Masterlist Of Masterlists

Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please 🥺.

this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!

“I kinda want a black eye.” 

Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue. 

“Oh, really?” 

You nod, “it looks gnarly but it’d be cool to have one.” 

“Baby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You don’t want one.” 

Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peter’s hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful. 

“I think if you loved me you’d give me one.” 

Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadn’t. 

“We should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.” 

You scoff, “they weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.” 

Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost. 

“I’d never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.” 

“Do you have a friend that could-” 

“No.” 

—------------------------------------

Oh FUCK did your eye HURT. 

It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldn’t even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didn’t work. 

You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, you’ve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt. 

If your right eye could open it’d be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye. 

Your voice bubbles with pain, “petey, it hurts.” 

Your boyfriend couldn’t even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked he’s caused serious damage, panicked you’d be scared of him, panicked you’d dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him. 

“It hurts so bad,” he knows you’re calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the ‘whack!’ in his head. It wasn’t gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.

Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one. 

His short, barely there breaths start to stutter.  

And suddenly Peter couldn’t see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He should’ve been quicker, he should’ve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment. 

“Peter!” A desperate cry for attention, you don’t know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine. 

You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after he’d pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand… well you don’t know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone. 

Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you.  

He’s crying, your boyfriend’s crying. You’ve been punched and he’s crying. 

“I’m.. I’m sorr.. Fuck.” Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused. 

“Let me see it, please?” Peter said it like a question, like he’d ever be lucky enough to have that privilege. 

You sob, “it hurts.” 

Peter blinks, more tears. He can’t believe he’s crying over this, he also can’t believe he hit his fucking girlfriend. 

“I know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.” 

You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, it’s not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldn’t open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the world’s best poker face. 

Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage. 

It was bruising, and swollen and you couldn’t open your eye and it was all his fault. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. A normal teenager doesn’t have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you. 

His powers, his abilities, his strength.

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

“You need ice.” Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. “Everything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?” Peter ignored you as he backed away, you don’t think he’s ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions. 

He shouldn’t be getting ice, he shouldn’t be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldn’t be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldn’t be icing your black eye he caused. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You weren’t upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand. 

He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table. 

Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside. 

You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didn’t hurt. 

“Am I right, super high pain tolerance?” 

It’s like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room. 

“I hit you.” 

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you could’ve. 

“That’s a little dramatic.” 

Peter shook his head, upset you weren’t upset. 

“I hit you hard, I hurt you. I…” His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. “I fucking hit you,” he whispered it, like his own mind couldn’t wrap it around. 

He doesn’t pull out the fuck word often. 

You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think that’d made things worse. 

“I’m not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.” 

“I swore i’d never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didn’t-” 

“Mean it.” You cut him off, “you didn’t mean it.” 

Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldn’t let you. 

“Ice.” Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didn’t question him, you followed instructions. 

“Remember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?” 

It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldn’t deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldn’t shake it. You were just playing around, it’s not like it was that serious. 

“I was joki-” 

“I told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.” 

Disgust. That’s what it was. He was disgusted with himself. 

You sat up straight, your lip curled up. 

A black eye? Sick.

“Wait, really?” 

Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere. 

“You gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?” 

This wasn’t a cute or funny thing, and he won’t let you make it be one. 

He hit you.

“This isn’t funny, I hit you and you’re happy you got a black eye?” 

“Pete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didn’t mean to and you’re obviously extremely remorseful.” 

“But I-” 

You reached out for his hand, “forgive yourself. You forgive yourself.” 

It wouldn’t be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldn’t be able to fully forgive himself. 

“No more wrestling.” 

You scoff, “no more sneak attacks, how about that?” 

He shook his head, “I don’t want this happening again.” 

“If the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?” 

Peter scoffed, “absolutely not, but it wouldn’t hurt me like it does you.” 

“So you do have a super high pain tolerance.” 

He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, “yes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.” 

You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off. 

“First off, plural. Second, please stop. You’re making me feel bad, I’m really okay and I’m not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.” 

Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. He’s more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.

“I think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.” 

You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart. 

“I’d never!” 

Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, “toxic.” 

could i please request a blurb w hotch like the scaring off a creep one u did with james 🥹🫶

Thank you for your request! fem!reader, tw unwanted advance

When a creep at the bar won't leave you alone, you look for the most intimidating man in the room. You know it might make things worse for you, but his suit jacket screams businessman, maybe lawyer, and while lots of lawyers are scumbags, he's standing with another man and two women, neither of which are under his arm, so you take your chances. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you." A cruel hand tightens around your wrist.

"I already told you I have a boyfriend," you say, pulling your hand away from the creeper's reach. 

"I already told you I don't believe it," he says. 

You rag your hand out of his touch and weave through people, until you're close enough to almost throw the businessman off his feet as you slot yourself under his arm. He stiffens, and his friends all react defensively, but luckily he puts up his hand and nobody tries to tackle you. 

The creeper is a couple steps behind you, and he doesn't see the strange reaction your 'boyfriend' has to your hiding in his side, thankfully.

"If you don't leave me alone," you say as bravely as you're able, hand curling with real nervousness into the businessman's shirt, "my boyfriend's gonna ask you outside." 

Creeper looks at you, shocked, and then at the businessman with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Is she fucking for real? 

The businessman's arm settles properly around your shoulder, his hand braceleting your naked upper arm. 

"Did you hear her or not?" he asks, and his voice is so steady, so commanding, he startles not only the creeper but you, too. 

"I can repeat it for you, if you'd like," says his dark-haired friend. She's almost as fierce as he is. 

Finally, finally, your creeper admits defeat and turns away. You watch him walk all the way to the door, and then you turn around and hang your head. 

"Sir," you say, "I am so, so sorry to just barge into you like that." 

"Are you hurt?" he asks. 

You look up, blinking. "Oh, no, not really. He grabbed me pretty hard, but that's when I came up to you." You smile at him and his friends. "You're the most intimidating person here. No offence." 

He rolls his eyes at the wave of his friends' raucous laughter.

"He absolutely is," says a shorter blonde woman, grinning. 

You nod your apologies at all of them and turn back to the maybe-not-businessman, who's really quite handsome both smiling and glaring. You decide you like the smiling more. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" you ask. "As an apology? Or a thank you." 

"No." He holds his arm out like he might steer you away and your heart drops, but he adds, "I'll buy you one. If that's alright." 

There's nothing forceful in his offer. The pit fills. Excitement blooms.

"That's alright," you confirm, words coloured by a tell-tale happiness. 

He guides you to the bar with a big hand behind your shoulder. Good-natured laughter follows from his table of friends, as well as a short but enthusiastic cheer of, "Go Hotch." 

"What's a hotch?" you ask, perplexed.

He laughs, a light, airy thing, at odds with his stern looks. "No idea. My name's Aaron, by the way." 

“You promised you wouldn’t forget me” + ambrose please?

+ “I wished every day to hold you once more”

I haven’t written Ambrose yet so I hope this is somewhat good!!

Ambrose’s house arrest was a touchy subject. He had his family, of course. He could act like that was enough, but he craved more. He would feign indifference.

He often remembers his life outside of the Spellman household, the people he met, the lovers he had. He remembers, but wishes he could forget. There is nothing worse than those memories. The memories taunt him in his dreams. Y/N haunts him in those dreams. 

The bed was suffocating as he attempted to unwrap his body from the sheets. The dreams, again. The same face he’s seen every night for 75 years in this house. He rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of the thought, but he can’t drop it. Y/N. They had lost contact after everything that happened with the Vatican. He’s tried to find traces, but to no avail. You did not want to be found. The feeling of betrayal was the only thing he had left from you.

“How long has it been, Ambrose? 70 years?” A voice from across the room made him scramble in his bed.

“Who’s there?” He was never one to be scared, but the voice was hauntingly familiar. It was just there, in his dreams. Was he still dreaming?

The room is dark, he’s unable to see a thing. “You promised you wouldn’t forget me.” The voice teased, bouncing of the walls from every side. It itched at him as he stood up from the bed, hating the way the voice taunted him. This was all too familiar. He fumbles around the room for his light, flicking it on.

Ambrose meets the same face he’s seen every night for 75 years and he’s positive he’s dreaming. Except, the hair is different, the eyes aren’t as bright, but that’s the same seductive smile from years ago. Not a single word seems to be able to escape his mouth, even though there’s a million of them swarming his thoughts. “Y/N.” Is all he can say, eyes wide. “You’re not real.”

“Why would you say that?” You questioned, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He responds instantly, leaning into your touch. It feels like you never left. “It’s me, Ambrose.” You reassure him.

He searches for something that would tell him otherwise, but he finds nothing. It has to be you. “I wished every day to hold you once more.” He confesses, eyes pleading with your own. He’s never felt so vulnerable, yet so complete at the same time. “Why did you leave?” He finally questions, but doesn’t pull away, too scared you’ll disappear.

You open your mouth to answer, but Sabrina bursts into his room. She looks frightened, but stops in her tracks when she sees the scene in front of her. She steps forward tentatively, reaching a hand out to Ambrose. “Ambrose…” She trails off, eyes apologetic as she touches his arm. “There’s a sleep demon in the house, this…” She glances at your figure. “This isn’t real.”

Ambrose turns to meet your eyes again, wondering if what his cousin is saying is true, but you’re gone. He can still feel your hand on his cheek. He was simply reliving all the other dreams he’s had for the past 75 years. The real torture is waking up, the real torture was him believing you’d ever come back.

“You have to wake up, Ambrose.”

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sherlock and Y/N have always teased each other relentlessly, claiming one was fixated on the other. One day while on a case, they realize that their banter holds a ring of truth. Fluff!!!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

“Sherlock, its my day off. Explain to me what I’m doing at Barts.” Lestrade checked his watch and sighed. “I’ve already missed the game’s first half! This had better be good.”

Sherlock sat hunched over his microscope. “It’s important,” he said, eyeing his work. “It’s about your bank robbery, actually. There were palm prints left behind that can be traced back to the suspects.”

Keep reading

Throwback to all these Jesus comics I drew in 2012…

Y/N: Okay, truth or dare?

Sherlock, shrugs: Truth.

Y/N: How many hours have you slept this week?

Sherlock:

Y/N:

Sherlock: ...Dare.

Y/N: Go to bed.

Sherlock: I don’t like this game!

Can i request a fic were Wilson is a morning person but since reader came into his life he has been staying in bed longer or/and taking more time to have breakfast 😉

A/N: I’m so sick and tired of Tumblr making my photos so shitty 😭😭 anyways thx for the request hope this is good! Sorry if it’s short

Fluff Oneshot

⚕️Mornings with you

James Wilson x Gn!Reader

James has always been a morning person. He got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, brushed his teeth, blow-dried his hair, and then went off to work. You are not. But ever since you came into his life, he’s stayed in bed waiting for your eyes to flutter open so he can wake you up with kisses. It’s made you question your faith to the term ‘night owl’. He’s made sure you get up early enough to eat breakfast and get to work on time. To say he spoiled you was an understatement; he worshipped you. If he got up early enough, he loved to make you your favorite breakfast so he could surprise you with it in bed. He loved seeing the tired smile on your face when you woke up. Today was no different.

🔆

The sweet smell of pancakes and fresh fruit fills your lungs as you wake up. A small yawn escapes your mouth as you turn over, arms falling across your boyfriends chest. A sweet kiss is pressed to your temple in turn.

“Good morning my love.”

You groan, face buried in his chest, in response but make sure to kiss him back.

“I made us breakfast.”

“It smells good.” You mumble in a half-awake haze. James’s hands find themselves in your hair as he twirls on your beautiful locks. Despite how much you want to stay in bed with him all day, you realize you should probably get going. It was nice living with James; previously you had to set 15 dozen alarm clocks to make sure you get to the hospital on time, but now you had a live in one, one that awoke you with kisses and delicious gourmet food. You could get used to it.

One final groan pushes through your lips as you make your way off of him to go eat breakfast, your end target motivating you along with your boyfriend, who stood up with you and hugged you from behind as you walked through the house. Breakfasts for James usually meant scarfing down really whatever he could find before finishing his morning routine and leaving; but when you came into his life, his home, he wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. He made sure that you weren’t stuck with shitty food or nothing at all. When you came to live with him, breakfasts now meant him waking up early to make you only the best and eating with you as you cuddled up together and watched a bit of TV, listened to music, or just talked.

You walk into the living room and take a seat on the comfy couches, one of the many things you loved about his house. You grabbed a plate and plopped down, James following, and took a bite as you leaned into him.

“Holy shit— this is so good?!” You exclaimed. Sure, you were used to the food he made being good, but today it felt like it was made with extra love. He blushed a pink hue and you find it adorable that you can make him flustered with just a small compliment.

“Only the best for you.” He hums as he smiles, taking a bite himself as you continue.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like mornings,”

“Oh yea? Why’s that?”

“because I get to spend them with the best boyfriend in the world, who makes me the best pancakes ever.”

Five : "I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night."

Y/N : "All I drank was Redbull!"

Five : "How many?"

Y/N : "Eighteen."

Y/N: We have fun, don’t we, Five?

Five: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

Well. Look at that. Anyways, I wrote this last night while I was drunk.

Peter looks at you from across the room, disgusted by ur gayness.

“Ew. How could u be gay. That’s so gross and totally wrong.” He says.

You look at him like he’s the numbest bitch in the planet. “Peter. Ur literally so stupid. Even frogs r gay.” You counter, still being gay as ever.

Peter narrows his eyes at you, “yeah well those frogs are going to like hell.”

YOu let out a loud laugh and simply counting r to stare at him. “You wanna get fucked by a gay grl.” You tease, beckoning him to come to the bathroom with you.

Peter’s eyes go very wide, but he is intrigued. Even if ur very very gay. So he stands up and goes to the bathroom with you.

You look him in the eyes and smile again. “So what u ganna do for me baby girl?” He asks, a big ass smirk when j his face.

“I’m ganna fuck u until you can’t walk” u say, pulling down his pants.

“Oh god please” peter moans, grabbing your hips and pulling you close. “I want u to tick me so hard please” he begs. Kissing your very soft juicy lips.

You let out a moan, kissing him back very passionately. “Mmm Parker” you grunt, despite not even liking men.

You finish stripping him from all his cloths, then you take off your own. “Wow Peter ur so sexy. I can’t wait to fuck your fat cock”

You push him onto the sink and slowly begin to sink onto his big ginormous fat cock. It feels so good inside you which makes you leg out a loud moan. You grip his hair tight, tugging his brow curls. “Mmmm sexy.”

You groan.

His hands grip ur hips ahead he leads ur hips up and down on his big man

Ohhhhhhh” he cries, kissing ur neck sloppily. “Gosh ur so hot baby” he cries, feeling u on his cock.

You let out another moan before hopping off his big dick, flipping him around, and bumming in his big juicy asshole.

Peter cute too, squirting all over the sink. “Ohhhh shit that felt so good” he moans.

+++

Peter found out he was probate about three months later. He couldn’t. Be more scared of having a gay bitches baby. How could he possibly have the bay of a gay Bo. Like what. Anyways, he was so very pregnant and Tony was so upset because his son is so young and so very pregnant.

But Steve thinks that it’s a miracle from the gays that he’s pregnant with your gay baby.

So Peter is told he has to has it because it’s a gay blessing from a hot sexy woman who got him prhegnage

So he keeps being very very primate u Gil it’s time to deliver. And he had the hunky ads baby and feels so proud cause he’s a mommy now.

But ur a mommy too.

Peter reali3/ he’s so gay because he’s a mommy a fan yoruens a mommy so you’re hay.

Peter is ashamed of his gay self and decides to tie. The baby to bucket because his one hand will be a better mummy them him.

The end.

+++

I’m so so so sorry. Also, if you commented on the OG 🤨 I tagged you

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