, perfect Penny Parker laid out on his bed, letting him eat her out. She’s beautiful, flushed and sweaty and a little dazed from her previous orgasm. He takes a second to thank whatever God might exist and gets back to work, pressing kisses to her thighs and lovingly dragging his beard across the sensitive skin there, just to make her squirm. As much as he like teasing her, he knows what they both want right now, so he leans in and starts licking, circling her clit for a few seconds before moving down, licking long, slow stripes over her dripping hole. He might be crazy, but he thinks she tastes innocent, completely untouched by anyone but him. And maybe he’s perverted too, because that thought is so fucking hot he could come right then and there. 

He pushes his sweats down and grips his cock, matching the strokes of his hand to the strokes of his tongue, and brings his other hand up to thumb at her clit. She’s getting close, he can tell by her little whimpers and the way her thighs shake, so he takes his hand from her clit, ignoring her sob, and easily pushes three fingers inside of her. He latches his mouth onto her clit and sucks, while crooking his fingers to rub her g-spot, and she’s losing it, wailing and yanking at his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as she comes again. 

ship: quentin beck/peter parker 

word count: 735

warnings: nff, spanking (duh), dom/sub, good guy!quentin, gratuitous comma use.   

let me know if this needs any other warnings (: 

I’m pulling prompts from this list, and I won’t be doing every day, because I’m pretty rusty and easily overwhelmed, but I’m still excited! this also fills Day 24: begging. 

read on ao3

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Some days it just becomes too much for Peter, the constant weight on his shoulders. The responsibility of helping his city, the stress of school, of taking care of May. It all translates to an exhausted type of energy, the type that makes his nerves tight and mind useless, the type of energy that can’t be soothed by swinging through the city. It’s one of those days, and Peter knows he needs help if he wants to be any use to the city tomorrow. So he calls Quentin. The conversation is brief, all he had to do was tell him he needed him, and he told him to swing by when he was done with his patrol. Peter spends the rest of the day on autopilot, eager to get to Quentin, to not have to be in control. Quentin always knows what to do.

He’s waiting for him when he climbs in through the living room window, lounging on the couch, and Peter stops as soon as he’s in, suddenly hesitant. 

“Strip.” he wastes no time, his voice leaves no room for questioning, and that makes Peter breathe a sigh of relief before he begins to methodically take his clothes off, making sure to fold them all neatly and stack them on the floor like he’s supposed to. Once he finishes he stands with his hands clasped behind his back and eagerly awaits the next order. 

“Come here.” Peter obeys immediately, going to stand between Quentins legs. He’s already half-hard, and he flushes from embarrassment as Quentin scrutinizes him. Finally, after what feels like forever, he pats his thighs, and Peter scrambles to lay across them. Quentin starts touching him, just running his hands up and down his back, across his ass and thighs, trying to get him to relax. It works, Peter can feel the tension leaving his body, in fact, he’s so relaxed he didn’t even anticipate the first smack. 

It hurts, the crack sickeningly loud in the quiet room, but apparently its exactly what peter didn’t know he needed, because he’s instantly fully hard, grinding against him. He doesn’t reprimand him for it, just continues smacking his ass and thighs. This isn’t a punishment, so he doesn’t make Peter count, and he’s grateful for that, because he doesn’t feel like speaking tonight. 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, lets himself slip into that safe space in his head where everything is warm and fuzzy, forgets everything except how good he feels, until suddenly Quentin stops. Peter whines before he can stop himself, and twists around to look at Quentin over his shoulder. He’s staring at him, pupils blown, and speaks before peter can ask why he stopped. 

“Are you close?” as soon as Peter processes the question he realizes he is, actually, very close to coming, subconsciously rutting against Quentin. He swallows thickly and manages to reply. “Yes, sir.” Quentin smiles, rubs and squeezes the burning hot flesh of Peters ass and says, “I want you to beg.” 

Those words break a dam in Peter. And he fucking sobs. Words spill out desperately as he starts humping Quentins leg with renewed vigor “Please sir, please let me cum, I want it so bad, fuck! I need it, I need it!” he responds by smacking his ass again, making Peter wail  “Oh fuck, oh god please, please let me cum, need it so bad, fuck! Sir, please!” and finally, finally,  Quentin says “Go ahead, baby.” he leans down and sinks his teeth into his bruised ass and Peter is losing it, sobbing and shaking and spilling over Quentins thigh.

ship: quentin beck/peter parker 

word count: 401 

warnings: nff, rimming (duh), gratuitous comma use.  

let me know if this needs any other warnings (: 

I’m pulling prompts from this list. I’m not posting anything tomorrow, but look out for Fem!Peter on Friday! 

read on ao3

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Peter wants to fucking cry. He does feel amazing, lying on the soft hotel bed with Quentins fingers in him, But he wants more, and Quentin had adamantly refused to fuck him without condoms and real lube. He’s seriously considering using his strength to pin Quentin down and ride him when his fingers brush over his prostate and Peters whole body shudders. He’s so close, but he just can’t get off like this.  

“God, Beck, I need more. I’m so fucking close, please!” Quenton responds by pulling his fingers out, and Peter whines at the loss before he’s being flipped over to lay on his stomach. He cranes his neck to look back at Quentin, who doesn’t look like he’s getting ready to fuck him at all. 

“What are you doing?” he questions, and Quentin just smirks at him before replying, “You said you needed more, right?” and before Peter can come up with a smartass response he’s spreading his cheeks and leaning down to lick a hot stripe over his hole. Peter squeals like an idiot and immediately forgets all about getting Quentin to fuck him, and comes up with a new plan: make sure Quentin never, ever stops. God, his tongue feels so good, wet and warm and maybe even better than his fingers. Quentin clearly knows what he’s doing, alternating between licking softly and sucking on his rim, and his beard is scratching the backs of his thighs deliciously, and before long Peter is on the edge again. 

He can’t stop whimpering, keeps trying to push his ass back, but Quentin keeps a firm hold on him, so instead he worms his hand between his stomach and the bed to grab his dick. The angle hurts his shoulder, and he’s sweating and drooling on the pillows, but he’s so close, so close, and then Quentin drags his beard across his hole and Peter’s biting into a pillow to muffle his yell as he comes so hard he thinks he blacks out for a few seconds.

Please do not talk to me about Charlie only getting Bella every summer.

Don’t talk to me about Renee wanting him to come after her when physically Charlie couldn’t because his own parents (who had him at an old age) were dying at the Forks nursing home and he just couldn’t bring himself to leave to chase after her even though he desperately wanted to get his wife and child back.

Don’t talk to me about 10 year old Bella coming over and Charlie feeling like she just doesn’t want to be there, so he decides to take her fishing, and to his surprise she actually likes it. And he realizes she’s more like him than she is her Mother because she’s not whining about how bored she is, or asking 30 questions a minutes like any other kid would. She’s just sitting by him quietly, asking him every now and again if he got a bite yet while she reads her book that is way above her grades reading level.

And please, for the love of God, dont talk to me about Charlie saying “The sunset looks pretty right now” to make conversation, and little Bella saying “Yup, I guess. But can you put another worm on my hook? I think the guppies ate it again” And Charlie simply replying “Okay,” while trying to hide a small smile because he knows she’s more of him than she is Renee, and they’d be best buds if Renee hadn’t had left with her all those years ago.

Also don’t talk to me about how Bella could only really have a childhood when she was in Forks with her Dad because in Arizona she was too busy taking care of her grown ass mother - and BOOK KEEPING AT THE AGE OF 10 - because Renee was too busy candle making and learning about fucking chakras in the desert to be a damn Mom.

CHARLIE AND BELLA DESERVED MORE 👏👏👏