riversworld96 - Tumblr blog

riversworld96 · 10 months

Text

sorry for reblogging so much peter b smut but in my defense LORDDDDD

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁.

summary > subdued feelings come to a head after an uneventful date and over a bottle of nasty beer.

cws > infidelity (peter is married to mary jane). fem reader/spider!reader. drinking (of age). pining on both ends. mm i think that’s it!

wc > 4.8k

a/n > i think this is my most dialogue heavy fic and i am squirming in my seat and hoping it’s not terrible jajaja — dialogue is not my strong suit but i wanted to build banter between them :’(

Peter Benjamin Parker is not a man without sin.

He tells lies every now and then, ranging from a harmless, “Yeah, MJ, I love that dress.”, all the way down to “No, of course she’s just a friend—I would never do that to you.”.

He swears around his bumbling toddler, f-bombs dropping left and right when she starts swinging around HQ and he has to race to keep up with her — she’s fast, and surprisingly steady on her webs for her age, and pride swells in his chest whenever he sees her fumble her way into a perfect maneuver that had taken him months to conquer back in his younger days.

He drinks in excess at times. When his mind goes back to those ‘canon events’, and questions of “What if I had done this? Or that?” race through his mind, along with the images of countless loved ones dying. He usually drinks alone, atop a building as he looks down at a city that praises him and labels him their hero, but sometimes he drinks with a partner…

That brings him to his last sin, and perhaps his worst.

You.

You, who he’s found a familiar comfort in. You, who understands him better than MJ ever could — you’ve both experienced the same things; the losses, the gains, the overwhelming pressure of people’s expectations that threatens to bring you to your knees and crush you like a bug. You understand him—you are him, in a way.

You, whose touch feels awfully like the peace he’s fighting for.

He doesn’t know when you stopped being someone he only had a few foul tasting beers with, woes and sorrow passed back and forth in mumbled sentences, and instead became someone that he shared timid, heated glances with across the room, eyes exchanging declarations that neither of you dared to say aloud.

He thinks it may have been when you had first bailed on your usual night of drinking with him to instead dip your toes into the dating pool — the beginning of the end. He had been the one to encourage you to get out there — “Go for it. You’re an attractive woman—what, I can’t call you attractive? Fine. You’re a decent looking woman, you’d have no problem getting a date.” You had turned down his advice at first with offhand comments about being ‘too busy’ to be able to go out on dates, or put in the required amount of energy needed to successfully be in a relationship, and he’d rebuttal with an ‘MJ and I worked out, didn’t we?’.

You had relented, eventually, and found that you had more suitors willing to work around your schedule than you thought. You had a plethora of dates lined up, one right after the other, and after each one you’d come to lament to him about each and every one.

“He had a piece of spinach stuck in his teeth the entire time—and I tried not to laugh, I really did! But he just looked so ridiculous and I couldn’t stop it—oh, don’t look at me like that, Peter!”

“He took me bowling, which would have been fine if he wasn’t a sore loser. If you ever wanna see a grown man go blue in the face from anger, beat him in bowling.”

Most of your complaints were petty, and the two of you laughed over bottles of beer as you detailed all the mundane details; awkward pauses in conversation, poor jokes that teetered on the edge of being inappropriate, and bad hygiene.

As you told him all about your failed dates, he couldn’t help but think about how much better your night would have been had you went out with him instead of them. Peter knew your likes and dislikes, the foods that made you ask for seconds and the foods that you picked at, the movies that had you on the edge of your seat and the movies that had you aimlessly scrolling through your phone, the jokes that made you burst into laughter and bury your face into his shoulder and the jokes that made your eyes roll and your smile thin out, he knew all these things and many, many more.

Peter realized then that you meant more to him than you should. He had a wife who he loved with all his heart, or who he had thought he loved with all his heart, because if he had loved her so deeply, why had you been able to weasel your way in and take up permanent residence? He doesn’t like to think about that, doesn’t like to question all the years he’s spent with Mary Jane, all the trials and tribulations they’ve overcome for the sake of their relationship, all the declarations of love he had screamed at the top of his lungs whenever she had begun to question his priorities.

No, Peter doesn’t like to think about that, so he shoves it to the back of his mind and focuses on the present, on you.

“Y’know, Miguel, it wouldn’t kill you to have a drink every now and then.”

“And it wouldn’t kill you to not have a drink every now and then.” Miguel shifts his gaze from the documents in his hands to where Peter is lounging in a chair, beer bottle cradled between his fingers as he takes short ships, and pointedly looks to his stomach.

“Haven’t you heard, Miggy Boy? Ripped muscles are out and dad bods are in.” Peter slaps a hand to his stomach, not letting the comment bother him any. His weight fluctuates quite a bit, but it’s been somewhat stable since May was born, leaving him at a body shape that still had heads turning his way, and had a handful of men coming up to ask for his workout routine —“Parkour”, he’d tell them, “lots and lots of parkour.”—.

Corded muscles are hidden underneath thin layers of fat, but make themselves apparent with the smallest movement; biceps and forearms flexing as he lifts the bottle to his lips, calf expanding when he bounces his leg, muscles in his shoulders and back tensing when he bends to itch a spot on his lower leg.

“I’ll pass.” Miguel scoffs, and Peter throws his hands up in exaggerated exasperation. He resigns himself to drinking by himself, and his mind begins to wander to how your date’s going. If he’s remembering right, it had been with some hotshot lawyer that was on the Society’s payroll, because yes, even Heroes got into sticky situations with the law every now and then.

He takes another sip of beer, this one longer than the last, and he grimaces as he swallows the warm liquid. The cheap beer always tastes more shitty when you aren’t around, his attention no longer able to be focused on you as he mindlessly downs the liquid.

He groans, the sound long and drawn out, and a tingle starts at his temple when Miguel shifts in his spot. He groans again, and that tingle turns into two tingles, and then he’s taking another sip as he tries to estimate the likelihood of Miguel beheading him if he were to do it again.

Before he can make a stupid decision, a familiar scent is creeping in through the door, and Peter swivels his chair around to face it, mouth curving into a small that he fights to subdue.

“Talk about a quick date.” He teases as you finally step into view, mouth running dry at the sight of you. You’re all dolled up; hair curled all pretty and swaying with each step, mascara-lined eyes playful rolling at his words, beige lips curving into a smile of your own, manicured nails raising to toy with the necklace resting atop your cleavage — Peter downs the rest of the beer, the taste no longer registering.

“You’re telling me.” You heave a sigh as you near the two men, your gaze traveling over to an uninterested Miguel before you’re parking your pert ass —ah, c’mon, Peter— on his desk, promptly ignoring the annoyed look he shoots you. “I haven’t had an encounter with a man that fast since my ex-boyfriend.”

Peter lets out a bark of laughter, and you let out a quick, short laugh before continuing. “No, but seriously, the whole thing only lasted about twenty minutes?“ You hold your hand out for a beer, fingers wagging, and he shoots out a web and grabs a bottle from the pack before extending it out to you. “I have no idea what went wrong, so don’t even ask. I had thought things were going okay until—”

“—until you opened your mouth?”

You blink at Miguel as you pop off the top. “Was that supposed to be a joke?” You take a sip, and Peter takes one, too. “Y’know, Miguel, I think you’re the only spider-man I’ve met that isn’t the least bit funny. I think Dino spider-man has made me laugh more than you, and he can’t even talk.”

“Why are you two here again?” Miguel focuses his agitated stare on the both of you, and Peter finishes the last of his beer before giving a quick shrug of his shoulders. “You have your own room,” he points a finger at you, eyes narrowing and fangs flashing, before directing it to Peter, “and you have an entire fucking house in a completely different universe where your wife and child reside. Go home and get out of my damn face.”

“Mm,” you lips purse as you pretend to mull it over. “No, don’t think I will.” Peter snorts, and you smile before toeing off your heels, feet swinging as your eyes meet his. His skin warms under his collar as he swallows, fingers tightening just a bit around the belly of his glass, and he drags his gaze away from yours and straightens up in his seat. “Er-Miguel! Won’t you have a beer with us!”

“Tried that already. Got called fat. Real torn up about it, actually.”

“I don’t want any of your bottled piss.”

“See?”

“So if it was someone else’s bottled piss you’d take it? Twenty bucks says he’d drink Lego spider-man’s piss.”

“What would he even piss?”

“Micro-plastics.”

“Ouch.”

“He probably cum—hey, where are you going? I was only joking! Miguel!” The man ignores you as he walks out of his office, the door shutting behind him, and Peter takes another slow sip of beer. “And then there were two.” You swivel your head over to him, one leg crossing over the other, and tilt your head as your fingers tap on the side of your bottle. “Can I ask you a question, Peter?”

“Oh God.”

“Stop that,” you giggle, and the sound causes a juvenile little flutter in his stomach. “It’s not a bad question. . . well, it’s not a terrible question.”

“Oh God.” He dramatizes, head tipping back over the edge of the chair, and then your foot is moving to kick at his stomach. His hand darts forward to enclose around your ankle, and he lifts his head up to give you a smug grin. “Gotta be a bit quicker than that, sweetheart.”

“Oh, shut up and just listen to the question, will you?”

“Shoot.” He gestures for you to go ahead, hand releasing your ankle, but you leave it to rest in his lap, and he doesn’t really mind it.

“Okay.” You huff out a sigh as you place your drink to the side. “So—how do I phrase this? Um,” your pointer finger taps at your lips as you think, and Peter settles further into his chair as his hand wanders back to your foot, thumb pushing down into the arch of it as he begins to massage it. It’s a passive action, done solely to occupy his hand, but he can’t help but notice how soft the skin of your foot is under his palm. “Okay!”

You slap your hands down onto the desk, fingers curling around the edge, lean forward as you give him a determined look. He quirks a brow, curious as to what’s got you looking so serious. “If you saw me walking down the street, what would your thoughts be?”

“She’s getting her steps in.”

“No, you idiot, like what—ugh, would you…” A bashful look suddenly comes over you, and now Peter is really curious. “Would you think I was, y’know, attractive?” He makes a face, and you must take it the wrong way, because then you’re snatching your bottle up and frantically waving your free hand. “Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have even asked—I don’t even know why I asked. Let’s just forget all about it.” You rush out all in one breath, and then you’re tipping your head back as you go to down the rest of your drink.

Peter shoots off a web, the sticky substance latching onto the bottle before he pulls it out of your hand and into his, ignoring your shocked ‘hey!’. “Yeah, let’s circle back to that.” Now it’s his turn to tilt his head at you. “What exactly happened on your date?” You’re not one to seek out validation, always having been rather sure of yourself, so he figures something recent must have brought out the change, and by the way your shoulders sag and a pout takes over your features, he’s right.

“I didn’t want to say it with Miguel in the room —he’d only throw it up at me later when I pissed him off— but the reason why the date ended was because I’m, in that asshole’s words, not mine, not much to look at underneath the mask.”

“What the fuck? He said that to you?” Fire bleeds into his words, and his spine goes straight as he sits up in his chair. “Are you serious?” You give a curt nod, and Peter almost thinks you’re messing with him, but then you’re sniffing and your eyes, your glossy eyes, are shifting to the side. He softly calls your name.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I honestly don’t know why I asked you that. It was stupid, not to mention inapp—”

“I would.”

“You would what?”

“Find you attractive, dummy.”

“Oh.” You blink at him. “Really? Or are you just saying that because you think I’ll start crying or something and you’re absolute shit at comforting people.”

“I’ll have you know that I was awarded the title of best comforter in all of HQ just this year.” Your foot nudges against his stomach, and then that smile is back on your face, and his stomach isn’t turning anymore. “But seriously, you’re beautiful. Don’t let some asshole lawyer make you think otherwise.” Your eyes flit between his and your fingers that pick at a stray piece of fabric on your jeans.

“Thank you, Peter.” He smiles in reply.

“Anytime.” He pats the top of your foot. “And if you want a certain spiderman to return back to his vigilante ways for one night, I’m your guy.” He pushes a thumb into his chest. “Free of charge.”

“While I’d love to see that guy dangling from a lamppost with a busted nose, I fear that your back would give out mid-fight.” You snicker.

“We’re back to ragging on the old guy, huh? That was a very serious back injury, y’know, and it’s very insensitive of you to joke about it.”

“Oh, boo-hoo, broke down spider-man.” He snorts through a sip of beer, and his fingers move to pinch at the skin on your foot before you’re snatching it back, lips twisting into a smug smile. “Gotta be a bit quicker than that, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I can be quicker than that.” He sets his beer down to the side, and you jump down to your feet as you take slow steps to the side.

“Wow, I didn’t take you for a minute man, Peter. Poor Mary Ja—!” You cut off with a yelp when a web flies your way, hastily moving to the side as you flash him a half-hearted glare. “You can’t just sneak attack me like th—Peter!” He does it again, and you dodge that one as well, a cacophony of laughter bubbling up out of your throat as you put some distance between the two of you.

He finally stands up from his seat, arms raising above his head as his joints, stiff from him being sat for so long, loudly pop. “One minute.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll only take this broke down spider-man one minute to catch you.” He holds up a single finger, and you loudly scoff, arms crossing underneath your breasts as you raise an eyebrow.

“This coming from the man who couldn’t even catch a fifteen year old.” You huff out a laugh. “But sure, let’s do it—oh! Let’s make it a bet. If you don’t catch me in one minute, then I get to…” You hum as you try to think up a prize, and Peter turns his palm so you can’t see the incredibly thin web that’s coming out of his wrist. The two of you are still circling around, and you don’t notice that the web has completely encircled you. Ha, rookie. “I get a week off work! All my assignments will go to you.”

“That’s fair.” He nods along. “And when I win, because I’m definitely going to win, you’re stuck on babysitting duty for the next month.”

“Alright then! We’ve got a bet.” Your hands clap together, and Peter’s senses clue him in on your movements. His fingers curl around the string just as you go to dart to the side, and then he’s yanking hard, a started yell leaving your mouth when his web locks around one of your ankles and sends you sprawling against the floor. “Peter, you asshole! You cheated!”

He slowly reels you in, plopping himself back down into his chair, eyes taking in the way your butt wiggles as you fight to flip over. “Where’s the rule book?” He looks down to where you’re laid at his feet, and he nudges you with his shoe. “Caught you, and it only took…twenty seconds.”

You kiss at your teeth, face twisted into an annoyed expression, and before he can get out a sly comment about you and the bowling guy having more in common than you had originally thought, your hand is grabbing ahold of his web and yanking. The force sends him stumbling out of his chair, and directly on top of you, and his hands shoot out to break his fall, palms landing on either side of where your head is resting on the floor.

You jab your finger into his chest. “You have absolutely no sense of righteousness, Peter. I’m starting to think you’re just some crook with spider powers.” You diverge into a rant about his ‘cheating, criminal-like ways’, and Peter moves to sit back on his heels as you sit up, too, mouth moving a mile a minute, your words going in one ear and out the other.

That piece of shit lawyer must have been blind in both eyes, because wow— he’s known you for years now, has seen you out of the suit and dressed up countless times, and yet he still feels as if he’s gazing at something he isn’t worthy of anytime he looks at you. Beautiful, so beautiful, how could you ever think otherwise? There had never been anyone more beautiful than you, and he didn’t think there ever would be. Sorry, MJ.

“—even listening, Peter? I oughta…”

His mouth runs dry again, and he harshly swallows, calloused fingers gripping onto the pants leg of his sweatpants. Get up, Peter. Get up before you do something you can’t undo. Peter-Benjamin-Fucking-Parker, get your ass—oh, he’s done it.

His face pushes forward, nose brushing against yours, and your words abruptly come to a stop as you frantically blink, eyebrows furrowing as confusion dances in your eyes. “Peter? What . . .”

He gives your brain a few seconds to catch up, giving you an opportunity to pull away, scold him, yell some sense into him and send him home to his wife and child, but your eyes only flick down to his lips, and you close the rest of the distance, mouths melding together in a long-awaited kiss.

The kiss starts off slow, shy; small pecks that advance into the both of you opening your mouths, tongues cautiously venturing out to rub against each other, only to retreat when the nerve is lost. There’s a nervous flutter in Peter’s stomach and a warm flush in his chest, and his hands are clammy as they move to cup the sides of your neck (your skin is so hot, nearly scalding), thumbs softly rubbing against your cheeks.

You part with a suction noise, heavy breaths mingling, and then you’re coming back together again, more desperate than the last. The kiss turns sloppy, frenzied, and his once timid touches turn greedy as his hands grope and squeeze at your skin, your own tugging at brown strands of hair.

“Peter,” you gasp into his mouth, and he’s never loved the sound of his name until now. Your back meets the floor as he gently lowers you against it, body pushing between your thighs as they spread to accommodate him. He pulls back, an arduous task, and his chest squeezes painfully when you blink up at him, heavy lashes batting before you’re averting your gaze to the side in a rare show of bashfulness. Oh, oh, you’re killing him.

“I’ve been—” He sucks in a sharp breath and tries to swallow his words down, bury them deep because they’ve got no business being said in the first place, but Peter had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. “I’ve been dreaming about this—about you.” It’s your turn to suck in a sharp breath, and his hands latch onto your hips, slowly moving up and down as he tries his damndest to commit the curves to memory. “You’ve been plaguing my thoughts every day, like some virus.”

“Virus? How romantic.” You both share a breathy laugh, and your hands decide to do some exploring of their own, venturing underneath his hoodie to feel at his stomach, the muscles there flexing and tensing at your touch. “You’re a real Casanova.”

“Shut up.” He grins, and you mimic it before your lips are meeting once again, his fingers moving to pop the button of your jeans. He pulls back just a bit, a low mumble of ‘is this okay?’ leaving him, and you immediately answer it with a fast nod of your head. He makes quick work of your pants, tossing them somewhere over your shoulder, and then his hands are sinking into the plush fat of your thighs, flesh dimpling underneath his strong grip.

The removal of your clothing doesn’t go slow like the kiss, and when Peter blinks, you’re bare underneath him and he’s fighting to catch his breath, eyes quickly flitting back and forth over your body, not knowing what to focus on first — your breast, full and round with dark, pebbled nipples that he can’t help but smooth his thumbs over, your waist that he can so vividly picture him holding to use as leverage as he sinks you down onto his cock (it aches in his pants and he thinks he could come just from the thought of fucking you alone), your stomach that has a cute little fold, the pudgy pussy between your thighs that he can fucking smell dripping with your arousal, your thighs that tremble so subtly, or your perfect face that you keep trying to hide from him.

“Hey, hey, none of that. Look at me.” He pries your hands away from your face, and coos—oh, he’s a goner—when you let out a whine and lock your eyes with his. “Pretty,” he breathes out, “you’re so goddamn pretty.” His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins them down on either sides of your head, nose nudging into your cheek. “I really, really wanna take my time with you—I do, but…” His cock throbs in his pants as your heady scent assaults him once again, and he groans.

“I don’t want you to take your time,” you rasp, feet moving to shove at the waistband of his pants. “I need you now, right now.” You sound just as desperate as he feels, and there’s no more talking between the two of you as you work his pants down his thighs. He shuffles up to his knees so he can fully take them off, but your fingers are locked tight around his, and you don’t make any move to let him go -and really, he doesn’t want you to let go- so he somehow gets them down to his ankles, and then somehow gets them off of him and kicked over to the side, cock bobbing free as the tip, sensitive and pink and leaking, brushes against your thigh (thank God he took one from Miguel’s book and ditched the underwear weeks ago).

Your lips meet once again (Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of kissing you — he can already feel himself getting addicted to feel of your lips moving against his and your little puffs of air hitting his face) and he shuffles closer, cockhead slipping through wet folds until it finds purchase on your hole.

He eases in, slowly, painfully, and his senses go haywire as your legs lift so your ankles can lock at the small of his back before you’re pulling him the rest of the way in, balls pressed snug against the curve of your ass as he throbs inside your wet cunt. You break away from the kiss to moan, and Peter gnashes his teeth together, desperately trying to stave off the urge to come inside you right this second.

You’re hot, so hot that sweat beads at his temple and dampens his hair, and wet -he can already feel where you’re juices have slicked up the hair on his groin-, and your pussy keeps squeezing down on him, tighter and tighter like a king cobra strangling it’s prey.

“Fuck.” His eyes roll and his weight sags against you. “Fuck,” he repeats, “you’re killing me, angel. Loosen up some.” He focuses on your face, and God, you’re in the same boat as him. Eyes glossy as tears bead at the corners, lips trembling before you bite down onto the bottom one, and hands gripping his so tight that he’s long since lost feeling in his fingers. “You’re okay?” He kisses at your mouth, chaste and sweet, and then on the crease between your brows.

“Mm-hm,” you nod your head, “yes, I just—you’re so big, Peter.” Heat claws its way up his neck to settle in his cheeks, and he tucks his face away into your neck, mouthing at the length of your throat as he slides his hips back, cock dragging along your walls and forcing a guttural moan out of the both of you. Your pussy holds on for dear life, as if it’s begging him to sink back inside and never come out, bury himself deep and his seed even deeper.

“Peter!” He parrots your name back to you, hips stuttering forward as he sheathes himself inside with a wet squelch — so, so wet.

He sets a steady pace; in and out, in and out, slow and easy. He wants to feel you, all of you. He wants to memorize the way you clench and gasp when he bottoms out, or whine when he pulls out before tightening your thighs around him in an effort to pull him back quicker, and the way your lashes flutter and eyes glaze over when he whispers into your ear, voice low and strained and dripping with every ounce of adoration that he holds for you.

His end approaches entirely too early, and he wants to curse you in his head, curse you and the magic between your legs that’s got him ready to blow before he wants to — he had wanted to make you cream and gush around his cock until your eyes had crossed form overstimulation, wanted to make your voice hoarse and raw from crying his name out like it was a prayer, wanted to show you just how much better he was than any man that had ever been in his current position.

He supposes it’s not all bad, he gets to see what you look like when you come, something he’s ashamed to admit that he spent more time thinking about than he should have, and the sight is fucking glorious. Pretty enough to make an angel cry, sinful enough to make the devil blush, and captivating enough to render Peter speechless, hips stilling and breath hitching as he freezes, observes, memorizes. He never wants to forget this sight, this moment, and if it was up to him, he’d shatter every canon event in the universe if it meant he could experience this again, forever.

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riversworld96 · 10 months

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FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD!!!!

♡miguel x reader x peter♡

a part 2 to this drabble

word count: around 3,1k

WARNINGS : NSFW 18+ ONLY, NO use of y/n, f!reader, voyeurism, cheating (peter on mj), HINTS on miguel x peter but nothing actually happens, blowjob (m receiving), masturbation, making out, swearing, spitting?(not really, YOU'LL SEE OK), miguel loves humiliating peter, miguel gets jealous and territorial very easily, lazy writing, also my first time writing anything close to a threesome so please be kind

a/n: SO SORRY this took so fucking long but I hope that y'all will still enjoy reading it<3

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.

“Fuck, shit, fuck” Peter struggles to pull his pants back up as he turns around swiftly, a hand securely holding on to the front of his sweats as he gulps nervously “Miguel, my man! Fancy seeing you here… look, it’s not what it-”

“Cut the shit, Peter.” Miguel says with crossed arms, “At least have the balls to face the consequences of your… perversions.” he would have looked intimidating if it weren’t for his disheveled look–hair messy, chest rising and falling rapidly (who's he kidding, peter was still scared shitless).

“Wh-huh? I- no, you got it wrong-haha! That’s funny, though! Look- I’m just gonna go-”

“You’re gonna stay where you are.”

“Yup, staying right here.” Peter purses his lips, and he really hopes the outline of his bulge isn't that visible. (it was)

Miguel rolls his eyes, turning around and caressing your cheek as he whispers something against your ear. Peter tries to crane his neck to catch a clearer picture of you despite himself, but with that hunk of a man in front of you, it was a lost call.

You were nervous. Understandably so. Miguel’s words, when you were too busy cumming around his cock merely minutes ago, echoed in your head.

“Yeah, baby?S good, right? So perfect for me baby, fuck. Seems like you got what you wanted after all.” you had furrowed your eyebrows, confused, barely able to keep your eyes open, but when Miguel pointed his thumb at a nearby monitor with the camera surveillance of the place shining bright, with a figure right in the middle, you'd understood what he meant. And you'd liked it.

You cock your head to the side now, as you come to stand next to Miguel, grinning bashfully at Peter, who was looking at you with a gaping mouth. You’d laugh at the way he failed to cover his bulge with his hand, but you were too nervous to do so, so you decided to ignore the act altogether, even if it made your insides flip, “Hi, Peter.”

Jesus Christ, your voice. “Yellow-he-Hi!” Peter’s mouth was so dry, he doesn’t know how he managed to reply. Was after-sex-glow a thing? Because, fuck, you were glowing. There was this flush covering your cheeks and Peter thinks he wants to kiss you all over. Without even realizing it, his feet begin taking him over to you two. But not even a step in, and he’s very rudely interrupted.

“What are you doing?” Miguel’s tone is calm, and yet gives Peter an eerie sensation at the back of his neck that makes him swallow nervously, stopping in his tracks. “Uh- well, I just thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Miguel says blankly.

Peter flushes, seemingly understanding what Miguel planned to do, and takes multiple steps back till his back hits the wall behind him. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. “I- I don’t-”

“What? You didn’t actually think I was going to let you come anywhere near her?” Miguel’s laugh is cruel, and tears well in Peter’s eyes at the underlying humiliation.

“Don’t be mean,” you mutter against Miguel’s ear, your hands circling around his waist as you hug him, your eyes never leaving Peter’s. Yeah, Peter thought, don’t be mean, bitch.

Miguel softens under your touch, draping his arm over your shoulder to bring you impossibly closer, suddenly very aware of his own still very hard cock. He starts pressing kisses along your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, and you smile as you nuzzle against him. “Oh baby, you’re still hard, aren’t you? How selfish of me,” you didn’t sound sorry at all. But neither Miguel nor Peter cared.

Oh yeah, Peter was still very much here. Cock throbbing and all.

“Stop teasing, bebita,” Miguel hisses, his eyes fluttering as he ruts his hips against you, the smallest of whimpers escaping his lips. Peter would have laughed if Miguel’s voice didn’t make the sound hot. Another fact about Miguel that pissed him off, because when Peter whimpers, it sounds pathetic.

Peter drops his hand over his bulge, groaning under his breath when he squeezes himself over his pants, finally getting some much needed friction.

To Peter’s utter horror, that was the moment that Miguel remembered that he was still in the room, and Peter froze when Miguel’s eyes met his, goosebumps rising all over his body when Miguel’s gaze dropped to his covered cock. Fuck. “Touch yourself for all I care, but know that this is the first and last time I’m letting you in on this. The next time I catch you creeping on her, I’ll kill you.” Well, that was not at all what Peter expected. How horrible, and assertive. Not at all arousing.

Peter cleared his throat, “Kill me. Yeah. Yup. No, yeah, I got it.”

You laugh softly, your own hand dropping to palm Miguel over his suit, “Don’t worry, he’s all bark and no bite,”

Miguel tries hard to hide the slight tremble in his voice at the slight contact you gave him, “Is that so?”. He dropped his head, breath fanning across your neck, “Wanna test that theory?”. Both men smile when your breath hitches, Peter staring hard, and finally pulling his cock out. He inhales sharply when he wraps his hand around himself, so desperately wanting to close his eyes and fuck his fist till he comes, but keeps them open so as not to miss the show you so generously were putting in front of him. His eyes follow Miguel’s movements, as he bends to lick across your neck, biting down on your skin a second later, both men letting out sounds of appreciation as you moan.

Peter jerks his cock at a slow pace, eyes hooded, matching the tempo at which the tension builds up. He feels sick doing this, but he can’t help but let the pleasure take his mind off of the guilt that’s ready to eat him up, choosing to focus on how your throat bobs as you swallow, your lips forming a pretty 'o' as you lace your fingers through Miguel’s hair, mewling when he grazes his teeth over your collarbones.

Miguel presses the softest of kisses on the spot he’d previously bitten, and says, “On your knees, baby.” Peter is lightheaded by the pure sex dripping from Miguel’s voice, his cock twitching under his palm, and he squeezes his hand around the base of it, slowly bringing it up to circle around his tip, openly panting like a bitch in heat.

Seeing you drop to your knees was a sight Peter never thought he’d ever see, but one that he was very thankful for. From this angle, you gave Peter the perfect view of your profile. You were grinning, your expression a bit hazy, a bit cockdrunk. The tank top you were wearing looked crinkled, and Peter wondered if Miguel had the material bunched up over your tits while he was fucking you.

Peter stares as you grab at Miguel’s thighs over his suit, squeezing the flesh appreciatively as you look up at him expectedly. God, you were begging to get fucked again. Wait- over his suit? Miguel was still wearing his suit, how the fuck-

As if Peter was voicing his thoughts out loud, the material of Miguel’s suit disappeared slowly, his cock springing up, balls dropping the slightest bit from the secure hold they were being kept up by the tightness of the suit. The start of his thighs and his belly were also exposed, pretty bronze skin a perfect contrast to the deep blue color of his suit.

“What the fuck was that?!” Peter can't help but let out, and Miguel throws him a proud smirk, “Nanotech,” You smile at the small nerdy exchange, too preoccupied to properly join in the conversation. Miguel’s pleasure was above everything else. You wrap your hand around his thick cock, moaning softly as you trace the veins on the side, bending down to kiss and suck on his fat balls. “Makes things easier-ah fuuuck,” Miguel bites on his lower lip roughly, brows furrowing as he bucks into your hand, hand caressing the side of your jaw gently. You looked so fucking beautiful.

Peter drops his other hand to fondle his balls, suddenly jealous, and throws his head back against the wall, groaning as he still keeps his eyes open to watch you.

Five minutes later, Peter was still copying your movements. When you licked at Miguel’s tip, dragging your tongue over the head, and lapping up the precum greedily, Peter made sure he only touched his tip as well, circling and rolling his hand over the head. When you licked the sides of Miguel’s cock, your hand following the same pattern just under your tongue, Peter was jerking his cock in perfect synchronization, mimicking your technique entirely. He could practically taste the pleasure Miguel was getting.

During all this, Peter couldn’t hold back his voice. He moaned and groaned shamelessly, raising his hips to meet his hand sloppily. Fuck, he was so close to coming.

Miguel was truly no better, he was just better at masking it. He constantly gritted his teeth, hissing at your antics, but the occasional moan would slip, and it always made your pussy throb, as if you could feel it vibrating against you.

You take Miguel’s cock in your mouth with no warning, the tip touching your throat as you swallow around him, nose touching the base of his cock, your eyes tearing up quickly. Both men sputter at the sudden action. Miguel moans loudly, his belly flexing as he bends over you, fingers threading between your hair.

Peter almost comes right then and there, the movement of his hand on his cock so fast and rough, that it was creating a lewd wet sound “S-shit, you look so good, sweet thingmff fuuck. Yeah-like that, Oh my God,”

Both yours and Miguel’s heads snap up, surprised by Peter’s outburst. Miguel raises an eyebrow, his jaw locking. Was this asshole really imagining he was in his place? Well, he couldn’t exactly blame him, but it still pissed him off. When he turned his head to look at you, though, you were looking at Peter curiously and- were you biting your lip?

“Something you wanna say to him, baby?” Miguel’s voice comes out dry, and you can instantly tell he’s mad. You send him a knowing smile, shaking your head softly, “Not really. I just think he sounds sweet.”

“Yeah?” Peter whimpers in reply immediately. I sound sweet, I sound sweet, I sound sweet.

You glance at Peter again, rubbing your thighs together, and Miguel scowls at the movement and tugs at your hair hard, “Keep talking, Peter. Somehow, she seems to be liking your whining.”

“S so good, you’re so good, fuck I wanna feel your mouth on me so bad,” Peter babbles mindlessly and you can't help but watch as he thrusts into his hand needily.

Miguel notices you staring and grinds his teeth together, “What are you looking at him for, huh? Looking at his cock when mine is right in front of you. Am I not enough for you, bebita?” Your head whips around to look at the man in front of you, your eyes widening a fraction as you shake your head softly.

You make sure to put on a show as you run your lips all over Miguel’s cock, spreading his pre-cum all over your mouth and chin as you talk, “You’re everything. Your cock ‘s so pretty, the prettiest ever. Love it s’much..”. Miguel feels satisfaction spread in his veins, making him warm all over. He slaps his cock over your cheek for good measure as he stands taller and huffs out a condescending laugh, glancing at Peter with a dumb smirk on his face. That’ll teach him.

But what Miguel sees is not at all what he expected.

Peter’s eyes roll back, the hand on his cock tightening as he moans. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to be at Miguel’s place right now that it’s driving him insane. “Such a good fucking girl, baby, shit.”

Miguel snarls at his reaction before snapping his head back to you, “Open your mouth,”

You do as you’re told, tongue out as you stare up at him with doe eyes, but he just clicks his tongue, “Wider.” Miguel shoves his hand in your mouth, his thumb on your tongue as the rest of his fingers cradle your jaw. He pumps his cock with his other hand, biting his lip, and mutters “Yeah, just like that.. You gonna be good for me?” You nod, and Miguel's thumb gets coated in your saliva from the movement.

Miguel grins and takes his thumb out, slowly turning his head to lock eyes with Peter. Then, he brings his hand up to his face and closes his mouth around his thumb, hollowing his cheeks prettily as he sucks your spit off his finger, his gaze dropping to Peter's cock.

Peter's jaw slacks, and his hips stutter at the sight in front of him. Miguel's low chuckle falls on deaf ears, Peter being too busy watching your hands squeeze Miguel's ass impatiently, trying to coax him back in your mouth, mewling when he relents and slips his cock inside. Miguel can't help but raise his hips as you bob your head up and down his length.

Peter spits on his cock suddenly, the filthy sound making you glance at him again, and Miguel's jaw ticks “It’s okay, bebita, you can look at him. Look, but know that he could never fuck you like I did. Or did you forget how you creamed around my cock, hm? I bet that pussy’s still wet for me,”

Peter moans approvingly, “Mm I bet it is..”

Miguel inhales sharply, his eyes falling shut, “Peter.”

“Yeahuh? Fuck. Yeah?”

“Get your ass over here.” Peter nearly falls on his face as he stumbles forward, raising his sweatpants carelessly as he walks over. His hands tremble when he clasps them together in front of him lamely, standing awkwardly near you both.

“Closer, pendejo.” Peter gawks at Miguel's request, shakes his head, and reluctantly takes two steps closer. He made sure to throw a glance towards Miguel to ensure that he wasn’t getting punched anytime soon.

“Hold her hair back.”

Peter must have died and went to heaven. There was no fucking way this was happening-

“Did you hear what I fucking said-"

Peter jumps when Miguel raises his voice and quickly springs into action. His breath hitches, but he can't help himself- not when he's carefully pulling your hair back, his fingers brushing your cheeks, avoiding touching Miguel's hands as he's still holding your head, practically using your mouth as a fleshlight.

Peter tries not to react when you gargle around Miguel's cock, the popping sound your mouth makes when you pull back to get some air pulling a hiss out of him. You cough messily, and as you do, you turn to look at Peter, in all your tears-running-down-your-cheeks glory. And then you grin at him, and Peter's legs buckle. And despite everything, despite the drool running down your chin, and Miguel's hard cock still in his field of view- Peter says, “Rough day, huh,"

You snort out a laugh, and Miguel's eyes almost roll to the back of his head because- how the fuck is that funny?- and so, he growls, tapping your lips twice with his cock before shoving it back inside your mouth, his head dropping as he moans lowly.

“Oh, fuck.” Miguel’s head was fuzzy, hypnotized by the way you bobbed your head up and down his cock, your hands fondling his balls with juust the right amount of pressure that made his thighs shake. He touches your jaw with his pointer finger, thumb drawing circles over your cheek in awe. “Baby, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Peter whimpers, “fuck…” and Miguel laughs breathlessly, tongue running over his fangs, “Are you gonna fuck your fist again when you think back to this? Back when she had her pretty lips wrapped around my cock and you watched her take it.. Jesus Christ, you look pathetic. I bet if she told you to hump the fucking floor, you would.”

Peter moans and nods absentmindedly, pulling his cock out hurriedly and starting to jerk his cock sloppily, gaze glued on your fluttering eyes, mascara running down your cheeks prettily. His eyes flicker from your face to your cleavage and he whines. Your tits just look so soft, he can't help himself.

Miguel, ever the perceptive man, notices this, “Be a good girl and pull your shirt up for Peter, baby.” You moan around his cock at the way his voice trembles, and raise your shirt over your boobs, suddenly very aware of your own underwear sticking to your pussy mesilly. Fuck, you were drenched.

“Oh my God,” Peter pants, eyes losing focus, hand on your hair loosening as he moves his hips back and forth, fucking into his hand relentlessly. “I'm gonna cum, gonna cum-”

“Cum on her tits.”

Peter sobs, stepping closer to jerk his cock just over your tits and he jumps when he feels you squeeze his thigh, nails digging into the skin. He feels his balls tighten, and he grasps your shoulder as his knees buckle suddenly. “I'm cumming- Oh fuck I'm-” his cock twitches as he cums, painting your pretty tits white, the jerks of his hand never stopping as he rides out his orgasm.

For a moment, it feels as though only Peter's moans and whimpers can be heard, and fuck, he hopes there's no one outside because he's so fucking loud, and it's so humiliating that he can feel tears running down his cheeks. He feels lightheaded and utterly spent as he pumps his cock, squeezing his hand tight around himself as he watches the last of his cum drip down his length and onto your shirt, turning it a darker shade.

“Oh- fuck. Oh my fucking God.” Peter bites back a whimper and shudders, when you bring your hands to your tits, squeezing them roughly and getting his cum aaall over them.

The ringing in Peter's ears fades away, and he snaps his eyes to Miguel when he hears the state he's in.

Miguel grunts each time he snaps his cock back in your mouth, reveling in your gurgles, feeling the vibration of your moans go straight to his balls, and he. can't. stop. Not when he'd just seen Peter cum all over your tits like that. Not when he'd liked watching him do it.

“Take it. Fuck- take my fuckin' cum baby-shit,” Miguel whimpers and snarls as he snaps his hips one final time, holding your head in place, his thighs shaking as he cums down your throat. He throws his head back when he feels you swallow around his length, muttering incoherently to himself in Spanish as he whimpers and groans.

Miguel stumbles back slightly, cock slipping from your mouth at last, and both men can't help but stare hungrily, their cocks hardening once more as you gather the excess cum that's dripping down your chin in your hands, licking it out of your palms a second later. All three of you are panting hard, letting your actions linger in the air for a moment.

But then you look up at them, a sinful glint in your eye, and Miguel turns to Peter and says,

“What are you waiting for? Lick her tits clean.”

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