#spiderman x reader
angelltheninth · 21 hours ago
Endurance Test
Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, blowjob, edging, cock riding, begging, cock tease, licking, dirty talk, cum shot, sub!Peter Parker, dom!Reader
Word count: 0.7k
Kinktober Day 6: Orgasm Denial
A/N: I've really been looking forward to this kinktober fic. Peter is always so cute I just want to tease him and make him squirm.
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Peter struggled to keep his hips from jerking upwards, his hands fisting the sheets so tight he almost teared them apart. But what could he do? You didn't restrain him but you still told him not to touch you. Which made it even more difficult for him.
"Easy. Don't twitch too much sweetheart." You mumble against the leaking tip of his cock, your hands fondling his full balls, massaging and squeezing, "You don't want me to choke do you?" You wink just before you take his cock in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks to make the sucking easier.
"God. No, no but I- Please." He whines, low and almost teary eyed from frustration, "I don't think I can hold it for much longer."
You release his cock with a wet pop, moving your hand up and down, slowly from the bottom and then rolling your palm over the tip, making sure to spread his cum nicely. "Not yet. Just a little longer. Then you can give me every last drop." You make sure to look at him in the eye as your tongue darts out to lick the dripping bead cum flowing down Peter's hard length.
He bites his bottom lip, making it tremble upon release as another needy whimper escapes him.
"Poor thing. You're so hard. It must hurt a lot huh. How about I kiss it better for you." You trail hot, slow, deliberate kisses up and down his dick, making it throb even more when you give him a long lick from his balls all the way to the tip.
"I need to be inside you. I'm feel like I'm gonna explode." Peter pulls at the sheets, his hands needing something to tug, something to hold onto.
"I fully expect you to. And you've been a very good boy for me Peter. I should reward you now shouldn't I?" You run your fingers between your legs, briefly inserting one finger in, letting out a long moan. "Hear that? That's how wet I am for you. Let me show you."
You move and straddle his hips, spreading your lips with your fingers and rubbing his hard, aching cock between your wet pussy lips.
"Think you're ready for me? Hm?" You roll your hips against his cock, making another drop of cum drip onto his abs. He can't even form words anymore, he just nods his head quickly and whimpers out your name.
With a brief kiss on his lips you position yourself on top of him, nudging your opening with the tip once, twice, before you fully sink down on him without warming.
"Oh fuck!" Peter throws his head back, his hands leaving the sheets for your thighs, keeping your pinned against him, your hips fully against him. "You're so warm inside. Feels like my cock's gonna melt. God. Move. Move. Please. I need to come. I need-"
"Soon love, soon." You squeeze your cunt around him, focusing on his tip as you begin to move your hips ups and down, sinking all the way down each time. "Come when I tell you to. All of it. Make sure you give me all of it. Ready darling? Are you ready to give me all you've got?"
"Yes, yes. Anything. Everything. Please met me come. Please!" He starts to babble, his whole body shaking then snapping like a web thread once you nod his way. His hips start driving into you at full force, his cock shooting warm jets of cum deep inside your pussyhole, painting your insides white with his seed.
You're not far behind, especially when he looks so adorable and sexy underneath you. You start milking him with your cunt, intent on getting all of his cum.
"Holy shit." Peter throws his arm over his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly along with yours. You need to brace yourself on his shoulder to stop yourself from falling over him. "That was intense."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." You lean down to give him another kiss, longer than the last one, brushing your tongue against his. "It feels nice to let go of responsibility and control once in a while huh?"
Peter licks his lips and takes a deep breath, "I wouldn't mind doing it more often."
"I was really hoping you'd say that. Try to last even longer next time hm?" You clench around him again, getting another spurt of cum from him in return.
"No promises." He smiles up at you as he pulls you down and moves his head so you can rest on his shoulder comfortably, "But I'll try anything for you baby."
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bradtomlovesya · a day ago
Choices. 2
Two: Tick Tock
Peter Parker x reader series
Summary: Everybody forgot who Peter Parker was. All his world tunerd grey until he met you and you started dating. It could have been perfect if it wasn't for the fact that MJ comes back and, surprise! She remembers EVERYTHING.
Warnings: Pure Angst!, Peter being kinda an idiot, mentions of cheating, swearing.
w/c: 2.3k +
a/n: I changed the name of the chapters and now I am happier with them. Hope you like them and enjoy this chapter! As always, coments, reblogs and likes are completely appreaciated. Thank you so much for all the love and suppor this series is having. I will be forever grateful! ❤️. Gif not mine.
Series Masterlist
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Peter left your apartment that night and his last words were:
"I'm going to fix it, I promise."
He never answered yes or no. He never gave you a concrete answer as to who he wanted to be with, her or you.
The truth is, even Peter didn't know. It was true that he loved you. But it was also true that seeing MJ remember him made his heart beat a mile a minute.
Peter Parker was many things, but it was always clear to him that he had to do the right thing. He always (or at least almost always) knew it was the right thing to do. And, if he didn't, his Aunt May was there to advise him and tell him what to do.
But now May wasn't there. Maybe that's why it was so hard for him to give up on MJ. They were both the only women he had loved in a long time and he lost them on the same day. Having Michelle's memory back made him feel like he had at least gotten one of them back.
However, Parker didn't know if he needed MJ in his life. After all, he already had a life with you. HAD in the past tense. Because obviously you broke up with him after you saw him kissing his ex-girlfriend at the carnival.
Ned, on the other hand, still didn't remember him. And he probably never would again. MJ was a mere pure stroke of luck and the brown-haired boy didn't know if it was a blessing from the universe or if he just wanted to taunt him by putting him in a situation no one wants to be in.
Although he still wasn't sure if he would be able to forgive him for what he did. The brown-eyed man had to make a decision. Go back to MJ and bring his past with him into his present or try with you and continue with his present into the future.
Peter thought it best to go out on patrol and clear his head in the cool night air. That's when he decided he should give you the time you asked for and go out with MJ. Not as a couple, at least for now or maybe never, but as friends who haven't seen each other in a long time and need to unwind from everything that has happened in their lives.
You managed to catch a glimpse of them on one of their outings. They were walking around campus while eating a slice of pizza and laughing about God knows what.
Your heart sank even deeper into your chest. You were already a mess trying to live without him. Now you had to watch him be happy with her too?
Right there you felt selfish. You didn't want Peter to laugh with her. You wanted him to laugh with you.
The aforementioned wiped the corner of MJ's mouth with a napkin and a tear slid down your cheek as you thought of the many times he did the same for you.
'She's not me' you repeated to yourself. But even then you couldn't stop the hole growing in your chest at catastrophic speeds.
They were there, laughing and eating while you were miserable, and yet you couldn't hate Peter for loving her.  In spite of everything, you loved him.
Love is a double-edged sword.
Two days later you were watching Netflix in your bedroom when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. The screen was lit up with the word 'Peter♡' and your breath caught in your lungs. Should you answer it? your heart asked. Should you ignore it? your brain asked.
The heart won the battle this time. You answered the call.
"H-" you cleared your throat. You wanted to sound as neutral as possible. "Hello?"
"Y/n..." his voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't know if you were going to answer" his voice was so low that you had to turn up the volume as high as it would go and give him your full attention.
"What's wrong?" you asked.
"Nee-" he coughed. "I need your help...please" a faint whimper was heard from his side of the line and that was enough to worry you. Something wasn't right.
"Peter? Is everything all right? What's wrong?" your voice was now one of concern. You've never turned your back on those you love and care about, you weren't about to start now.
"I... I'm kind of hurt" he breathed again and your breath hitched. "It's not serious but-" he paused. "I can't get up." He confessed.
"Where are you?" you got up from the small couch to look for your shoes. "Peter?" You worried about his breathing on the other end of the line.
"In my apartment" he grunted in pain. "Shit."
"I'm on my way" you hung up the call and grabbed your keys. You still kept your copy of the ones to his apartment so getting inside it wasn't a problem.
You leave your keys on the plate on the counter and remove your shoes as quickly as you can before running to her room.
"Peter?" you ask when you don't see him and pause to scan his room.
"Here!" he groans. He made too much force when he spoke so you could hear him from the bathroom.
You walk in and see him lying in the unfilled bathtub. He was dressed in nothing but his boxers but it didn't bother you. It's not like you haven't seen him like this before.
"I tried to take a shower but I slipped and I don't have the strength or energy to get up" he smiles apologetically in your direction.
"I see..." you walk over and see his suit on the floor. "Why a shower?" you ask.
"The guy I stopped was doing weird experiments and threw some weird substance at me. I preferred not to take any chances and showered as soon as I got home" he clarified.
"Let me help you" you hold his arms and help him stand up.
Peter felt more than embarrassed at that moment. Because of what he had told you and because you were too good to say no to him when he needed help.
"Thank you" he sits on his bed and takes the towel you offer him so he can dry off.
"Is the medicine cabinet in the same place?" you ask. It's been a little over two weeks since you've been in his apartment.
Having him so close and yet so far away hurts like a million needles pricking your heart. But none of this was your fault, it was his and he's the one who should fix it. Even though you saw him so happy with MJ, you still had hope that he was going to choose you and come back to you.
It's okay to dream, isn't it?
You bandage his wounds after cleaning them and turn around so he can put on some boxers and gym shorts with a little privacy. You didn't leave the room because you were afraid he would fall while doing it so turning around was enough.
"Thank you for coming. I know I don't deserve it" he mumbles with his eyes on you as you turn to look at him.
"It's true... Maybe you don't deserve it coming from me" you shrug. "But I can't help but help the people I love.
'People I love' Peter's eyes sparkled at that phrase. You still loved him, that was more than enough.
"I really appreciate it" He smiles and watches you sit next to him on the bed.
"Why didn't you call MJ?" you ask abruptly. It was a question you asked yourself since he called you for help.
"She's busy, she couldn't come." He said without thinking.
And then reality hits you in the face and chills you like a bucket of cold water.
"So I was your second choice just because she couldn't" Your voice is serious. You just remembered how everything went down the drain in one night.
"What? No?" he frowns. "That's not what I wanted-"
"Save your excuses. I don't want to hear them," you stand up and look at him seriously. "You're already bandaged and in your bed. Next time, don't call me."
"Y/n. Please" he tries to get up but his side hurts "That's not what I meant I promise."
"Your promises don't mean anything to me anymore" you feel a lump in your throat. You are on the verge of tears. "You know one of the things that hurts me the most, Peter?"
"I-" he sighs and shakes his head. He wants to let you finish your point.
"You were indeed my first love, my first time, my first everything" the tears build up in your eyes but you're determined not to let them out. "And you didn't think about that before you stuck your tongue in her mouth. I bet your heart never beat for me like it does for her."
The brown-eyed man was about to say something until you both hear the sound of someone knocking at the door you watch Peter get up and walk to open it.
You walk behind him only because you know it's time to go. You shouldn't have come in the first place.
When Peter opens the door, the person behind it is MJ.
"You should give me a copy of the key" she laughs lightly.
"Keep mine" you put on your shoes and grab your purse. You walk over to the plate where you left them before and put them in her hand. "I won't be needing them anymore" you walk out of the apartment and she is both surprised and confused.
Another two weeks passed. Peter felt empty again. Just like he felt when he lost MJ and Ned in the first place but worse because not only had he lost you. He had let you down completely.
Spiderman became clumsy on his nightly patrols, he didn't pay attention and classes and even less when MJ talked to him. Even though he knew she was just trying to make him feel better.
"Peter?" she asks. "Peter!" She snaps her fingers in front of his face and sighs heavily.
"Yes?" He looks at you but his gaze is still lost.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" she asks.
"How could I not when she's right here" he shows you his pencil.
"What do you mean right here?" MJ asks with a frown.
"Yes, it's right here. She's the one who gave me this pencil" he sighs. "And she's over there too" he points to the girl sitting a couple of tables away from where they were sitting. "That girl has her same color hair" he looks at his fingers "but not just over there" he points to a boy with a can in his hand. "That boy is drinking his favorite drink." He snorts. "Everything in this damn library reminds me of her."
"Why haven't you tried talking to her then?" he shrugs.
"Because I'm lousy with words, MJ. Whenever I try to tell her something, she ends up misunderstanding it because it was me in the first place who didn't know how to use the right words" he runs his hands over his face.
"Then don't talk to her" she shrugs.
The brown-haired boy looks at her with a frown. "That's supposed to solve my problems? Thanks MJ." She rolls her eyes.
"Stop your sarcasm," the chestnut-haired girl points
Her finger at him. "I mean maybe I should be the one to talk to her." He sighs. "I shouldn't have kissed you, Peter. I didn't know you had a girlfriend."
"MJ..." Peter sighs and takes her hand. "I was the one who shouldn't have kissed you having a girlfriend. It wasn't your fault, it was mine." He assures her. "I'm the one who should fix this."
Michelle nods and looks to her left. There you were. Watching as Peter held her hand just as he held yours. You shouldn't care, it's been a month since you and Parker broke up but it still hurts like hell.
MJ saw you pull back quickly before she could separate her hands from Peter's. "At least she knows you and I aren't dating?" she asks and Peter denies.
"No, I've tried to tell her but me and my big mouth always say something else and I hurt her more than I manage to fix it." He sighs heavily.
"What? She still thinks that you and I...?" MJ pauses.
"Yup." Peter nods and fixes his gaze on the floor.
"Peter... that's not fair" he sighs and shakes his head.
Parker knows. He knows it's not fair but he already said it, he's not good with words.
"Everything I say ends up being misinterpreted and it's my fault!" He covers his face with his hands. "Help, MJ. Please."
"And if instead of using words you take action?" proposes the brunette.
"What do you mean by that?" The boy raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific."
"God... you're so smart but so dumb at the same time, how is that possible?" She rolls her eyes. "You have to do something for her, something she can't refuse or misunderstand, and then explain everything to her, Peter. Be honest."
"You're right," he nods and sighs. "No more secrets."
Peter was already planning something in his mind. Something that would make you either forgive him or wish you never saw him again. That was up to you.
However, He had to move and plan a little faster. Your heart still loved him, true, but it wasn't closed to moving on and rejecting Parker altogether.
Austin, a classmate who asked you out before you and Peter dated, found out about your breakup with him and was determined not to pass up the opportunity that was once taken away from him.
Tick tock, Peter. Your time is running out.
Peter Parker Tags:
@raajali3 @fangirling-galore @powerpuffluuvv @itszulli @hallecarey1 @xoxokiaraaxoxo @kaitieskidmore1 @lnmp89 @pure-a-tea @vixparker @army24--7 @spiderydreams00 @my-name-duh @nani-2305
Choices' Tags
@parkerpeterparker2004 @afro-hispwriter @sakaki-chaaaaannn @insertsupercoolusernamehere @local-mr-frog @diasnohibng @stilesismyhusbandforever-blog @tombolland1996 @ellesalazar @cursedandromedablack @ifilwtmfc @newtmaskilledme @sweetenertea @wonieeee @jackiehollanderr @parkthothwa8 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @itsmadamehydra @luvherfairy @reneinii @pauuuus @rootbeerfaygo @janoskiansecondsofdirection @bubble-blu
If your username is lined, tumblr didn't let me tag you :(.
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p3mybeloved · 2 days ago
whatever you give life, you will get back
Summary: After months of blackmail, everything comes to a head on Halloween (sequel to you’re in a losing battle, babe)
Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Female Reader
Word count: 4.6k
Rating: 18+, no minors
Warnings/tropes: hate sex, rough sex, enemies to worse enemies, literally just some toxic-ass power struggle mind games
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Did you eat a spider?
Peter frowned at the text and shoved his phone away. His stomach was still full of knots because he’d gotten stupid and and sloppy and fucked up badly. 
Incredibly badly. 
He wasn’t above a hatefuck. But maybe if he was more discerning in who he chose to hook up with, he wouldn’t be sitting in his apartment without a clue about what to do next about his compromised identity. How could he have been that sloppy? She’d barely lied about her little interview, but God it had been so satisfying to watch her squirm like that. Little Miss Perfect, at a total loss for words? It was absolutely thrilling to see, until it wasn’t. 
His phone lit up again. 
Did you FUCK a spider?
He scowled. Texting back wasn’t an option, because yeah, a paper trail was exactly what he needed. He couldn’t deny what she’d seen in his office. Halloween? Really? He was a fucking idiot. 
Are you a huge Lord of the Rings fan and is this some kind of Shelob kink you’re living out? I think it’s really brave of you. If you need to talk, I’m here to listen. 
He threw his phone across the room and watched it land next to his desk with a thud that sounded like a cracked screen.
Work was hell. Every time he saw her, his entire body seized up. Kill Bill sirens screamed in his head. It was psychological waterboarding, drip drip drip, louder and louder and louder until his skull echoed painfully with it. 
And she did nothing but smile sweetly at him. Some days, he wished she’d just blurt it out and then he could just lie his way out of it. Who the hell would believe some blurry iPhone photos and the outrageous claim that someone like him was Spider-Man? 
Do you still want me to beg you to kiss me?
He spun in his chair, half-expecting to see her in the doorway of his office in that skirt that had shown off her thighs, but no one was there. So he sat there, lightheaded and turned on and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. 
Months passed. Spring faded into a brutal summer, sticky-hot and unforgivingly humid, before autumn came to chase it away. And every week without fail, she’d send him some little reminder of how badly he’d fucked up with his impulsivity, just because he thought it would be fun to have hate sex with his hot coworker. She’d text everything from that suit can’t be comfortable to nice job stopping that bank robbery yesterday to that poor baby, that shiner looks nasty. 
In a weird way, he almost respected the headfuck she was putting him through. Almost. How could he fully hate someone for pulling a reverse uno on him? All she was doing was exactly what he’d done to her. Still, it was nerve wracking to be constantly wondering when she’d pull the pin from the grenade and blow his life apart. 
Do the webs come out of you?
Another text in an endless line of unanswered blue bubbles. And he couldn’t do anything about it. She had him in a corner, all because he’d been a dick. Did she want him to beg? Cry? Publicly admit who he was? Or did she just want him to agonize over it while she dangled the threat of exposure over his head until something snapped between them? Until he lost his fucking mind and—
Can you believe we almost fucked in your office?
His mouth went dry at the memory. Like he hadn’t thought about how she’d shut up when he’d kissed her neck. Like she hadn’t ground her hips into his. Something weird had happened between them for just a few seconds before it had all gone ass over tea kettle, some undefinably strange handful of moments. For a minute, he couldn’t hear anything other then blood rushing in his ears, and his stomach went tight when he remembered—
Why don’t you wear something cute for the office party next week? You could win the costume contest. 
Exhaling slowly, he flipped his phone face down and crawled into bed. 
She was wearing a tight black shirt with his mask splashed across it in a heart, chatting away with Anaïs,with some kind of fruity booze slushy in her hand. A short red skirt and black platform boots finished her look, and he was torn between finding her stupidly hot and wanting to tear her head off because she was relentless in a way that only he knew about. Again, he knew he had no one to blame but himself for the shitshow he found himself in, but it didn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow.
He watched the two women out of the corner of his eye, waiting for Anaïs to leave. When she finally departed, he didn’t waste a second. 
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked furiously, squaring his shoulders as she leaned against the wall, her free hand pinned behind her back as she gave him a reckless smile.
“Drinking,” she replied sweetly, taking a sip before holding it out to him. “Do you want some? You look like you could use it.”
“This has to stop. You’ve got to stop,” he said, ignoring the lipstick-stamped solo cup. “It’s been months.”
Her eyes widened, lashes fluttering. “Has it? I hadn’t realized. It’s hard to keep track when you won’t respond. What’s a girl gotta do to get a text back? I thought we had something special.”
He grabbed her bicep and hauled her towards the supply closet, flinging the door open and ushering her in before anyone else could see. Yanking the cord above his head to turn on the light, he had about two seconds to take the place in. It was a small space: old shelves full of office supplies, a metal folding chair that looked older than him, and some boxes of copy paper. When he turned to face her, she had a look plastered on her face. Doe-eyed, smug, and dangerous. Nothing to lose. It was simultaneously sexy and terrifying. 
“Are you drunk?” he demanded. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m not drunk.” She shrugged carelessly, his mask clinging to her tits way more than he needed to think about. “I’m just having a fun night. You look stressed, baby. Where’s your costume? I heard you have a really good one.” She plucked at the collar of his plaid shirt. He shrugged her away when her red nails trailed against his neck, sending a shiver up his spine. 
“What do you want from me?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He knew he had nothing to offer. This was how he’d made her feel: as small and helpless as a field mouse, with nowhere to run. “I fucked up and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tried to—”
“Blackmail me?” she interrupted softly, tilting her face to look up at him in the dim light. She took a step forward and he took one back, bumping into the creaky chair and sitting down in it before he could trip. “You’re sorry you tried to fuck my life up? You’re sorry you were gonna try to get me fired?”
She leaned down, setting her palms on his spread knees, her face inches from his. “I mean, Christ. I know we don’t like each other, but what is so irreparably broken inside you that you wanted to do that to me?”
Nothing that he could tell her about. Instead, he just stared into her eyes. 
“I think part of you loves this,” she continued, slowly dropping to the ground and stacking her hands on his knee, setting her chin on top of them coquettishly. It made his breath stall in his lungs, the way she was gazing up at him thoughtfully, like she really was trying to figure him out. “I think you love not knowing what’s going to happen and that’s why you haven’t blocked me. It’s like psychological knife play for you. Maybe you have some control issues you need to figure out,” she continued, walking her fingers up his leg delicately. He swallowed hard and tried not to budge as his blood raced through him alarmingly fast. Her words made sense, and it was an unwelcome feeling to learn something like that about himself in a locked supply closet during an office party. “If you really wanted me to stop, you would have blocked my number months ago.”
“You have me in a corner.” Her fingers skirted down the inside of his thigh. He jolted at the sensation, and then grabbed her shoulder, pulling her up so they were nose to nose. 
She didn’t break away from his grip, still watching him closely with dark eyes. “Poor baby,” she murmured, her breath ghosting across his mouth as she bumped her nose against his. “Doesn’t feel very nice, does it?”
“What do you want from me?” he asked again.
“I want an interview with Spider-Man.”
He huffed out a laugh at her unending ambition. This was what she’d been chasing for months. It had all built to this. He wondered when she would have asked him, had he not pushed her into a closet five minutes ago. “That’s it?”
“I want to fuck with you,” she admitted, her palm sliding up his thigh toward his crotch. He caught her wrist and held it still, and she laughed when his thumb dug into her skin. “I knew it. You still want to fuck me, even though I’ve been messing with you for months. Why else would you have dragged me in here? To talk?”
“You are twisted. You’re just as fucked up as me,” he said, shifting under her gaze, wishing his body wasn’t responding to her the way it was. Wishing he didn’t want to fuck her, that he had enough self-control to fully realize that this was toxic and irresponsible and that this was just his stupid brain wanting a quick fix of endorphins to feel better about everything she was saying about him. 
“So you don’t want to fuck me?”
“There is something seriously wrong with you,” he deflected, because she was right, there was something about this sick little game that he was into. Objectively, she was a pretty girl, but being outmatched by someone like this was doing his head in in the strangest way. Maybe he did have control issues. 
She sighed theatrically with a shake of her head, unbothered by how tightly he was gripping her shoulders now. “Do you still want that kiss? You didn’t really participate last time, but I think you were a little busy contending with your life falling apart.”
He didn’t move. He shouldn’t take her up on it. He needed to learn from his past fuck ups. 
“Okay,” she said graciously, patting his knees gently as she rose to her full height, like they’d had some kind of heartwarming pep talk and not an overview of how she’d been tormenting him for half a year. “I’ll see you back out there.”
Something in the animal part of his brain overrode what little common sense he had left, and before he knew it, he’d yanked her into his lap.
“You’re so weak,” she whispered as she shifted her shins onto his thighs. She was slightly taller than him like this, gazing down like a terrible goddess about to teach him a lesson about his hubris. “You’re so fucking weak, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, his mouth crashing into hers, chasing her smug little grin away. It was more of a fight than a kiss, a mean thing that made his blood burn. Her nails were sharp against the back of his neck, and he reached up to grab her hair in retaliation. 
“You don’t scare me.” Her eyes were bright. Mirthful. Like they were playing some kind of game. “You can’t do anything to me.” He tugged her head to the side, baring her throat to him, and that pulled a little gasp from her. “I think you like that I’m just as awful as you are. Does it make you feel less alone?” she asked, that cruel smile hanging from her red lips again. “What are you gonna do, fuck the attitude out of me? Make me a nice girl? You’d hate not arguing with me. How hard did you get when I texted you?” she whispered, her hand drifting down his chest. “Did you jerk off every time your phone buzzed? Was it a Pavlovian thing? Were you—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled and when he kissed her to stop her awful truths, her sharp teeth sank into his bottom lip. 
“Make me,” she shot back airily as he yanked her skirt up. “Because I don’t think you want me to shut up. I think you— fuck you—”
He’d maneuvered his hand between them, down the front of her boy shorts and sure enough, Little Miss High and Mighty was getting off on it as much as he was, soaked from her self-righteous speech. “Fuck you too, kitten,” he muttered, dragging his finger through her slick folds. 
She set her jaw defiantly. “What about you, Peter Parker? Who’s gonna fuck your attitude away? Or are you gonna—” she fell silent as he slowly pushed his finger inside her, her mouth going slack before she could stop it, her eyes fluttering for just a second. That tiny reaction turned him on painfully. 
“Am I gonna what?” he growled, crooking his finger. Her nails bit into his neck and her heartbeat went wild.
She shook her head. “Or are you just gonna rot away until everyone forgets about you?” Her voice was shaky but her words were still a wrecking ball upside his head. “Until you’re back to being a nobody?” Her tone was sickeningly gentle, and he tried not to give much thought to her questions, because she was dangerously close to cracking him apart with her accusations and he wasn’t gonna let a brat like her unravel him more than he already was. She didn’t know anything, she was just flinging nasty words to see what might stick. 
“This is how you get those too-long articles of yours written, huh?” he asked, watching her try to blink away the pleasure he was giving her. He didn’t really want her to feel good, but what a trophy it would be to get her off a few times. She could hate him until they were both dead but it wouldn’t change the fact that she’d come because of him. “Just running that mouth of yours all day long and not really saying anything.”
“I get the job done,” she breathed, exhaling slowly as he slid another finger inside her. “Can’t say the same for you.”
He began to pump his wrist and she just stared at him, her pretty eyes totally unreadable as she balanced carefully on his thighs. It was unnerving, his inability to get ahead of her.  A challenge. But in the dark little corners of his brain, it was thrilling to not know her next move. A sick little game, and it was making his skin feel too tight. 
“When you come all over my fingers, how’re you gonna feel about that?” he tried, hoping to knock her off her game.
“I’m gonna feel just fine,” she sighed, grinding down against him with an obscene roll of her hips, and he was embarrassingly hard now, his one-track mind spinning stupidly at the sight of her. “I haven’t been fucked in a while and I know you wanna make me come just so you can say you did it. If you wanna chase that gold medal, that’s fine by me.”
That was too on the nose for him. Maybe he was as shallow and awful and transparent as she thought. He withdrew his fingers and she raised an eyebrow as she lowered herself, level enough now that he could see that her eyeliner was smudged.
“You don’t get off if I don’t,” she said, palming him through his jeans, nipping at the underside of his jaw until he groaned. “What’re you gonna do, walk it off?”
Her fingers were busy with his belt, shoving it away so she could unzip his jeans. It was all a slow haze, the clink of his buckle, watching her spit into her hand and slip it into his boxers, the soft oh she muttered to herself. He’d thought about this a billion times after their almost-encounter: what would have happened if his backpack hadn’t tipped over and they’d kept going? What sounds would she have made? Would it have been any good or would they both have been too cruel to manage to get off?
“I think you like that I don’t like you,” she said, barely audible over the groan he let out when she began to stroke him. “How many people have you—”
He covered her mouth and she gave him a sad little flutter of her lashes. You don’t wanna hear the truth? he could practically hear her taunt. No, he didn’t want to hear what a disaster he was and that he just used people to try to fix whatever was shattered inside him.
“How many people have you done this to?” he grunted, biting the inside of his lip as she gave him a too-hard twist of her wrist. He dug his thumb into her cheek as a warning and she planted a kiss against his palm before mumbling something. “What?”
“At least one after tonight,” she repeated, giving him a lazy kiss before he could fire back at her. He lifted her up so he could shove his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. This wasn’t an encounter that called for clothes coming off any more than what was necessary. He didn’t think for a second that he’d see her tits. Just his mask, blankly gazing at nothing. “Not that you asked, but I am on the pill.”
“Sorry for assuming after you—”
His cock slid between her folds as she began to slowly grind against him, pressing a line of sugary little lovebites down his neck. She was fucking with him, throwing those kisses he’d been so smug about in March right back at him. Weaponizing herself into a gorgeous Catch-22. 
“I own you,” she whispered as she slowly sank down onto his cock. Immediately, he grabbed her hips to have some kind of control but she pushed them away. “You can fuck me until I can’t walk straight, but at the end of the day, you’re mine, aren’t you?”
He couldn’t really talk, so he just nodded reluctantly, desperate for her to move somehow, because fuck she felt perfect—
She gave his cheek a pat. “Good boy.”
He slunk down in the chair and thrust up hard, banding an arm around her so she couldn’t do anything but take it. But it didn’t matter, because nothing he was doing was rattling her. If he was honest, it was turning him on even more, this cold show of dominance from her. Her smile wasn’t even a smile, just a gleaming show of teeth. 
It became a trade of meanness: a hard thrust from him, a bite to the neck from her. A sharp slap on her ass in exchange for her nails raking against his arm, pink lines blooming across his skin. 
“I think you just want me to punish you,” she said, her sentence broken apart by a gasp she couldn’t stifle. “Do you wanna talk— fuck— about that?”
He ignored her, slipping a hand between them again and circling her clit, watching her shudder at his touch. “What’s wrong? You gonna come?”
“You don’t think you deserve to fuck someone you actually like,” she whispered, pressing a mean kiss to his lips that he didn’t return. 
“Neither do you.”
She ground down hard enough that he saw blinding white stars. “All I know is that this is gonna stay with you. I won’t think about this until the next time you shove me into a closet.” They’d just be locked in this toxic cycle forever. An icy feeling spread through his chest, and she gently pinched his cheek. “You look really cute when you don’t know what to do with yourself,” she cooed, and she moved off her shins so her feet were on the floor. It changed the angle and she moaned as he sank just a little deeper inside her. Dizzy satisfaction flooded his brain when she buried her face in the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide her pleasure. “Parker—”
“Just ride my cock and shut up already,” he groaned, digging his thumbs into her hips like it would somehow silence her. “Stop fucking talking.”
She fell quiet, only because she was working a mark against the base of his throat. It wasn’t sweet, it was nasty and possessive and it drove him nearly out of his mind. His skin was going to be littered with bruises by the time they were done, mocking reminders of their time together. 
“Do you want me to take my shirt off or do you like looking at yourself?” she asked innocently, leaning back so she could trace her fingers along the heart-shaped mask. 
He didn’t want to see himself, much less the thing he hid behind. The thing he’d begun to misuse because how the fuck else was he supposed to live with what he’d done?
“Get up,” he snapped. She rolled her eyes but did as he said, an indignant squeak leaving her when he spun her around and pushed her against the wall. 
“You’ll never hate me more than you hate yourself,” she whispered as he sank into her again, and he tried to just focus on how good she felt and not on her words. It was a difficult task. She was honey and vinegar, sweet and stinging and overwhelming all at once. “Does this make you feel better?”
He was glad he couldn’t see her shirt anymore, and he reached between her legs, hoping it would shut her up. She started to speak again, but whatever she was going to say came out as a breathy moan as he began to circle her clit. “If I’d known this would get you quiet I would have done it months ago.”
She couldn’t get a coherent sentence out and pushed back against him hard, grabbing at his wrist as he continued to touch her, but he pinned her hand against the wall. A frustrated whine fell from her lips and she knocked her head back against his shoulder. “You–”
Peter let go of her hand and covered her mouth before slowing his hips into a deep grind. “Do you wanna come or not?”
Whatever she mumbled sounded an awful lot like fuck you. But she began to shake, thighs trembling against his, knees going wobbly in her tall boots. A stream of nonsense was huffed out against his palm before she slumped in his arms, boneless and pliant, tightening around him hard enough that it nearly knocked him stupid as well.
She broke away from his hand and sucked in a breath with a laugh, her head lolling against his shoulder. “Did you love how it felt when I came on your cock?”
“You did,” he muttered, grabbing her waist and working a mark against the side of her neck, trying to get her worked up and whimpery just because it would make him feel an ounce of power. None of this was particularly comfortable– the closet was too small, his clothes were too warm, and worst of all, he was fucking someone that had made his life hell. She was right, he was weak. He couldn't even take comfort in the fact that she was terrible too, because she still had the upper hand.
She pushed back against him with a sigh. “What’re you waiting for? You wanna hold my hand or something?”
“Why’d you do this?” he asked. It took everything in him not to move, thrust into her and chase down his stupid orgasm. “What the fuck are you getting out of this?”
“Knowing I can make you fall apart is everything to me,” she replied dreamily, tracing alongside his fingers where they were leaving bruises on her hips. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at him with blown pupils. “You’ve loved being miserable ever since I met you. I’m just trying to help.”
Something about that cut him deep, through bone and sinew and muscle, straight to his sour heart, and he began to fuck her hard, like it would undo what she’d said. It wouldn’t, but it would feel good for a little bit and that was better than nothing, no it wasn’t, he was lying to himself. She’d been right: he’d never hate her more than he hated himself.
Blessedly, she didn’t say anything else, and he shoved his face against her shoulder. Her perfume was spicy and floral and it wrapped around his brain like a boa, choking out any semblance of sense he had left. He didn't feel like he was in his own body anymore, his hips slamming into her too harshly, but she seemed to revel in what he gave her and she gave no indication she wanted him to slow down.
“Would you just come already?” she gasped, arching back when his teeth cut across the side of her throat. If that’s where she liked being kissed so much, he’d give it to her so she could remember it. “Fuck, that feels–”
Her breathiness was back and it was like a tire iron to his skull. His hips stuttered and he lost his rhythm as heat flared up his spine, his vision whiting out as he came.
For a moment, neither of them moved. His chin was on her shoulder, and he exhaled heavily, trying not to collapse on top of her and create some kind of domino effect catastrophe. That would be great, ending up half-naked with her under a bunch of shelves and asbestos–
“How’s Monday morning?” she mumbled, wiggling back against him. Her pulse raced under his nose, thunderous and wild. 
“The fuck are you talking about?” he groaned. His hands were full of pins and needles from how hard he was gripping her hips. 
“Your interview,” she reminded him, an unspoken duh hanging in the air. 
“You were serious about that?” he asked, his stomach dropping. His post-orgasmic haze slipped away, and self-loathing replaced it. It was a nauseating turn around, adrenaline replaced with quicksand.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Are we even after that?”
“Even?” she echoed, turning around and leaning heavily against the wall, still trapped between his arms. Her mascara was smeared and her lipstick was gone from her kiss-bruised lips. “We’ll never really be even, will we? I’ll always know.”
An empty feeling bloomed in his chest. Hollow. Useless. 
She gave his cheek a gentle pinch. “But thanks for the quickie.”
Title comes again from Venus Fly Trap by MARINA. 
I (and some of you guys) spent a few days wondering what the hell would happen with these two assholes so here it is. They’re both awful, I hope they both get intense therapy and never speak to each other again. Honestly, this was what my enemies to lovers series was meant to be and that took a sharp detour to those morons catching feelings so I am glad I got this done.
Taglist: @liz-allyn @abibliophobiaa @rae-gar-targaryen @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @letmeplaytheliontoo @wicked-remarks @cordiformity @summertimestyles @squiddtheekidd @mortwig @silkspiderstuff @enaraism @quobber @impossible-potatoe
Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!
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ficsforguys · 21 hours ago
desirable | doctor!peter parker x gn!reader
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a/n — the pictures are so mismatched but i don't have a gif and they all work separately for the fic so yeah- mishmosh pishposh motherf*ckers <3 (this is a jokey but veryyy smutty fic i wrote to get out of writers block)
summary — Infatuated by the doctor treating you, you return with feigned sickness.
words — 2.9k
warnings — SMUT! 18+, throat-fucking, blowjobs, sexy peter parker
The office was stuffy, or maybe it was your throat swelling, with a scratch that only stuck out when you tried to speak. You scheduled an appointment within an older practice run by renowned Doctor Bruce Banner, who you had little confidence in since he could hardly understand things about his own body. Not that you would discredit someone of his intelligence, but he struggled to control his body at levels of extreme emotion, and dealing with any sickness is never something calm to bear through. He prevailed on your previous visits; that was the only reason you remained slumped against the wall of the waiting room chairs, fighting congestion and an endlessly parched thirst.
After a little while, a nurse in lime green scrubs called your name, prompting you to stand, and followed her into one of the few patient rooms once she checked your height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature. On your first visit, you were surprised to learn about the scarcity of rooms, only to realize that their sizes were far more massive than what would be required for a human-sized head specialist. The bed you sat on, paper crinkling on even the most trivial shift of your body, took up only a fraction of the room it occupied. The other side of the room had a desk and a chair that faced the wall, both oversized to fit Banner's frame but made the computer, keyboard, and mouse sitting atop it look like little playthings. To the left of the bed were a sink, a few hanging otoscopes to check your ears, and some other things you didn't recognize. To your right was the door the nurse walked out of, and no less than five minutes passed before a doctor with a deeper shade of green scrubs entered.
It was a pleasant surprise to learn that your doctor would not be the Hulk himself but a younger male in hulk-green scrubs who had only recently started working for Doctor Banner. Banner was nice but not always careful, especially with his large, discolored fingers. You were happy that he wouldn't be the one to lay a hand on your throat since he could probably crush your larynx with the jerk of a sneeze. Your new doctor didn't seem as friendly as the big guy, though, seized in a look of shock—possibly embarrassment—as he laid eyes on you, then fumbled with his clipboard. It almost fell to the ground but miraculously clung to the tips of his fingers, and he caught the board. He kept his head low and buried, busying himself with your information, hushedly repeating it aloud.
The doctor's face was pale aside from the flush of ignominy, possibly from the same bug you contracted somewhere around New York, though you figured he happened to not get enough sun. Judging by how he carried himself and the awkward chipperness in his voice, you suspected the latter. Yet he filled out his scrubs rather nicely, tautly stretching over his chest and struggling to hide his bulk for someone potentially sun-appalled. It was like he chose a size down from his typical day apparel to tempt his patients, to keep them engaged with whatever boring medical jargon he was most likely to spew out after giving them a diagnosis. You had to admit, it worked.
His short, chocolate curls looked like they had been on the receiving end of many pushbacks with a shaky hand as if he was excessively nervous. He had a simple complexion, easy on the eyes with warm brown hues that challenged the depth of rich soil. His nametag coruscated in the light; black, blocky lettering printed across the laminate—Dr.Parker.
Silence loomed over the room, only backing away when you let out a few sputtered hacks from the back of your throat. A simple coughing fit to others, but it felt like a raging war broke out for the millionth time today on your sore inner muscles. That's when he looked up.
"Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Doctor Parker, and you must be . . ." he hesitated momentarily, scanning the clipboard again—was he that forgetful? His index finger followed the pages of your file before halting, and he spoke your name without his eyes leaving the inky letters. The way it rolled off his tongue felt different than how other people said it, like the set of his mouth was meant to twist and twitch with every syllable. "And a sore throat today, huh? That's gotta hurt."
"Kind of," you said, being courteous about how it hurt to swallow and that it felt like someone was constantly ramming something stiff and sharp down your throat each time you tried to eat the softest foods on the shelf. Doctor Parker moved over to the chair, taking a seat in it. You watched how the backing of the chair reached halfway up to the back of his head when he finally got comfortable in the seat, looking more like an excessively sized dog bed, significantly passing his spread legs. He took ahold of the mouse that filled out his hand—appearing to be more than a handful—and clicked open a few programs until he entered an alterable document. It was complete with information about your previous visits.
"What symptoms have you been dealing with?" he asked, hands resting on the keys underneath the monitor, his beautiful face illuminated by the blank, white screen. You told him about the troubles this illness brought but kept it brief to save your throat the pain later. After you relayed everything to him, his intent ears never missing a slurred or misspoken word, he moved on to diagnosing you.
He got out of the comically-sized chair and drew near. Cold hands met your warmed, overheated skin. "Definitely swollen," he muttered. Only a few words slipped from his mouth since he entered the room, and you hadn't even learned his first name, yet you happily listened and waited for more of his spoken thoughts. If your throat was back to normal, how he held it would have been much more evocative. Was he aware of the effect he had on his patients?
At first, his hands were gentle, like a deer carefully watching its step on an uneven meadow, but they had a growing bite as he started to press into your swollen lymph nodes. The force elicited a painful noise past your lips and a harsh "Ow."
His hands backed away immediately, retreating safely to his sides, and that's when he looked up to your face. You were sure it flushed at his worried glance and not from the sickness.
"Sorry, it's my first day on the job," he half-heartedly apologized.
"Really?" you asked skeptically. Maybe that was why you never saw Doctor Parker before now; he was new.
"Nervous?" your throat rasped.
His cracked lips stretched, hiding any anxiety he took out on them and forming a brief smile, "Yeah, uh, something like that."
The doctor refrained from putting his hands on you for the rest of the visit, asking you how the infection made you feel and what you noticed during the past few days of dealing with it. He concluded it to be tonsilitis and prescribed a healthy dose of antibiotics that would hopefully kill the infection thriving in your throat. They did their job and had you feeling better within a few days. 
From the view of your bathroom mirror, opaque-white lights cast visibility over your throat. The pain was gone, but the handsome doctor's touch never left, his pale hands turning a true translucent as you felt the ghost of them linger. You needed to go back for the resolution, but finding a reason to return would be difficult.
. . .
"Back again so soon? Guess you missed me," Doctor Parker remarked as he came through the door, realizing that you sat on the table in the same position as last time. "Still sick?"
You nodded, rebuffing words out of fear that the first one to slip out would sound unscratched by your throat, harmonious and smooth. 
"Did it get worse?" You nodded again. "Okay, huh, open up for me? Sorry, please." The doctor heard how it sounded out loud and took the opportunity to make banter with himself where you couldn't. His hand rose and followed your jaw, his thumb glossing over your chin as the rest nearly missed his touch from the last time. With your mouth open, the tip of his flashlight clicked, and out came the light pouring into the darkness. "You sure the medication didn't work? Still feels scratchy?"
You nodded—again. His hands slid down, two fingers on either side of your throat, feeling around for swelling and unwanted masses. Unfortunately, his touch didn't last long, as he pulled away with a look of certainty.
"I've seen enough. I'll call in for a prescription of antibiotics to kill that lie you're committed to."
Your voice slipped, mistakenly asking in a less husky tone, "What do you mean?"
He pushed the chair away from the desk, the tip of his toe sweeping the ground to swivel him around. "I don't want to catch a case of lying, but I don't think I could because you're not sick."
You let your voice return to normal, no longer feigning malady, "How could you tell?"
He stood, leaning against the tall desk. He folded his arms over his scrubs and scrunched the forest green cotton and rayon, "Your throat's gone down, and, obviously, I prescribed the right thing. Top of my class and all. Why did you do it?"
You trapped yourself in here, and there was nothing else to say but the truth, "I . . . think you're hot?"
"Wow, that's a new one—and a relief. Usually, the patients I see more than once have made-up names and appendages I can't even describe—you'd have to be there! And they always try to . . .kill me."
"Hey, don't spin this around on me. I'm the one asking questions, here," he mirrored, uncomfortably shifting away from the desk. "How could you make it up to me?"
The question lingered like the newly raised hand to his chin to signify the thoughts running through his head. Your head started to conjure ideas of what exactly he would do. Doctor Parker didn't seem mad when he learned about the reason behind this contrived visit, but maybe it was how he handled things. He kept calm and probably already called security or would ask you to leave, from what you could assume. 
After a few moments of deliberation, he dropped his arms by his sides, "I think the best thing to do, is to give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"
With his elbows bent, his hands dug up the hem of his shirt and to the waistband stretching over his flat stomach. The hulk-green elastic slid up to the thenars of his hands with nowhere to go but down, thanks to the pressure he applied, the band easily giving way to reveal his partly defined Adonis belt. It was prominent, but the lines looked as if they were lightly sketched on what was otherwise a perfect sculpture.
"What are you doing?" you had to ask as if it wasn't obvious. His thumbs showed through the outline of his pants and a thicker, more pronounced, and lengthier silhouette just further down. You knew what he wanted; he only had to say it.
"Doing what you want, playing doctor and patient. Today's checkup involves a laryngoscopy—throat examination, if that was too confusing," he spoke as if he was in control but still had the consideration that his soft-leaning look won you over with on your first visit. This time, you saw his hardened and more defined side as he finally let his pants drop to his knees. No underwear. He was confident in a way where other people wouldn't know unless they were close to him. 
His cock stood tall, and his balls hung low with enough to push the limits of whatever it entered and was sure to create enough of a smack with each passionate hip-rock. Lengthy enough to reach all the right places, but not enough to go where it didn't belong. A couple of tugs with his right hand later proved the second half of that untrue as he grew even more excited.
"You're gonna have to lay back," he waded near you, half-pulled-down pants restricting his steps so far. With a single hand, he maneuvered you with impossible strength, only ceasing his hold when you were on your back, head titled over the foot of the examination bed. The table paper's end crinkled in your ears.
The fluorescent tubes casting light from above were shadowed by his figure stepping into the frame of your flipped world view. His smooth and defined thighs blocked your peripherals. In only seconds, the dry head of his cock was at your gated lips. He hastily spoke, teasing, "Say, ahh. I'll make it nice and sore, just like you need."
Your lips brushed it as they parted, "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"
"This is for me since you wasted my time. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little," he left you with that, suddenly entering your mouth, lips conforming to the girth. 
Your tongue felt the topside of his cock; the small ridge where the wide tip ended, and the length and all of its scattered veins began. It was tasteless, bland, and made even more uninteresting since the doctor took his sweet time. The only thing that saved it and provided excitement were the soft noises he made. He had been talkative up until now, but you still knew how he felt. His moans were enough to discern it. He spewed out hushed 'ohs' and pants, which seemed odd as he was less than halfway in your mouth. That was enough to tell he enjoyed it so far, but you wondered about the distance that far away could be. When he didn't have to guide himself into you anymore, the hand holding his hefty length moved to grip the table—tightly. You could have sworn you heard the metal creaking with the pressure.
His cock snaked forward, earning a sharp gluck once he reached your throat. Then, you convulsed, body shaking at the unnatural mass invading your mouth, lips sputtering around him. He sneered in delight, his own set of lips breaking the set of his face to form a smile. His slow pace stopped when a light tracing of hair grazed your chin, balls low enough to brush your nose. Your throat jutted, his head showing from the outside as a small peak in the middle, made more apparent by how your head was titled back.
Slowly, it began to sink and rise as he started to rock his hips. He started to pick up a pace, burying himself until there was nothing left to hide and reeling it back moments later to rest just short of your lips. Every now and then, he would make you swallow his cock for longer than a few seconds, causing welled-up spit to pour from your mouth and onto him and your face. At a certain point, he broke his rhythm, withdrawing all of himself from your wet encasement. Slicked in spit, his gorgeous length glistened in the fluorescent white.
"Feel good?" You could hardly stutter it out, jaw aching at the corners.
"Yeah, it feels great. Nothing wrong with it so far, but I'd like to consider a re-evaluation."
Familiarity washed over you, the same feeling as moments before returning with more wants. More needs. To your surprise, the hand on the examination table keeping his thrusts steady now rested around your throat. The doctor yearned to feel himself piercing you, putting his breath-taking looks into a literal sense. And he did; your throat unwillingly bulged with his deeply buried cock. An unregulated series of appearing and disappearing beneath his palm and wet noises coming from your spit-filled cavern.
After a few more globs of spit well up and spill from your mouth—making all the noises that were expected along with it—the doctor needily stated that he was "going to come." No less than a second later, warm white poured down your throat with no other option except to be swallowed.
The doctor pulled away, a mixture of release and slobber slicking his cock. He waded to the sink, reaching for a few paper towels from the dispenser to wipe himself off.
You sat up, wiping a hand over your mouth and nose to clear off some of his sticky come and your spit, "What about me?"
"What about you?" He laughed at the end of his return. Once he had fixed himself up to act as if the past twenty minutes had never happened, he went to the computer and took a seat on the oversized chair, like last time. 
As he tapped away at the keyboard, he informed you about the changes to your medical file, "I'll put myself as your Primary Care Physician from now on, but Doctor Banner might want to see you soon. I think he'll have a new stress reliever."
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statticscribbles · a day ago
☾ - Spiderman/Peter Parker (tom) x male reader
☾ - sleep headcanon
Peter talks in his sleep; but never about nightmares.
“No! You;re outta.... bread..cheese. milk.... oh not the shopping!” You cover your mouth and try not to laugh; Peter had barely been at your study date for ten minutes before he’d fallen asleep; you’d decided to let him sleep; you knew how hard he was working.
Of course you knew he was Spiderman; he’d asked Dr. Strange; the Dr. Strange, you were still not going to get over that, to keep your memory. You let him sleep, making sure the fabric suit he kept at your place was carefully tucked in your closet; you were happy to let your family tease you about having a crush on spiderman; they had know idea he was usually sitting across from them at dinner.
“NO! Bruce noooooo you said i would have clothes for my.... no it’s a group project!” you laugh again and send the video to Bruce Banner, he responds with a sleeping emoji and then a laughing one.
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vendettaparker · 5 months ago
The Baby Assignment [P.P]
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Summary: When you and Peter begin working on an assignment for your Child Development class and Morgan overhears your discussions, she starts to think that you and Peter are actually expecting a baby, leading to a lot of confusion and a very pissed off Tony.
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, swearing, typos
a/n: just something nice and fluffy before the last chapter of bty comes out and crushes everyone’s souls 
“MJ is so pissed,” Peter laughed as the two of you walked hand in hand into the penthouse of the tower, “she said Flash has already made three misogynistic remarks and eight ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.” 
“Oh god,” you chuckled, “she’s gonna kill him.” 
Peter’s phone buzzed again, “nine jokes,” he updated with a smile, texting her back a frowny face. 
“I’m just glad we got paired together,” you said as you set your backpack on the kitchen counter, “I mean imagine if you got paired with Flash… or worse, if I got paired with Flash.” You grimaced at the thought. 
“Flash was ten times more likely to wind up dead if he got paired with you rather than MJ, so I’d say he’d be the one with the short end of the stick there,” Peter joked, setting his bag next to yours as you rooted through the fridge for some juice. 
“You’re right,” you agreed with a smile, “besides, it would never come to that because you would do the gentlemanly thing and switch partners with me, right?”
You turned to Peter with apple juice in your hand. Peter wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Aw babe,” he cooed, “no chance in hell.” 
You pulled away with a laugh, setting the apple juice on the counter behind you, “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Parker,” you smiled. 
Peter’s cheeks flushed pink as you looked up at him and batted your eyelashes. He smiled down at you, flicking his eyes between your gaze and your plush lips, just begging for a kiss. 
“What?” you asked coyly, bringing your hand up to the back of his head and playing with the curls that grew there. 
“Stop looking at me like that,” Peter muttered as he leaned into you and your temptress ways, “we need to work on our project soon.” 
“Mhm,” you hummed, “and?” 
“You’re distracting me,” Peter’s breath was minty on your face as he spoke, lips inching closer to yours. 
“Am not,” you bit your lip. 
Peter leaned in fully, closing the gap between the two of you, but just when his lips met yours—ding! The elevator door opened. 
“Hands off my daughter, Underoos,” Tony said, not even looking up from his phone as he walked into the penthouse. 
Peter immediately took a huge step away from you, quickly busying himself with getting glasses from the cabinet for the apple juice. 
“Dad,” you groaned, walking over to your backpack to get your computer and homework out, “I thought you were in Spain.” 
“It was Prague,” Tony corrected, “and I just got off the jet. Is this what you guys do whenever I leave?” He asked, looking up from his phone and pointing between you and Peter with a disgusted look on his face. 
“N-No, of course not, Mr. Stark—” Peter began, turning towards his mentor, but you cut him off. 
“Only if there’s no one else home,” you shrugged. Peter snapped his head towards you and widened his eyes, “What?” you held your hands up in defense, “There’s no point in lying.” 
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh, “I hate teenagers,” he groaned as he walked away towards the living room. 
“That… went surprisingly better than I thought it would,” Peter noted as he set your glass of apple juice next to your notes. 
“He’s tired,” you said, “we’ll probably get a stern talking to about protection and all that later. Or better yet, he’ll have Steve give us the lecture,” you grimaced at the thought. 
“I can’t go through another one of those talks,” Peter groaned, taking a seat next to you at the counter, “May found the condoms I bought before I got a chance to put them away and every time she mentioned sex during the entire conversation she called it “fornicating”.”
You laughed and elbowed Peter’s arm, “I’ll do you one better,” you proposed, “Steve still refers to it as “fonduing”.” You wiggled your eyebrows at Peter as you said it, making him laugh along with you. 
After your laughter died down you pulled up the assignment you were given on your computer, “Okay,” you began, “Mrs. Horn said that we’re getting the dolls on Monday so this weekend we have to have typed out a birth plan, daily schedule, and list of notable child physicians in the area that we could go to.” 
“Okay,” Peter nodded, opening his laptop as well, “what do you want to start first?” 
“Birth plan probably,” you began typing on a shared document with Peter, “she said it has to be at least one page and include alternate plans for worst-case scenarios. So we should do our regular birth plan and then we could do one like if something bad were to happen.” 
You began typing out the plan of what you would want to do if you were really having a baby. Peter watched as you wrote out all of the plans, taking note of how quickly you seemed to figure this all out. 
“This feels so weird,” Peter mumbled. 
“What do you mean?” you asked, looking over at him. 
“It feels kind of real,” he explained, “like, have you thought about this?” 
“Not particularly,” you shrugged, “I mean, sometimes. I just think logically I will probably have kids, so it’s good to know ahead of time how I want them to come into the world and how I plan to raise them and all that jazz.”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded.
“Do you want to change anything on here?” you asked, “I mean, it’s your kid too.” you joked, nudging Peter slightly. 
“N-No,” Peter shook his head, “it all looks really good,” he smiled, mesmerized by the thought of having children with you and starting a family one day. 
Of course, it was way too early to even think of that, let alone make plans for it, but knowing that you also thought about these scenarios made Peter’s heart soar. 
He’d always felt—at least in some small part of him—like your feelings for each other were one-sided. Or maybe not one-sided completely, but at least he thought that he loved you more or cared about your relationship more than you did. But this project you’d been given was easing those worries little by little. It might not have meant nearly as much to you, but to Peter, it meant the world to know that you thought of the future like this. Possibly a future with him.
“Oh, and names,” you said, looking up from your laptop to Peter, “one boy name and one girl name since Mrs. Horn is randomly assigning the babies to each pair so we won’t know if we get a boy or a girl until Monday.” 
“That’s dumb,” Peter said, “don’t people usually know beforehand? So they can know what clothes to buy and stuff.” 
“Yeah, but I guess some people like surprises like that,” you shrugged, “I would want to know as soon as possible.”
“Mhm,” Peter agreed.
“Okay, so names,” you started typing out a section for that on the document, “any ideas?” 
“Hm,” Peter thought about it for a moment, “how about Hans, like from Star Wars.” 
“Wow,” you nodded, “even for our fake kid I hate it.” 
Peter shook his head, “Well what do you want to name it?” 
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “even though this is all fake and stuff, it’s good practice. That’s why we took the class—”
“We also both needed another elective credit,” Peter mumbled. 
“So I don’t just want to pick some random names and be done with it,” you explained. 
“Well,” Peter began, “if I had a girl, I’d want to name her May because May has always been such a big part of my life. I’d want to honor her by doing that.” 
“Okay,” you nodded with a smile, “I really like that. Want to add a middle name?” 
“You can pick.” 
“I like Louise,” you typed it out, “she’s my favorite character in Bob’s Burgers,” you smiled. 
“Perfect,” Peter agreed, “and for a boy?” 
“Anthony?” you asked, “After my dad, and then Ben for a middle name, after your uncle,” you typed it out as you spoke before looking up at Peter, “what d’you think?” 
“I-I really like that,” Peter nodded, a small smile dancing on his lips. 
“Okay,” you closed your laptop, “that’s enough for one day. We can look for child physicians tomorrow.”
Ding! As you and Peter finished up your work in the kitchen, Morgan was just coming up to the penthouse, just now returning from school herself. 
“Hey little miss,” you smiled when you saw her, but you frowned when you saw the small pout on her face, “what’s wrong?” 
“‘M not any good at kindergarten,” Morgan pouted, “I messed up reading during read-aloud time.” 
“That’s okay, Morg,” you tried to reassure her, “one mistake doesn’t mean that you’re not good at something. Peter makes mistakes all the time, but he’s still a really good Avenger,” you said, patting your boyfriend on the shoulder. 
“Yeah, I always make mistakes,” Peter nodded, “but it helps because then I learn from them and fix them, and then I do better. (Y/N) makes mistake too—”
“Don’t lie to her, babe,” you cooed, pinching Peter’s cheek. 
“It’s not the same,” Morgan walked over to you and climb into the barstool next to yours, “everyone laughed at me.” 
“We always laugh at Peter,” you told her, “remember when he ran into the window?” 
A smile crept its way onto Morgan’s face, “Yeah,” she nodded. 
“And that’s how Peter learned that we have the windows cleaned every Thursday,” you explained with a smile, “and it was funny.” 
“Not for me,” Peter whined from beside you, “I broke my nose.” 
Morgan giggled as you began to tickle her, “And he broke his nose,” you laughed, “that’s way worse than messing up read aloud.” 
“Yeah,” Morgan agreed, laughing along with you. 
“I don’t like how you’ve chosen to console her,” Peter mumbled. 
“Aw,” you cooed, placing your hand over Peter’s, “it’s okay, baby. It was just a mistake, right Morg?” 
“Mhm,” Morgan nodded. 
“And it’s not a big deal or worth being upset over, right?” you nudged Peter. 
“Right,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. 
“Okay,” you looked down at your sister, “now run along, Peter and I still have some homework to finish. Dad just got home so he’s probably in the living room watching TV.” 
“Okay,” Morgan hopped down from the counter and ran off down the hall. 
“You’re really good with kids,” Peter said as he looked at you with admiration. 
“So are you,” you smiled at him, “I’m glad I can shit on you to make her feel better,” you joked. Peter laughed and wrapped his arm around you, “I hope I can count on you to let me do that when it’s our kids.” 
“Anything for you,” Peter said, pressing a kiss to your lips. 
You hummed against his lips, before pulling away, “Don’t try to seduce me when my family is in the other room.”  
“Hey,” Peter complained, “if anything, it’s you that does the seducing.” 
“I’m about to go to my room to finish my homework,” you pulled away from him, “do you really want that to be the last thing you said before we move to my room?” 
Peter quickly shook his head, “No, definitely not. I love you, you’re perfect, you can do no wrong.” 
“Aw,” you smiled, “you’re too sweet.” 
You began to gather your things as did Peter so you could both head to your room. 
“Are you excited to take care of a baby for a week?” Peter asked as you began walking down the hall. 
“Kind of,” you shrugged, “I mean, I think it’s honestly gonna be one of the most hand-on assignments ever, which I’m not exactly thrilled about because of our busy schedules. Like, when we really have a baby, it would be when we’re ready and can make time for it. Ideally, at least.” 
Peter’s heart skipped a beat when you said “we”, as in, you and him, having children together. His heart was already so full when he looked at you, he couldn’t imagine the love and joy he’d feel when looking at you round with his baby or holding his children in your arms. This project was truly putting many things into perspective for him and forcing him to think about his future. 
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “not to mention the crying. It’s gonna be so loud and nonstop.” 
“I didn’t pay attention at all when we went over the different cries in class,” you admitted, “so we might have to try everything to get the doll to shut up.” you joked. 
“You mean to get our very loved baby to soothe,” Peter corrected, “doesn’t this thing also record us?” 
“No,” you shook your head, “I don’t think that’s allowed. If so, Mrs. Horn is gonna be in for a real treat. More like Mrs. Horny—” 
“Please stop.” 
“Also,” you said, “I haven’t told anyone about this project yet, so nobody’s gonna be prepared for this next week of hell.” 
“Well, better get to it,” Peter said, “gotta tell your dad he’s gonna be a grandpa,” he joked. 
“Yeah and Morgan that she’ll be a little auntie.”
Little did you and Peter know, you were both passing Morgan’s room, whose door was open a crack. The little girl was playing with her dolls when she heard the two of you pass by. “Gotta tell your dad he’s gonna be a grandpa” “Yeah and Morgan that she’ll be a little auntie.”
Morgan set her dolls down and raced to the door to hear more of the conversation, but you and Peter were already down the hall and in your room. 
Her little lip began to wobble at the thought of you and Peter having a baby right now. She didn’t really understand what that meant, but she knew that it meant everything would change and that wasn’t something she was prepared for. She stood in the doorway of her room for a moment before she did what any six-year-old would do when they were about to cry; she ran to her dad. 
“Daddy! Daddy!” Morgan cried as she ran into the living room, where Tony was half asleep on the couch with Pepper by his side, who had just gotten home from work. Sam, Bucky, and Natasha were also there, just in the other room discussing details for a mission they were going to go on. One that they planned to invite you and Peter to join. 
“Huh?” Tony woke with a start as Morgan jumped into his arms, tears streaming down her face. 
“What’s wrong, honey?” Pepper looked worriedly as Morgan buried her face into her dad’s shirt. She ran her hand up and down the little girl's back soothingly. 
“What’s the commotion?” Sam asked, walking into the room with Natasha and Bucky, “Who hurt our favorite fun-sized Stark?” 
“Morg,” Tony tried to calm her down, “what happened? Are you hurt?” 
Morgan shook her head quickly, “No,” she cried, “I’m just sad. I don’t want everything to change.” 
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Natasha questioned softly. 
“(Y/N) a-and Petey are go-gonna have a b-baby,” Morgan sobbed as she spoke, hardly getting the words out, “and t-then everything with change because y-you’ll all be too busy with the new baby!” 
Pepper looked up at Tony who looked at Pepper with the same expression of complete confusion. 
“Honey,” Pepper cooed, “(Y/N) and Peter are not having a baby. Why would you think that?” 
“They said they are!” Morgan yelled defensively, growing more upset now that everyone was looking at her like she was crazy. 
Sam looked over and Bucky and Natasha who just shrugged. 
“Maybe they said that in the future they might want to have kids,” Natasha said, “but that doesn’t mean that they’re gonna have a baby now.” she tried to explain. 
“No,” Morgan shook her head, “they’re having a baby now,” she was very adamant about it. 
“Why do you think that, Morg?” Tony asked. 
“Because (Y/N) said that she would have to tell me that I’m gonna be an auntie. I don’t want to be an auntie! I want to be the baby.” Morgan began to cry harder, “A-And Peter said that they were g-gonna tell you that y-you’ll be a grandpa! I don’t want you to be a grandpa, I want you to be my daddy still!” 
Tony thought about it as Morgan cried in his arms. You and Peter were insanely touchy with each other. He knew for a fact that you and he have already fondued, and he also never had the safe sex talk with either of you yet—part of him hoping that you two weren't stupid enough to not be safe. But the more Morgan cried in his arms, the more he thought about all the times he caught Peter coming out of your room at two in the morning, all the times Peter had set off the security alarms by sneaking into the tower at one in the morning, all the pieces of dirty laundry that belonged to Peter that also got mixed in with yours, and worst of all—all of the times you texted him letting him know that you were going to stay the night at Peter’s. 
“Oh my God,” Tony wrapped his arms around Morgan tighter to make her feel comforted, “she’s right. I think (Y/N) might be pregnant.” he looked over at Pepper who was shaking her head at him. 
“Tony,” she chided, “don’t feed into this. Morgan is just having a rough day, and you’re exhausted. This isn’t a good topic for discussion right now. If (Y/N) really was pregnant she’d tell us.” 
“Maybe she just hasn’t yet,” Tony defended, “I mean, seriously, do you know how many times I’ve caught them doing it.” 
“Hundreds,” Bucky nodded in understanding. 
“Don’t even get me started on the fact that Peter talks in his sleep,” Sam began to laugh as he mocked him, “oh (Y/N), right there. Oh, so good baby. Feels so go—”
Natasha quickly cut him off with a slap. 
“Oh my God,” Tony groaned, leaning his head to rest on the back of the couch, “this can’t be happening. Please tell me (Y/N) didn’t let this happen—”
“Tony stop,” Pepper scolded him, “you’re being ridiculous.” 
“Pep,” Tony nodded down to Morgan who was still crying softly in his arms, “Morgan’s not a liar. I’m sure she heard correctly, and those two teenagers,” he pointed a thumb down the hall to where your room was, “they’re like rabbits. All day and night.” 
Natasha grimaced, “Okay, I think this is getting a little out of hand,” she said, “let’s just ask them. Calmly.” she added, seeing the way Tony was already on his feet, ready to let you and Peter have it. 
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved her off, already heading towards your bedroom. 
“Did you put that you didn’t want an epidural?” Peter questioned as he read over the document, “doesn’t that like, hurt though?” 
“Yeah,” you nodded, “but I’m tough. I mean, I literally got shot in the shoulder last month and still had to haul your ass to safety.” 
“Still,” Peter shurgged, “I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to get the epidural.” 
“I don’t want to be all drugged up when I meet my baby,” you explained, “like sometimes people are so dopey from the epidural that they don’t even remember the first moments with their child. I just want to feel it all and remember it all, even if it hurts.” 
Tony could hear the last part of your conversation as he stood outside your door, now fully believing what Morgan had been saying. 
“(Y/N),” he opened the door to your room, seeing you on your bed with your TV remote in your hand as you flipped through movies on Netflix. Peter was at your desk, typing things down on a document Tony could clearly see titled “Parker-Stark Birth Plan”. 
“Yeah?” you didn’t even look away from the TV. 
“Oh my God,” Tony’s face dropped, “so it’s true.” 
“Huh?” Peter looked up from his laptop. 
“What’s true?” you asked, now looking over at Tony. 
“Morgan was right, you are pregnant,” Tony had this strange expression on his face. It was a mix of shock, disappointment, and anger all at once, “how could you let this happen?” He looked between you and Peter, “You both are the most irresponsible teenagers I have ever met. How can you possibly consider bringing a child into this world together? Did you rub your two remaining brain cells together to come to this conclusion? Did you even think or consider all of your options? How far along are you?” 
“What?” Peter looked over at you, “You’re pregnant?” 
“No!” you shook your head, “I’m not! Why would you think that?” you looked at your dad. 
“Don’t lie to me,” Tony warned, “I can see the guilt all over your faces.” 
“That’s Cheeto dust, and it’s only on Peter’s face,” you joked. 
“(Y/N), not the time,” Peter said, closing his laptop and wiping his face off with his sleeve. 
“You two are ridiculous. You can’t even be serious about this,” Tony threw his hands up in the air, “I can’t believe how irresponsible you two have proven yourselves to be. I put a lot of trust in you guys to be mature and strong leaders and then you go and do something like this—” 
“I’m not pregnant!” 
“Then why the hell are you making a birth plan and planning to tell me I’m gonna be a grandpa?!”
You and Peter both looked at each other and a moment before bursting out laughing. You were clutching your stomach and slapping your hand onto the bed as you laughed while Peter held his fist over his mouth to muffle his laughter. 
“Would someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” 
“It’s for a school project,” you laughed out, “Peter and I are taking care of a robot baby next week and we have to do some paperwork before we get the baby.” 
“We wanted to tell you beforehand because it’s a really annoying baby,” Peter explained, “it’s gonna cry a lot.” 
“And the birth plan has to reflect our own ideas on what we would want to do, so that’s why we’ve been discussing it.” 
Peter opened up his laptop to show Tony the document. After Tony skimmed it, he switched taps to the dropbox where it would be turned in, “It’s for our Child Development class. It’s the final project before the exam.” 
“I’m not actually pregnant, dad,” you giggled, still trying to catch your breath from laughing so much, “we’re not that dumb.” 
“Yeah, Mr. Stark,” Peter nodded, “I have a strong pull ou—”, you quickly threw a pillow at your boyfriend’s face, cutting him off from saying anything else. 
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want to join my taglist?
✧tags & moots✧ PERM
@ptergwen​ @princessofguineapigs​ @peterbenjiparker​ @cherrytholland​ @itsapeterthing​ @justapurrcat​ @kelieah​ @totheblood​ @celestialholland  @hollandcrush​ @scarletspideyy​ @blissfulparker @spidernerdsblog @spideyspeaches​ @andilovetowrite @sinisterspidey @annathesillyfriend @lovelybarnes @white-wolf1940 @arvinsescape @super-not-naturall @allthisfortommy @selfcarecap @misshale21 @morganwilliams23-blog @loveaffaire @tomfknholland @pogueslandia @tomshufflepuff @aayaissa @hallecarey1 @a-daydreamers-day @holland-styles @cloudyfeel @peni5parker @slut-for-steve-rogers @kitkatt18-blog @kitkat2015-blog @bookfrog242 @slutforfics @wildxwidow @kayasholland @prancerrparkerr @petesrparker @arlo-sanders @sxuxgarplxum @peter-parkers-gf @namoreno @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @peter-parkers-cullen-nerd @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hollandsvogue-blog @marvelobsessed10031917 @z3ndaya-blog @sunflowerfive @yunho-leeknow @xxxstormyninixxx @marvelhasmyheart235 @lowkey-holland @blahblahblah-boo @nocturnalms @happyt0exist @kpostedsum @noemiix1 @mischieftom @sophi54 @allazay101 @spideybrina @rqmanoff @rory-cakes @parkerdarling @samaraaaaa-blog @freds-slut @brown-eyed-doe @misslady246 @tonystarksfavoritedaughter @adayasgeorgia @mn-jun @spider-man-stiles-gubler @wildholland @demirunner @marvelobsessedteen @lolooo22 @moniffazictress11 @sleepybesson @evermoresstuff @sweetpeterparker @bradtomlovesya @teenwishes08 @hogwartsmarvelmommy @dracoswhore007 @Elishi03 @beth-gallagher22 @hunnybunimdun @badbatch-simp24 @raajali3 @vibezayn91 @heyyitsreign @iamsherloki-wholocked @itscaminow @blankspaceblankday @denkisclown @spideysloverera @minejungwoo @dirtytissuebox @whoeveniskendall @princessnnylzays @katie-navarro @hollandscherry @demirunner @lucypevensie111-blog @dottirose @tiaamberxx @wh0re4zaynmalik @luvwanda @kinlie-l @cevans-winchester @502spidey @wondergal2001 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @belovedholland @randomstufflol29 @t-lostinworlds @kaitieskidmore1 @milkiane @alisslahey @pandaxnienke @onceuponameli @ju1cyang3l @maximoffbarnesprotectionsquad @indouloureux @d22malfoys @chaoticevilbakugo @princessnnylzays @cmrxac
✧ tags & moots✧ PETER PARKER
@harryhollandsgirlfriend @hollandlover19 @ietss @fuckingbloodyhello @spencereidshoe @idli-dosa @ghostlyspiderversebeautyfire @heartshapedparker @5aturne @say-urie @fitzfiles-blog @marvelobsessedsworld @honeyspidey @bangtansighs @buckybarnesenby
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nbmlmxreaders · 5 months ago
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im thinking.,.,.
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thinking VERY hard
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Spider-man and the Moon Knight system, aka the poly ship we never knew we needed
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19K notes · View notes
luveline · 5 months ago
Drunk! Peter and he’s all over reader telling her how he wants to marry her and being handsy lol
hi I hope this okay <3
"I like gardenias," Peter declares, drunk as a skunk and climbing all over you. 
You're never letting him go out with his friends again, you decide, brushing the hair out of your sloshed boyfriend's eyes. "Me too," you say. 
"Yeah?" he looks exceedingly pleased by this, more pleased than he has any reason to be. He smells like wine coolers. 
"Sure. They're pretty." 
"And lily of the valley," he adds. "Sweatpeas, jasmine. Oh! Astilbe." 
"You've lost me," you say. 
Peter wrinkles his nose and works his way further still into your lap, hands at your waist. You roll your eyes at his face, tucked against your chest, very obvious in its position. 
"That's fair. We'll ditch the astilbe. Astrantia instead?" 
"Baby, what is an astrantia?" you ask, fingers in his hair.
Each time you stroke his hair back from his face his eyes close, like a puppy. It's adorable. He might be drunk and a little messy right now, but he's still your boy. You'd die for this idiot.
"A flower?" he asks, squinting up at you. "I'm talking about a bouquet." 
"Oh," you say. 
You're distracted from asking why he's discussing bouquets with you at 2AM on the living room sofa when you should both be sleeping by his hands catching yours where it cards through his hair.
He sits up to kiss your fingers, your wrist, small pecks that turn open mouthed that turn nibbling, little wet nips running a course to the sleeve of your T-shirt. He grumbles at being stopped short. You're giggling quietly, endeared and adorned by his affections; you feel like the prettiest girl on earth, covered in his tiny kisses. 
"Red velvet?" he asks suddenly, encouraging you to lie back.
"Are you hungry?" you ask, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.
"What? No." He sounds frustrated. "Do you like red velvet?" 
"Why are you asking?" 
"For the cake," he says, as if this is obvious. You realise Peter is having a conversation without you and elect to ignore his drunken woes, pulling his face down so you can hug him against your shoulder. 
"Maybe we should go to bed, hot stuff." 
"Are you kidding? We have so many decisions to make." 
"They can definitely wait until the morning, baby," you say warmly. 
He starts running his hands over your chest, your arm, your chest again. He doesn't touch anywhere important without asking, a gentleman even now, but the longing in his eyes makes you wish he would sober up for proper kisses. 
"They can't wait," he insists. "These are so important. We need to talk about them."  
You sigh dramatically, feeling very sorry for yourself, long suffering and tired. "Can we talk about them in bed, Peter?" 
"No, you'll distract me." 
"I'll be too busy sleeping." He pouts. You burst into laughter. "Babe! It's so late, I waited up for you so we could fall asleep together and you waylaid me with hickeys and a game of twenty questions!" You plead your case.
It's Peter's turn to sigh, though his is more of an indignant groan. "This isn't twenty questions, woman!" You raise your eyebrows, dying of laughter on the inside, and he amends, "My beloved. It's not twenty questions." 
"What is it, then?" 
He smirks at you, hands on either side of you and his knee between your thighs. You suddenly remember how tall he is and how stern he can be when he's not obliterated by cheap booze. 
He leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna marry you." 
"Get off of me," you say, rolling your eyes. 
"I'm gonna marry the fuck out of you, and then I'm gonna fuck the marry out of you, and we're gonna have centerpieces made up of a thousand white gardenias and asta- astrav- astantrias!" 
"And this has to happen tonight?" you ask, playing along, a feeling of white hot and reverential love blossoming from the centre of your chest. 
"If you don't mind!" he almost shouts. 
"I want vanilla cake," you say steadily, quietly, reaching your hands up to pinch his red cheeks.
His eyes are wide but he's calmer now he's realised you're on his side. "Good choice," he says, blinking. "What frosting? Buttercream, right? Fondant is for losers." 
You giggle until you can't breathe. He drops his head down into your chest, hugs your ribs so tight it aches. You can feel his smile even through your sleep shirt. 
7K notes · View notes
snakelaufeyson · a year ago
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look me i’m the eyes and tell me this isn’t what happened in the trailer, you can’t
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embrassemoi · 9 months ago
I’ll Crawl Home to Her
After a long day, all Peter wants is a bit of love and someone to take care of him.
PAIRING: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader
CONTENT: they’re 18+, fluff, nsfw, oral (m), light sub/dom, soft smut, mentions of violence, injuries + blood, thigh riding, cleaning wounds, bit of plot (?)
NOTES: inspired after the scene where Peter goes to Gwen’s place. And I should have proof read this more but I really wanted to get this out asap!
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The tapping sound was faint, almost inaudible and would have been mistaken for tree branches rattling together or the traffic lights swaying in the breeze had it not been insistent. It began from the base of the window by her bed, becoming increasingly louder, slicing through the night.
The latches popped open, the window being pushed open with a hand restricted from view as a thudding sound echoed throughout the room.
The action would have been concerning for anyone but her.
Instead, she rolled out of bed, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shuffled closer to the window. She kicked over the black bag that was tossed to the ground before looking out.
“Sorry,” Peter rasped, smiling weakly as his mouth hung open. “Wasn’t trying to be that loud.”
Peter crouched on the fire escape that wrapped around the apartment building. The soft moonlight caressed his face, hidden and shining through his hair along with the nearby multicoloured lights that reflected off the nearby bulletin boards.
There was a monochromatic beauty of the moon that the sun could never offer: the return of Peter.
“Oh, Pete,” she sighed, worried that he was maskless. Her focus latched onto the blood coating the side of his face, matting his hair to his head and the gashes and tears through his suit.
“Been a long night,” he tried to joke, shifting and climbing through the window.
She wrapped her hands around him when he came in, limping and nearly falling over. She observed him, searching for any other injuries as Peter leaned into her touch.
Peter always did this, refused to go to the hospital in fear of revealing identity. She saw what the world didn’t get to. They saw Spider-man, an invincible being, undoubtedly brave with superhuman strength and intelligence. But she saw Peter Parker: a boy battered and bruised, soft and shy — limbs pliable as clay every night.
It was a privilege knowing Peter, one that was filled with the purest of love and devotion but frightening, darkened by the fear that he may meet his match one day.
No matter how many times he managed to find his way back to her like this, it never failed to bring an overwhelming terror to wash over her, having to stifle the onslaught of tears.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed. “It’s not that bad. I’m fine. You know I heal unnaturally fast.”
She bit her cheek, nodded stiffly and led Peter into the bathroom to run a bath.
As softly as possible, she tried to peel his suit off him and lowered him in the tub. He hissed and grunted, pain etched into his face as the sensitive wounds met the warm water.
She knelt on the cold tiles, bending over the bath, wiping away the blood with wet cloths, washing away the dirt, blood and grim as Peter tried to prevent soap from entering the open wounds. He hissed through clenched several times as she lifted the alcohol-soaked rag to the cuts.
Thankfully, Peter eventually relaxed. A continuous murmur of ‘thank you’s’ left his lips was mixed in with the running tap. His head rested against the cool titles and raised white ridge of the bath as he watched her with a soft glance.
“You’re the best,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up until noticing her expression.
Her mouth hadn’t shifted from the fine line it had set itself when she first saw his condition.
She doesn’t ask what happened, she rarely does these days, but it doesn’t stop the worry that ate away at her. And by the look of these wounds, there was no doubt he had been in a grave situation.
“Stop it,” he tried, hoping to halt her movements. “Hey — Woah — easy there.”
His hand, wet with soapy water lifted to cup her cheek and forced her to hold his gaze. “I’m fine. I’m here.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing on a little smile while soaking in his touch. “I’m just… I’m always so worried.”
There was something unreadable that crossed Peter.
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, kissed the tip of his nose and got up, albeit with a whine of protest from Peter, leaving to reach for the mirror cabinet to grab the first aid kit. “You never have to apologize for quite literally saving New York.”
There was a slight chuckle, followed by the splashing of water that had her whipping her head.
“Woah!” She exclaimed, rushing up to Peter who had stood by himself, grabbing his robe with wobbly legs. “Easy there, bug boy. No responsibilities for you tonight. Let me take care of you.”
Guiding him back to their bed, Peter winced as he lowered himself down, sinking into the fluffy bedding and pillows, drowning in his robe but managed to keep one hand on her thigh.
Dabbing on antibiotic ointments before applying little bandaids on top of cuts, she was acutely aware of Peter’s unwillingness to let her go, not even for a moment.
“Mm,” he said, a bit distressed as the antibiotics stung him. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
“Was missing you. Makes me feel like you’re close to me.”
She continued to work in silence, smiling every once in a while and Peter’s soft gaze never left her face.
“Penny for your thoughts, Spidey?”
“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.”
He found purchase on her hips and waist, tugging her close. His grip was a little too hard, but her heart bubbled with a sense of fondness. He always underestimated and forgot his strength and capabilities when he got overwhelmed.
She placed a kiss on top of the last bandaid placed. His skin was littered with scars; some old, some new, some still a deep red, some healed. But it didn’t make him any less beautiful or worthy. Gently hooking a finger under his chin, pulling him to her lips, focusing all her unexpressed love and adoration she felt for him.
Her movements stilled. “Do you know how much I love you?” She blurted out.
Peter smiled bashfully. “I might have a clue.”
Pushing the first aid kit to the side to properly straddle him, her hands ran through his hair, making Peter groan as he melted into the bed.
“How about you? Do you know how much I love you?”
She grinned cheekily. “I think I need a reminder.”
Leaning forward, their noses touched, and Peter’s smile grew wide as his head began to shake a little. He was so warm, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling into every small kiss, finding solace in the knowledge he was home once more.
“I love you,” he whispered into the night. “I can’t believe you’re real. You’re so perfect.”
Her skin heated, heart swooning and Peter shyly ducked his face down before wincing when he shifted. It broke their comfortable silence, sending a hot flash of hurt and guilt down her spine before she turned and opened the drawer on her nightstand. Grabbing a water bottle, Ibuprofen and dark chocolate.
She always made sure to have a small stash for nights like these.
Pressing the rim of the water bottle to his lips, Peter drank gingerly, only lifting his hand to ease the bottle away, took the medication and waited as she unwrapped the chocolate, passing it to him.
His nose wrinkled as he bit into it, the bitter flavour and she giggled at his reaction.
“I know, but it’ll help regain some strength.”
As he ate, she learned that the marks came from a mutant hybrid: half-man, half-lion that was shortly detained after Peter and the NYPD chased it for ten blocks. But of course, it hadn’t gone down without a fight and ended up clawing him, tearing his suit and nearly sinking its fangs into his neck.
“Try and be more careful,” she sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
Peter shoved the remaining chocolate in his mouth and placed his left hand on his heart, his right in the air as he swore, “I promise to be carefuller because I’m deathly afraid of a small kitten.”
“Oh, you dick.”
“I swear! I promise!”
“Parker —“
“I’m wounded! You know I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep!”
“You talk an awful lot when wounded.”
“So much so I’ve learned to tune myself out.”
“I — just promise me!”
“Okay! I promise.”
Happy with the answer, she beamed and reached over to the nightstand to pull out another water, only to realize that was the last one. Peter caught on quickly too.
“I’ll go get more —“
“No,” he rasped, his mood instantly changing. His hands latched onto her, a needy, desperate expression written on his face. She allowed him to pull her back to his chest, feeling his face press against her neck while murmuring against her skin as she fought the urge to shiver from his touch. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’ll only be gone for a second, okay?” She tried to soothe, a little put off by his reaction but she assumed he was still shaken up. “You need something to eat.”
But his grip tightened. “Please.”
There was a part of Peter’s brain that rationally knew she only wanted to help, be a dotting partner, but he didn’t want her to take care of his wounds anymore. They would heal — look brand new after a goodnight’s sleep and the morning sun rose. All he wanted was her: to be close, to hold and to love at that moment. Every thought that swirled in his mind seemed to be drunk on the thought of her, her, her —
Roaming the streets of New York was never boring, but it was draining to have so much control, to use strength day in, day out. All he wanted was to relinquish it for a while.
His kisses were soft, sweet, tentative with underlying desire and urgency with every touch splayed across her skin. He didn’t want to leave a single place untouched by him, too addicted to stop.
She shifted in Peter’s lap, tugging him closer only to feel him jerking his hips up slightly, just to create more friction as she felt something poke into her leg.
“Really?” She laughed, running her fingers through his hair to look at him better. His face was flushed, a deep pink, most likely from embarrassment, tinged his cheeks. “You’re hard from this?”
“You’re pretty. I can’t appreciate my beautiful girlfriend?”
“Then I think you’d like to know I’m not wearing underwear.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled, “You’re such a tease.”
His head playfully shook a few times with a light smile. Chocolate brown eyes filled with soft admiration and want; Peter was filled with vulnerability as every action screamed neediness. He pressed quick kisses to her lips then looked up at her doe-eyed. “Darling,” he whispered, desperate and pleading. “Please — please.”
“Shh,” she chided, pulling away to seat herself on his thigh while undoing the belt of his robe and dragging the soft pads of her fingers along his cock, relishing in the way Peter shuddered under her touch.
Peter whimpered, entrusting his body to her, to let her use and toy with him.
Her thumb swiped over the tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded through while setting a steady pace stroking his length.
He groaned, head falling back against the headrest. His hips twitched and buckled up, trying to thrust in time with her strokes but he physically couldn’t, too tired to.
‘“I’ve got you, Peter,” she shushed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw as her hand twisted. “I’ll take care of you.”
Muffling his soft moans with a kiss, she ravished him, and he savoured her very being. Her touch anchored him to her, a present reminder that he was loved and cared for, no matter the wrong he did, she never asked.
He moved to gasp for air, only to return sucking on the patch of skin below her jaw. But she had other plans. Shifting her shirt up, she started to roll her hips onto his thigh.
Peter was slow to respond at first but eventually took it upon himself to help rock her back and forth, moaning as he felt the wetness coat him. Hands were everywhere; gazing at her skin and holding her tightly against him. His movements began to falter and lose the rhythm, but she continued.
Pawing at her shirt and lifting it above her head, Peter trailed the tips of his fingers from her stomach, only stopping at her breast and his thumb coming to lightly rub slow circles on her nipple. He pressed gentle kisses between her breasts before his tongue poked out, tracing light circles around her nipple. He was teasing, flicking the nub with his tongue until he took it in his mouth. Her hand reached to pull his hair again, every little tug making him hold back noises simultaneously as the other hand continued to stroke his cock fast.
She moaned with every careful swirl of his tongue, squeezed around his thigh and whined when the pressure on her clit was matched with Peter lightly biting at her nipple. Her knee was pressed against his groin, adding to Peter’s pleasure.
Peter pulled away, a silver line of spit snapping that connected his mouth from her breast, peering up to watch her reaction.
He gently jerked his thigh up, meeting her thrust and the added friction made her keen.
“You like that?”
She nodded her head minutely, legs beginning to shake and tremble as she was pushed to that edge. “Uh-huh.”
There was something that flashed in Peter’s eyes before, to the best of his abilities, bounced his leg fast — finding the perfect rhythm and angle to build the pleasure that shot up her spine.
She tightened, tensed, rubbing her clit faster while Peter firmly held her, rubbing his free hand up her back as they squirmed.
“Come for me —” he sounded frantic, one hand finding its way to push her down hard, her clit dragging up deliciously. His abdomen caved in with every small brush of her pussy on his thigh and stroke of his cock. “I want you to come, make a mess. Please baby,” he begged.
She focused on the building tightening of her stomach, the shivering that began to course through her entire body that built so fast it startled her. When Peter recognized, murmured and pleaded for her not to stop, the coiling sapped, bursting and scattered — a euphoric feeling that shot through her.
He prolonged her climax, leg continuing to flex to help guide her until her pussy began to ache from the aftershock.
Peter was staring at her, his eyes glazed and eyelids heavy with a pretty flush coating his cheeks. “Please.”
Her hand began to move again, starting a steady pace again that had him at her mercy once more.
“Tell me how it feels,” she said, marvelling at him.
Peter could barely speak, exhaustion flowing off of him in waves as he was desperate for release. He let out a strangled sort of moan, throaty. “So good. So, so, so good. T-thank you.”
Smiling, she shifted off his lap and trailed down a line of kisses from his stomach, then chest before settling between his legs. Peter gulped as he watched her tongue poke out to lick the slit of his cock.
Peter almost yelped, hips bucking up instinctively, then moaned when her mouth, hot and warm, slowly dragged up the flat of her tongue and closed around the first couple inches of his cock.
Peter was responsive to the tiniest of her touches. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, lips were bitten raw.
Peter groaned, desperately trying not to thrust into her mouth, rotting himself in place by gripping the bedsheets.
Gagging a little when the tip hit the back of her throat, she fisted the rest of him that couldn’t fit in his mouth and began bobbing her head. The sucking sounds obscene and Peter’s soft mewls in the otherwise quiet room.
Encouraged by his reaction, she sped up, hallowing her cheeks, sucking harder and moaning around him. The vibration nearly made him sob while her tongue dragged over a prominent vein along the side of his cock and she relished in the way his thighs clenched.
Peter thrashed a little when she pushed her head down further. And that was enough.
He came hard, her name spilling out in soft pants and whines as he used the little energy he still had to thrust up into her mouth.
She pulled back, wiped her mouth and settled herself back in his lap. His eyes were closed and hair messily strewn across his face.
“Thank you,” he whispered, opening his heavy lids to observe her.
She quirked a brow before kissing him, catching a quick look at the shine that reflected off his leg in the moonlight.
“That bath was for nothing.”
“I don’t mind repeating the cycle.”
She giggled, he melted into her touch and smiled to himself. Peter wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as possible and she concentrated on his heart beating.
“I love you,” he said. His eyes seemed to glitter in the low lighting; there was nothing that could compare to the love that lurked behind every glance in his eyes or mere touch.
“I love you too.”
Love seemed like a silly, simple word to describe a feeling so much more than just simple. Love was driven by passion, potential labyrinth and an imperfect intricateness that built homes over barren land of blood vessels and organs.
Love tore, love mended, love was beautiful, love was dangerous.
But in this case, love only persevered and stored itself into the cages of their heats that always seemed too small to hold so much of it — as if two souls grasped and latched onto each other so tightly and constantly added renovations to their love storage. And Peter couldn’t mutter it enough.
She left him high, loved him deeply, and at the end of the day when night returns and the stars speckle the sky, she was a steady anchor that reeled Peter back home. Nothing could hold him down, keep him away. He would crawl home to her.
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15K notes · View notes
modernstoner · a month ago
on his desk | p.parker
teacher!peter fucks you on his classroom desk.
pairing: peter parker x fem!reader
warning: smut. not proofread!
w/c: 0.7k
a/n: ye, what the synopsis says.
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peter was having a stressful day.
not only, did most of his students fail his test, but he has an overload of tests he needs to grade. he sighed, pushing the front of his hair with his fingers, he leaned against his uncomfortable chair.
he looked at the papers he needed to grade and mentally screamed inside. he felt a buzzing sensation coming from his pocket, knowing it was a message from you.
you always text him during his lunchtime.
peter got his phone out of his pants; "hey, i'm coming over." it said, shrugging, he thought nothing of it.
after few minutes, he heard a polite knock coming from his classroom door. "come in." he says, grading another failed test which earned an annoyed groan from him.
"whoa, there." you enter, holding a disposable container stuffed with sushi.
peter turned to you and gave you a weak smile. you walked over, kissing his cheek. "you okay?" you ask, placing the food on his desk.
he said nothing, grabbing your wrist, pulling you down, towards his lap. his lips immediately started to attack yours. you smiled against his desperate lips as your lips moves in sync with his.
a low groan came out of your mouth when peter started to kiss down your neck. "someone's eager today." you tease, pulling his brown curls as you threw your head back in utter bliss.
peter sucked harshly on your collarbone, making sure to leave a small dark bruise later. "gosh, (y/n), you looked so fucking hot this morning." he smiles at you.
"could say the same thing about you." you reply, leaning down to kiss his soft but chapped lips.
"hmm— i missed you— so— so— much." he says between kisses making you giggle. you slowly started to grind on his very obvious boner.
he lets out a low groan, pulling away from the kiss. you grind a bit faster, "no teasing." he warns before getting up, which made you warp your legs around his waist.
he gently puts you on his desk, shoving the paperwork away, some falling to the ground, but he didn't care.
peter wasted to time, swept your sundress up while you desperately unbuckle his belt. he pushed your panties aside, pulling down his boxers to reveal his hardened cock.
the red tip was already leaking precum.
he lines his cock with your aroused cunt before slamming into you, earning a loud moan from your mouth. your hands fly to his brown curls, pulling them a little.
peter lets out a low groan, and starts his fast and harsh thrust. he had no mercy, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you shut your mouth in order to stay quiet.
peter kept moaning and whimpering in your ear, his each thrust hitting your sweet spot making you squirm beneath him, knowing that you can't make a loud noise.
even though, his thrusts were getting sloppy, peter didn't stop. pumping in and out of you like a crazy maniac, the desk moving with him.
the sound of skin slapping filled the room. you felt a familiar knot forming in your stomach, realizing that you are close, you clench around peter which made his hip stutter.
"oh— fuck, (y/n), just like that." he grunts in your ears. you do as he pleases, clenching around him. peter throws his head back, closing his eyes before looking at you.
your face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth agape as you felt peter hand cup your cheeks. he leaned in you, capturing you into a kiss while his thrusts never stopping.
"p-peter, i'm so close." you whispered against his lips, a small string of saliva connected between you and peter's lips.
"cum, fuck, please cum with me." he practically begged and you nod, releasing it all along side with him. his warm liquid shooting inside you as peter slows his pace.
both of you out of breath, covered in sweat. taking a moment to breathe. "best sex ever!" he says in joy, extending his hand for you to high-five him.
you laugh, slapping his palm with yours, obviously out of breath. "we should do it in your class more often."
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© modernstoner
2K notes · View notes
selfcarecap · 4 months ago
Never Have I Ever [p.p]
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Pairing: Peter Parker x reader
Summary: When Peter meets you at college and you two bond over your lack of sexual experience, you quickly become the best friend he’s ever had. But while he falls madly in love with you, he doesn’t know if you feel the same. You hold his hand when you’re out together, talk to him about the vibrator you want to buy and bless him with that beautiful look in your eyes that is reserved only for him… yet he’s not sure if you see more than a friend in him. Little does he know, you’re wondering the same about him, hoping for the same outcome.
Warnings: smut (all first time, oral f + m receiving, dry humping (semi-public? but it’s completely uninterrupted and unseen and in a remote location lol), masturbation (f with a sex toy and m with the reader’s underwear), vaginal sex – the second half of this is basically all smut), a sprinkle of jealous Peter, Professor Garfield lol, a little bit of angst ig bc Peter keeps doubting himself and thinks he’s a pervert but he’s just dumb as shit and oblivious, (all Peter’s pov <3), fic starts off with an awkward and embarrassing story lol, alcohol/drunk!Peter, (btw if first year of college sounds a little young to you you can always imagine they just took a break between hs and college), idk how college works in the usa, also I mention Peter's enhanced senses but it's not a Spiderman fic at all lol
Word Count: 23k omg, the longest thing I’ve ever written (if that’s too long for you i’ve put four ‘dividers’ in total so it’s split into 4 more or less equally long parts (the first is like 4k, second is 7k, then 4k again and the last is 8k) but of course you can ignore that and just read all of it in one go, all 23k are in this post, it’s a one shot)
It's finally here! Thank you for all the love I received for the teaser and just talking about this fic already 💘 This has been on my mind for so so long and I’ve been (sporadically and inconsistently) writing it since like September. I’m so glad it’s finally finished, this was one of my favourite wips I‘ve ever worked on, I really loved writing Peter and the reader and their dynamic and experiences and I hope you love reading it just as much 💖
。・:*:・゚★。・:*:・゚☆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ☆。・:*:・゚★゚・:*:・。
It’s Peter’s first week of college and so far he barely knows anyone. The guys in the rooms next to Peter’s are cool, but he figures it wouldn’t hurt to know a few more people, so he decides to go to this party he’s been hearing about all week.
The party is exactly how he imagined it; loud music, drinking games, a pretty girl sitting next to him. So pretty that he doesn’t dare look at you for too long because he’s worried you’ll catch him staring and think he’s being weird.
The game you’re all playing started as a simple never have I ever, but somehow people are now telling their funniest sex stories. Peter doesn’t realise it’s part of the game that everyone tells a sex story until it’s your turn and he notices how the last few people all told a story, one after the other, going around the circle you’re all sitting in.
His heart starts thumping harder in his chest. He doesn’t have a sex story to tell. But if he gets up now it will be obvious that he’s avoiding his turn, right? 
Besides, he wants to listen to your story. He just has to hope that his usually clever brain will help him come up with something when it’s his turn.
“Most memorable sex experience…” you hum in thought as you lightly drum the bottle in your hands against your lips. “Oh wait, this one’s funny. The guy I was with asked me if I peed myself when he took off my underwear because he didn‘t know that women get wet when they‘re turned on. I explained it to him but he wouldn’t believe me. 
“He was sweet about it and told me it happens to the best of us — and that he sometimes pees himself too. So at that point, I just saw it as a second chance from the universe to show me what this guy was like and I left.” 
The students around you laugh and comment on the story and as you look over at Peter a few seconds later he realises the other people are doing the same. 
They‘re expecting him to tell a sex story now. His mouth goes dry and his brain is empty. Think. Think. Think. Think of something. Anything. 
But he has nothing.
You speak up again, pointing at the guy next to Peter, “Oh my god, Brandon, you remember that story you told me earlier? You need to tell that one, that was the funniest thing I‘ve ever heard.”
A weight is lifted off of Peter‘s shoulders when the attention simply shifts to the guy next to him.
What felt like overthinking for hours when he couldn‘t come up with anything to say was probably only a short moment, less than five seconds, and not a single person noticed that they skipped over Peter. He lets out a breath of relief as other people tell stories and no one demands anything from Peter. 
He keeps glancing at you, trying to figure out if what you did was deliberate or not. 
The only thing he‘s gotten from you so far is a second of eye contact, your face neutral but your eyes holding something positive. The next time you stand up to refill your drink, Peter follows you into the kitchen.
You smile at him when you see him enter, offering some of the diet coke you‘re pouring into your cup to him. “No thanks,” Peter says, watching you fill the rest of your drink with rum. 
“I don‘t know if you did that on purpose or not but uh.. thanks,” he says, clearing his throat after, annoyed at himself for sounding so nervous. You’re gorgeous, but he doesn’t even know you yet. You’re a stranger, yet he finds himself caring about what you think of him.
You muster him for a few seconds before you realise what he’s talking about.
“Oh. You mean during the.. the sex stories? That was no big deal. You just looked a little uncomfortable so I tried my best to get the attention to shift to someone else,” you smile.
“Thanks, that... that was really kind. Although I was kind of hoping it wasn‘t obvious how nervous I was. I just don‘t have any special or funny sex stories to tell... or any sex stories at all,” he avoids eye contact when he says it but you immediately get what he means. 
“Can I tell you a secret?” You say, taking a step forward to stand closer to him, his cheeks heating up. He nods.
“The story I told? That was completely made up. I‘ve never had sex with anyone either. And I‘m not ashamed of that fact, I mean I‘m so young and there‘s nothing wrong with waiting or honestly I‘ve just never... been in that type of situation with a boy…”
“I get it. You don‘t have to explain yourself. Same boat,” he smiles and nudges your shoulder but regrets it instantly.
Nudging your shoulder? He has never nudged anyone‘s shoulder. Especially not the shoulder of a pretty girl he just met. 
You don‘t take any notice of it though, much to Peter‘s relief, and you continue. 
“Even if I personally don‘t care how old anyone is when they have their first time, I just felt nervous saying it in a room full of frat boys. I know this year has barely started but so far all the frat boys I’ve met live up to their reputation and I didn‘t want them making any stupid comments. 
“If I was my ideal, confident self - or just a little tipsier - I probably would have just said that I don’t have any sex stories to tell but... I don‘t know. I was nervous.”
“I get that. That‘s exactly how I felt too. Only I wasn‘t creative enough to think of a story. My mind just blanked, I must have looked crazy when it was my turn to say something. You were calm though, the story seemed as real as all the others... maybe even more real, I mean what you said sounds very realistic to me considering how little most men know about women’s bodies.” 
“Yeah,” you giggle, “But you didn‘t look nervous either. It‘s just that I knew I might not be the only one too nervous to admit that I don‘t have any experience so I was hyper-aware of it, I guess.”
“Okay, I‘m glad. Thanks again.” The conversation is slowly dying but he doesn’t want it to end yet.
He holds his hand in front of him, “I’m Peter by the way. Biochemistry and computer science.”
His fingers tremble for a second. Who introduces himself like that? God, he’s messing this up before it even started.
But you grin, trying not to laugh and tell him your name and introduce yourself in the same way, “Oceanography and computer science.”
He takes a second to release the breath that he was holding in, “Oceanography? Wow, that sounds really interesting. You‘ll have to tell me more about that.” 
“It is. And I will once college starts. I‘m really excited.” 
“Me too. And computer science? That means we‘ll probably have a few classes together right?”
“Probably. Do you have your schedule yet?”
He takes out his phone and shows you the picture he took of it, and you lean in to look at it so closely that he can smell your lovely perfume.
“I don‘t have it on my phone but I recognise that professor’s name,” you point at a name on the screen, “I‘m in that class too, I heard professor Garfield is really good. I have two classes with him.”
And that‘s how you two end up talking all night. Peter walks you home and you realise your dorm rooms are merely minutes away from each other and you make a vow to meet each other again. He really hopes you don’t forget about him, or that you weren’t just being nice.
Peter falls asleep with a smile on his face and you on his mind. 
The next day, he realises with disappointment that you didn’t exchange numbers. He would like to text you and meet you in front of the lecture hall so it would be less nerve-wracking to go to his first-ever college lecture.
It would help to have someone he already knows with him and in case you were nervous he’d love to be there to calm you down too; make you feel less alone–you can do this together.
He knows one of his first classes on Tuesday is one that he shares with you. But he hopes he can see you on Monday to be each other’s support, or at least to see you for five minutes between classes.
He looks for you all day, but doesn’t see you again.
He’s giddy all night, knowing he’s definitely going to see you tomorrow. His plan is to get up extra early and casually and totally coincidentally lounge around in the hallway that your room is in, and then you can go to class together.
But one missed alarm later he‘s running through the building, trying to find the lecture hall that was shown to him during freshers week, but he didn’t quite manage to remember each one of the hundreds of rooms.
Time is running out and he has one minute until the lecture starts. He runs around the next corner and finally finds the hall he’s supposed to be in.
There are hundreds of students though, and he seems to be one of the last; he can’t even see if there are any seats left.
While his eyes scan the rows for an empty seat–but more importantly for you–he sees some movement directed at him. A wave.
His eyes travel down the arm that's waving at him and soon he’s making eye contact with you. He’s only met you once but he can’t stop a huge smile from taking over his entire face.
Peter blushes while he’s walking up the steps, on his way to you, but once he’s close he can see your bright smile and he’s immediately reminded of why he likes you so much.
“Hi,” Peter plops down next to you on the first seat of the row. You lean in and Peter’s breath gets caught in his throat when he realises you’re hugging him–just a friendly side hug, but it’s a hug nevertheless.
He takes his water out of his bag, trying to calm himself down by focussing on the cool drink running down his throat. It does clear his mind, the water, but he’s more and more comfortable with every second that he sits next to you. Your aura is so kind and calming, and he finds his shoulders losing the tension as you start talking to him.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it or something. We forgot to exchange numbers so I found your Instagram and was gonna message you there. But you‘re private so I couldn‘t.”
Ever since you said goodbye the night after the party, Peter has been worrying that that was all. That it was just an in-the-moment type of thing and you wouldn’t think it was anything special – or worse, you’d forget about him. But now you’re here, keeping a spot for him, telling him you’ve been thinking about him and wanted to message him. The warmth in his chest spreads when you smile at him.
And sure, just because you remember him doesn’t mean you’re best friends, but it confirms that Peter isn’t the only one who thought you had a connection that was worth remembering.
Peter most definitely also stalked your Instagram. It’s public but he didn’t want you thinking he was weird for spam-liking all your pictures–which he definitely wanted to do but he stopped himself in time. 
He put a timer on Instagram for the app to remind him when it’s been twenty minutes of looking at your pictures. Not that there were enough to be scrolling for twenty minutes straight – he simply enjoyed looking at you.
He takes his phone out and accepts the follow request you sent him and follows you back.
“Put your number in,” you place your phone in front of him, opened on a new contact card that Peter fills out with his number and name. You look at it and add a <3 behind his name and Peter prays he’s not blushing as hard as it feels.
You text him You up? and if his cheeks weren’t red before then they definitely are now. He can tell you’re just teasing but the fact that you’re already comfortable enough to joke around with him makes him grin.
He feels like he can be himself with you and you’re doing the same. You’re not holding back with showing Peter that you like him and it makes him feel good about himself. 
But his smile fades when he hears your next words
“The professor is so hot, I have no idea how I‘ll concentrate. I talked to him before I sat down and he has a really nice voice too. And that accent… But wait till he turns around and you see his face – or you could just stare at his ass.” 
Peter doesn’t know why it feels like someone stabbed him right in the heart. And when he sees you further staring at the man, it’s like that knife is being pulled out of his chest and Peter bleeds out. 
“I-it’s not even that big,” Peter tries.
You look at him and now he feels stupid for having said that. 
“Butts don‘t have to be big to be hot. Little booties matter. And they’re really cute sometimes.”
“W-well yes, of course, but.. he‘s really not that hot,” Peter says, and then Professor Garfield turns around, “...okay he is that hot.”
“Told you,” you sing, a smile on your face, and he can’t be mad at you when you’re looking at him like that. He couldn’t be mad at you no matter what you did. While Professor Garfield, or Andrew–as he tells you all to call him–starts the lecture, Peter tries to figure out what’s got him so mad.
Yes, of course you’re pretty. You’re gorgeous. But that doesn’t mean that he has to have a crush on you immediately. Just because you’re a girl and he’s a guy doesn’t mean that this has to go beyond a friendship. Men and women can be just friends. He can’t just fall in love with the first pretty woman who’s nice to him.
Okay, maybe he already has a crush on you. So what? Who can blame him?
But Peter doesn’t want to rush anything with you. He’ll give you the time to figure out what you feel for him, and he’ll just follow your lead. He may think you already like him as much as he likes you, but it’s still only the second time you’re ever seeing each other. 
That and he just doesn’t want to overthink it all and end up losing the first person at college who genuinely feels like someone he could be friends with.
He tries to ignore how you giggle at every joke the professor makes and tries to focus on the warmth of you next to him instead. Not too much though, he’s already let your teasing get to his head and maybe even to a body part further down.
Even if it means he won’t have to witness you laughing at Professor Garfield’s jokes anymore, Peter is sad when the lecture is over. It’s the only lecture he has today and therefore also the only one he has with you today.
As you pack your things and people swarm out of the lecture hall, you and Peter stay back, taking it slow.
“What’s your next class?” You ask, looking him right in the eyes–like any normal person–but he’ll really have to get used to that. He can’t lose his mind every time you just look at him. But he's so attracted to you.
“I, um, I no. I mean, I don’t have any other classes today.”
You smile unexpectedly, “Cool, me neither. You wanna do something? We could get lunch together.”
You say it with such ease, showing your interest in him like you don’t know how it’s making Peter feel warm and bubbly inside.
Even if Peter still gets nervous around you, simply because he wants to impress you and doesn’t want to fuck this up, he realises quickly that he has no reason to be. 
Your friendship blooms effortlessly and quickly. 
A week later you’re texting like you’ve been best friends for years and he finds himself too happy around you to worry about what he’s saying or how he’s acting. You like him the way he is and he can feel it deeply and confidently. 
Yes, he still stutters a lot around you - but he does that around most people, to be fair - and once you part ways for the day he overanalyses every little thing you’ve said to him, overthinks every little touch of yours for some form of affection that is more than platonic.
And it’s hard, figuring out whether you like him as more than a friend.
But this friendship is so new and so exciting that Peter thinks it makes him just as happy as an average relationship in the honeymoon phase would. So even if he does crave more intimacy with you, it’s hard to complain when he has a friend like you.
You show up at Peter’s door at midnight on a Friday. His sleep schedule has been surprisingly healthy for a college freshman so if anyone else disturbed him when he was already in pyjamas, he’d be annoyed.
But with you, he’s ecstatic. He’s awake immediately, grinning from ear to ear at your surprise visit. You never left his mind but he thought he’d have to wait until tomorrow to see you again.
Peter is more than aware of the contrast between your done up state and him in his ratty old pyjamas. You’ve seen him in pyjamas before and he knows better than to think you’d judge him, but he can’t help but to want to at least try and match you when you’re looking as gorgeous as you are.
“Oh sorry, I thought you’d still be up,” is the first thing you say, ready to leave if you’re bothering him in any way.
“No, no, I am, don’t worry. What’s up?” Peter asks, trying to look cool as he leans against his door frame. He ignores how it hurts like hell where his elbow meets a sharp corner.
“Well… I was gonna ask if you wanna go watch a movie with me,” you give him a charming smile not knowing he’d say yes no matter what you asked of him.
“Uh, yes. Now. But it’s fine if not, genuinely I won’t be mad. I can see that you had other plans,” you smile at his pyjamas.
“No. Don’t worry, I’d love to go. Do you have tickets or…?” Jealousy bubbles up inside Peter when he realises you might have been planning to go with someone else. With some other guy. Maybe he bailed on you and Peter is the second option (which he would still be grateful for, but he hates the thought of you with another guy).
“No, but I checked online and they have plenty of tickets left. It’s the last day they’re playing this film. The one I told you about, the horror one.”
“Oh God.” He’s trying to pretend that you still need to convince him when really Peter just needs a second to realise he was just overthinking again. He is your first choice. Not another guy.
“Pleeeease, Peter,” you grab his arm and pout. 
Peter has been convinced since the moment you showed up at his door.
“Give me a second,” he smiles and you grin back, “Really? You’re the best,” you kiss his cheek enthusiastically and he goes back into his room fast enough to hide his blush.
He picks out an outfit, brushes his teeth and puts on deodorant just in case.
You take him to the cinema with your hand in his. Peter knows it’s not a romantic gesture, you’re just treating him like you’d treat a female friend, but his brain doesn’t know the difference. He’s just happy to be touching you.
When you buy the tickets the guy at the movie theatre shows you the available seats on his screen. He points to one of those love seats where two seats are joined together so you can cuddle.
You nod and when the guy gives Peter a congratulatory smile, Peter’s cheeks heat up. The guy probably thinks you and Peter are a couple. It’s not just good for Peter’s ego and the fake scenarios with you that he’ll imagine before bed, but it’s also better for the guy. Peter saw the way he was eyeing you, and Peter doesn’t know what he would have done if the guy had asked for your number.
“We can cuddle,” you grin as you sit down and pat the seat next to you. You’re almost alone in the theatre, you could sit anywhere you want but you want to be close to him.
While you wait for the trailers to start you take Snapchat videos with Peter, asking him if you can send them to your friends at home. His heart swells when you say that you’ve told them about him.
He takes pictures of you looking all pretty and perfect and he wonders if it would be too much to set it as his phone wallpaper. Your head is on his shoulder as you scroll through the pictures that he just took of you and your perfume is hypnotising.
How is every little thing about you so captivating? Peter has never met anyone like you.
He’s fucking scared during the movie, but with his eyes mostly closed he manages to be the guy you can hold on to during the creepy scenes. Your fingers around his bicep squeeze every time there is a jumpscare and at some point he has to force himself to watch the film after all if he doesn’t want to get hard from your touch. He knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help it.
You look beautiful in the light of the stars as you two walk home, your hand still around his arm, gushing about the film and thanking him for watching it with you despite the spontaneous change of his plans.
You spend some time in the common area by your dorms. It’s late and everyone else seems to be at some party elsewhere or sleeping. You cling on to Peter, still jumpy from the horror film and he nearly asks you if you want to sleep in his bed.
He nearly says it about five times, but he can’t quite get the words out. He doesn’t want to give you the wrong impression, even if you may be about to ask the same thing.
Peter sits there nervously, gulping as he’s about to ask. He really will say it this time. But before he opens his mouth he hears your deep breaths and notices how your body has gone slack against his side.
He kisses the top of your head in content and soon, sleep finds Peter too. He doesn’t have to dream about being close to you because it’s already his reality.
。・:*:・゚★。・:*:・゚☆ 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☆。・:*:・゚★゚・:*:・。
It’s a few weeks into the semester and it’s become a routine for you two to study together. Whether you’re helping each other with the classes you share, or silently working on other things and enjoying each other’s company, your study sessions have even managed to make studying a rather fun part of college. 
Especially when you’re both sitting on Peter’s bed, and your knees or legs or arms are always touching.
You’re not focussed today, scrolling around on your phone instead of studying. You throw your phone to the bed at some point and you hug your legs to your chest in thought.
“You think Andrew will let me suck his dick? For a better score?”
Peter’s heart stops beating for a second. 
You haven’t kissed, you haven’t said anything that should have led Peter to think that this is more than friendship, but it seemed like there could be something in the future. Apparently, you’re not even considering it.
“Who’s Andrew?” He asks, mouth dry and voice weak.
“Professor Garfield.”
“Oh. Well, I-I think that‘s illegal.”
“Is it though?” You tilt your head and give him a deliberately incredulous look.
“Not if no one finds out. It’s don’t break the rules or don‘t get caught, Peter.”
He’s distracted by you saying his name for a moment. There’s nothing he loves hearing more.
But he has to stop you from doing… that. He can’t entirely tell how serious you are, but he has to make sure to convince you that it’s a bad idea.
“No offence, but what makes you believe you’ll be good enough for him to give you a better score? If you’ve never… you know, done anything like it.” He remembers your conversation from the first time you met, and if you haven’t given anyone a blowjob since then, he knows it would be your first time. Your first time can’t be with a professor, even if Peter disregards the fact that he wants to be the only guy you have sex with, it really is a bad idea.
“I’m a young and pretty student and he’s a kinda old guy. He’s like 40. So I’m sure that I’ll be enough for him.”
Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment, thrown off by your casual tone.
“Don’t you think so?” you press, teasing in your voice.
“No- of course you’re pretty. You’re beautiful,” he smiles, pressing his lips together. 
“Aww,” you sit up and press a kiss to his cheek, “So are you, Pete.” You hold on to his shoulder as you lower yourself into his lap, your butt right next to his thighs and your upper body resting on his legs, and his breath hitches. 
“Well if you think I need practice, then.. I could practise on you first.”
“Practise w-what on me?” He asks, feeling your hands on his abs.
“Going down on a guy,” you say, looking up at him. Now the feeling in Peter’s belly changes from raging jealousy into something else of equal passion. He’s thought about you doing that before, (and pushed the thought out of his mind as quickly as it appeared) but hearing you suggest it makes a new flame of desire light up in him. 
The first conversation you ever had was about sex. But anytime you mention anything sexual, Peter doesn’t know how to act.
“I- I mean. I’m not- I feel like, maybe that’s not—”
“Don’t worry, I’m joking. I won’t actually suck that guy’s dick. I just don’t wanna do this stuff right now,” you sigh, sitting up and closing your textbook.
“How about we do something to distract you for the night, and then tomorrow I’ll help you with the next assignment,” he suggests, relief still flooding through his body, happy that you don’t actually want to suck your professor’s dick.
“You’d do that?” 
“Of course. I’ll always help you when I can but I especially owe you after you did my homework last week when I fell asleep.”
You sit up, “I told you it was no big deal. It was just multiple choice and all I did was copy my answers.”
“Yeah but if I hadn’t woken up then I would have missed the deadline and failed.”
“I know you’d do the same for me. And besides, you looked so peaceful sleeping. I couldn’t wake you up to do some boring computational linguistics quiz at eleven pm.”
Peter smiles at the memory of last week. When he’s with you, he doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to spend time with you. But he was tired and you were studying something Peter couldn’t help you with anyway, and he’s so comfortable around you that he just drifted off to sleep because he trusts you – he wouldn’t be okay with being unconscious next to just anyone.
“Well, it was still a very kind thing to do.”
Not sure what you’re doing yet, you go to your dorm room so you can change out of your sweats and into something prettier–even though Peter thinks you could wear sweatpants 24/7, and you’d still outshine everyone. He nearly stays outside but with a confused look you ask him what he’s doing outside and he reluctantly comes in.
Picking out an outfit, you pull off your shirt with no warning and even if he can only see your back an “Oh my God” leaves Peter’s mouth immediately, followed by a quiet, “Sorry,” as he turns around.
“Don’t worry. I’m just changing. It’s just my body, you can look.”
Despite your nonchalant words, Peter can hear your heart beating loudly and frantically in your chest. He tries not to let it get to him, it doesn’t have to mean that you like him. Maybe you’re just realising that you don’t want a boy to see you half-naked after all but you don’t want to say it now after confidently assuring him it was okay. 
Peter sits down on your bed, turned away from you even though it takes all the willpower he can muster.
A few moments later you jump onto the bed next to him, “So, what are we doing tonight?”
“Do?” He asks, still dazed from seeing your naked back, “Oh do, yeah. Uh yes, we can do something.” 
You giggle, looking at him expectantly. That’s when Peter remembers he was the one who suggested that you go out tonight.
“Oh-well yeah, I was thinking we could take a walk along the river, I heard they have these carnival booths up every Friday night.”
Going out in the evenings has become your and Peter’s thing. Sure, many people–especially college students–go out in the evening. But with you, it feels different. It feels special.
Illuminated by the streetlights and the LED glow from the booths, you and Peter play a few rounds of ring toss and throwing darts at balloons. You both swear it’s rigged because neither of you win anything.
You eat popcorn while Peter gets cotton candy and once again you hold Peter’s hand throughout most of your trip. It’s become a habit of yours, apparently meaningless as a romantic gesture, but platonically it means everything to Peter. You like him enough to constantly initiate physical touch; plus, he’s never seen you hold hands with any of your other friends.
Still, Peter is forever wishing for more. Sometimes he looks at you and wonders how he’s managed not to kiss you yet. But his fear grows with every day; the closer you get the harder it will be to confess his feelings because the risk of ruining something beautiful keeps getting bigger. 
He’s never been this attracted to anyone but he also thinks he’s never had a friendship as good as yours. He simply can’t risk something good, something beautiful, something that makes him as happy as he’s ever been. Your friendship is strong but he’s scared you wouldn’t be able to come back from Peter confessing his feelings for you and you not feeling the same.
It could weird you out, you could take pity on Peter and see him in a different light, or worst of all, you could think he’s been taking advantage of you. He’s never touched you anywhere that would be reserved only for a lover but you two are quite close. You’ve cuddled a few times, or just a few hours ago you were changing in front of him – he doesn’t want you thinking he intentionally got any sexual gratification out of it and for you to view him differently.
He already feels bad enough when nothing but the image of you clouds his thoughts whenever he jerks off. He can’t help it anymore. He used to be able to think of something else or simply watch porn but now that he’s with you so often and you’re so perfect, you’re like an intrusive thought; whenever he’s naked, there’s nothing on his mind but you, just like when a song is stuck in your head – there’s no easy way of getting rid of it.
Peter has never been one to feel shame after masturbating. But if you only liked him as a friend and ever found out what he thinks about when he’s fucking his fist late at night, he doesn’t even want to know what your opinion of him would change into. But the mental image of you alone makes Peter cum so hard, over and over, that he can’t stop, even if guilt plagues him right after as he cleans up the mess he’s made.
He looks down at your intertwined hands while you’re walking home across campus. He wonders what you’d do if you knew that the hand you’re holding right now jerks Peter off every night without fail, thinking precisely of how your hand could replace Peter’s.
On your way home, you walk past a frat house, the vibration of the music reaching Peter’s chest even from the outside.
“Shit, Chloe told me about this party. I forgot I said I’d be there.”
“Who’s that?”
“She’s one of my friends from an Oceanography class. Do you mind if we go in? Just for half an hour.”
It’ll definitely distract Peter from thinking about you in a way that he’s not sure you’d be comfortable with.
You’re dragged away by some of your girlfriends as soon as you enter. They all say something about Peter but you quickly shrug off what they’re saying about you two always being together. He can’t tell if it’s a genuine no or just that feeling of embarrassment that you get when your friends tease you about your crush.
So your friends see it too? The indescribable chemistry between you two? Even with his enhanced hearing, he can’t hear the rest of your conversation because some of his own friends are urging him to go play beer pong with them.
Peter sees you every twenty minutes or so and you wave or smile at him and check up on him every time you walk past. Spending time with your other friends is good for both of you, but it’s also good to know that he’s still on your mind, just like you’re on his.
“Help me find the bathroom,” you tell Peter the next time you see him. He’s getting a little bored at this party so he assumes you also want to escape.
You walk into the bathroom together and Peter doesn’t realise that you actually just need to pee until he sees you contemplating on pulling your underwear down or not, “Can you wait outside?”
“Of course.”
Peter has no interest in being in the bathroom with you while you pee, but the fact that you nearly let him stay in there with you shows him once again how comfortable you are around him. He’s smiling like an idiot, standing by the wall opposite the bathroom until he hears your “You can come in.”
After you’ve washed your hands you sit on the edge of the bathtub and pat the space next to you for Peter to join you and you chat about whatever comes to your mind. So you did want a break from the party too, and Peter is glad to provide that.
“What song is that?” Peter asks. The music is loud enough for you to clearly hear it even upstairs in the bathroom.
“I don’t know, I’ll shazam it. You’re right, it sounds good.”
When you unlock your phone the screen is filled with the picture of a vibrator. You ignore it and go to Shazam the song, but Peter can’t let you off like that.
You always get to tease him so he smirks when he can finally get you back, “Wait wait wait,” he takes your phone from you, lifting it high in case you want to take it from him.
“What is this?” He asks, smiling, teasing you lovingly and in good fun but you look at him as if he’s talking about the most boring thing ever, not embarrassed in the slightest, but once more, that could be a good sign; another sign of your close relationship.
“Oh, it’s this vibrator. But it’s way too expensive for me.”
Peter licks his lips, trying not to freak out. He doesn’t know why he thought talking to you about a vibrator would be a good idea. But he tries to appear as calm as you, “Why is it expensive? What’s so special about it?”
“Well, it basically sucks your clit. But I don’t want to spend over 100 dollars on something like that when I can just go out and find a guy to suck my clit within like five minutes. It’s all those guys on campus think about, I swear. I’m glad you’re not like that, Pete” you smile at him and put your head on his shoulder, completely catching him off guard with your words.
He won’t be able to jerk off without thinking about you for days now; meaning he won’t be able to jerk off for days. Do you mean you’d hate knowing that Peter thinks about you sexually or do you just mean that there’s no pressure with Peter? And that any other male friend would have asked for sex by now?
Peter knows he’s not a perv, but he doesn’t know if you’d say the same if you knew you were the protagonist of his spank bank. 
“Wait, actually, a friend told me they’re way cheaper if you buy them in-store and they’ll have more to choose from... will you go with me?” You ask him with a big fake pout.
“To a.. a sex shop?”
“I don’t want to go alone. And you’re my best friend.”
He can’t say no to you after you call him that, even if having a constant reminder of what you use to masturbate is going to kill him.
“O-okay. But why can’t you just go with your friend?”
“I’m not as comfortable around her as I am around you. Unless you really don’t want to.”
“No no I’ll go,” he nods and you grin.
“I’m sure they’ll have something for you too,” you say with raised eyebrows. And even though his hand and the thoughts about you make him cum hard and fast enough that he doesn’t feel like he needs a sex toy, your words help him feel a little less guilty. You telling him to go buy a sex toy suggests that you’re not grossed out when thinking of him masturbating, so maybe you’d understand that he’s got to do what he’s got to do sometimes, and you actually wouldn’t completely hate him if you found out what goes on in Peter’s mind when he jerks off.
“But we’re not going before we finish our assignment.”
“Deal,” you shake his hand with a laugh and join your friends downstairs to play the last few rounds of drinking games before you go home.
You’re good, but the other team is better. 
You didn’t really want to drink tonight and are only playing for fun but Peter likes following the rules so someone has to have the drinks. You assure him he doesn’t have to but Peter downs all the drinks for you and the ones for himself, relying on his enhanced abilities to drink them like water. He has one drink and then five more and when you two leave the party he realises he’s drunk.
You insist on taking him to your room to make sure he’s okay but Peter is a funny drunk so he doesn’t feel too bad. If he gets to sleep in your bed he could never feel bad, and knowing you you would never offer if you weren’t okay with it.
“I like when you take care of me,” Peter smiles at you when you tuck him into bed and he takes your hand in his, “And I like when we hold hands.”
“I like it too,” you kiss his forehead and Peter practically swoons. You were holding his hand the whole way back home from the party, like one of those people keeping a toddler on a leash and he’ll probably be embarrassed tomorrow morning but right now he’s just grateful for the constant affection.
You seem no bit annoyed that you have to deal with a drunk Peter, you’re just spending time with your best friend (he hasn’t stopped thinking about you calling him that) who happens to be drunk.
“Will you need a bucket?” You ask as you pull down your skirt and leave on your cropped shirt.
“A what?” He asks, heart beating harder as he stares at your half-naked form.
“Do you think you’ll throw up?” You ask.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
When you walk over to the bed Peter sees everything in slow motion. You stand next to the bed for a few seconds, tapping on your phone, and Peter admires your beautiful body while he can.
“You know how much I love your legs? They look so good,” he says, and he can’t tell if he’s embarrassingly drunk right now or not. He just knows that your legs are perfect. You’re perfect. And that’s something his sober self would wholeheartedly agree with.
You smile and turn off the lights, leaving the window open so Peter can get some fresh air but it also leaves enough light for Peter to admire your legs some more.
“Scoot over,” you tell him and get in bed with him.
“No, you don’t understand how incredible your legs are.” He gets one last glance at them before you pull the blanket over your body.
“Thank you, Peter,” you smile, and he sees by the crinkles next to your eyes that it’s genuine and maybe you don’t hate him looking at your body as much as he’s been worrying you would.
You talk a little more but minutes later the conversation consists more of yawning than talking and Peter sobers up when he realises he will be sleeping next to you. It’s his first time sleeping in a woman’s bed, and he’s glad it’s yours.
He’s taken naps next to you and there was that one time you slept next to each other on the sofa, but this is different. You’re alone in your room, right next to each other, in one bed, sharing one blanket. He can feel the warmth of your half-naked body and before he knows it your familiar presence calms him down enough to fall asleep quickly.
When Peter wakes up next to you the following morning, it takes a few moments for it to all come back to him.
He knows there’s no way you slept with each other, Peter was kinda drunk, neither of you have even confessed any feelings and you wouldn’t have a one night stand the first time you have sex. 
But when he gently lifts the blanket, making sure he doesn’t wake you up, he’s met with the sight of your lovely belly and heavenly thighs, and Peter thinks from the outside it could look like you had sex. 
Not that anyone is going to see, but two hormonal college students, both half-naked, waking up next to each other.. It screams something obvious and that thing is not that you two are merely friends.
The thought of it alone makes Peter flustered and he shifts uncomfortably. His eyes widen when he realises that his morning wood is pushed right against your ass. He pulls his hips back as quickly as he can, waking you up in the process.
You’re facing away from him, and the first thing you notice is your and Peter’s interlaced hands. His cheeks warm up as he notices them too. His arm is resting above your head on the pillow, fingers next to your face where they’re loosely intertwined with yours.
He doesn’t remember waking up in the night, so you must have somehow ended up holding hands in your sleep, both finding your way to the other even while unconscious.
You squeeze his hand and twist your body to look at Peter’s face. “Hi,” you mumble, smiling sleepily.
“Hi,” Peter says, opening his mouth minimally just in case he has bad morning breath.
Your eyes flit across his face with a look he can’t decipher. “Goodnight,” you say a few seconds later and you lie back down in your tired daze, pushing against Peter and pulling his arm over your waist.
“Wait,” you turn around again, “Are you okay? Got a hangover or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks. Go back to sleep,” he smiles, partially because he knows you still need rest but also because he wants you to go back to sleep so he can take care of himself. It’s becoming painful how hard he is.
“Okay. But stay, you’re warm.”
He most definitely is warm, he knows he’s blushing like crazy.
You pull the blanket further up your body and scoot back against Peter, and the way your ass pushes against his crotch nearly makes him moan. He doesn't know how you're not noticing what's going on.
He scoots his hips back as far as he can and waits a few minutes until you’ve drifted off to sleep again. He carefully removes himself from you and goes to your bathroom. You have a bathtub, big enough for both of you, he thinks, with a showerhead on the wall.
Before he can even bring himself to care about the temperature, Peter turns on the water and pulls his clothes off in a hurry, wrapping a hand around himself before he’s even really in the shower.
He leans a hand against the wall, resting his head against it as his other hand speeds up, jerking himself off while he thinks about you in the other room. You, so pretty, so caring, so sexy in just your underwear and a short shirt. You, not knowing that Peter is about to cum in your shower, so close to you, thinking about you.
The water is only barely louder than the sound his hand makes against his cock, and he bites his lip to stop any moans from coming out.
Peter cums when he hears the squeaking of your bed; you’re getting up, you could walk in any second. While he cums, Peter’s mind wanders to you on your knees, his dick sliding in and out of your mouth as you look up at him with your gorgeous eyes.
He washes his cum off the bathroom tiles on the wall and tries to wash the guilty feeling off himself.
Suddenly the door opens slightly, “Hey can I come in? I won’t look, I just wanna brush my teeth.”
Peter makes sure to slide the shower door to the side so it’s covering him and he tells you to come in.
He peeks out of the shower and you smile at him through the mirror. He catches your eyes drifting lower but you can barely even make out the outline of Peter’s body through the frosted glass. 
Peter casts his own glance at you and how you’re still not wearing anything but panties and that short shirt. You stretch your arms, still trying to shake the tired feeling, and your shirt lifts so that Peter can already see the flesh of your tits. But you stop stretching just before your top lifts over your nipples and he quickly turns to look at the wall in the shower instead.
He quickly washes himself using your shower gel, maybe he’ll smell just like you now.
You hand Peter a towel just at the right moment and he wraps it around himself before stepping out of the shower.
“Wait, leave it on,” you tell him.
In his still horny brain a scenario plays out where you said that a few moments earlier and joined Peter in the shower.
This time you don’t tell him if it’s okay for him to look while you’re changing so he diverts his gaze before you slip out of your clothes.
You squeal when you get in the shower, “Peter, why is it so cold? What’s wrong with you?” 
He must not have realised how cold it was, but once he got into the shower he only cared about coming, and he blocked everything else out. By the time he was washing his body, he must have become used to the temperature already and didn’t notice.
Peter brushes his teeth with his second toothbrush that he’s got in your bathroom and quickly goes into your bedroom so he won’t be in the same room as you while you’re naked and he’s only got a towel wrapped around him.
You come out dressed in the clothes you took into the bathroom with you.
“Sorry that I used your shower,” Peter says, sitting on your bed with nothing but your towel.
“You’re welcome here whenever and welcome to use whatever, you know that. But showering that cold should be a crime,” you smile at him, “Should I get you some clothes?”
You go to Peter’s room to get clothes for him and he changes into them in your bathroom.
“I know it’s the weekend but can we get that assignment done today? I wanna go buy my vibrator soon,” you pout.
Peter forgot all about that. How is he supposed to study with you if he knows you’ll go out together to buy a sex toy after?
But somehow he manages. Well, you realise you can do it mostly by yourself once you properly start and Peter is only there for moral support (even though he’s the one who needs moral support; he doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend that he doesn’t have feelings for you, pretend that he didn’t just jerk off while thinking of you and pretend that it–by far–wasn’t the first time.)
“Hey, are you okay?” You ask Peter as you’re both on your way to buy your stupid vibrator that Peter would love to replace.
He doesn’t know what you’re talking about but your worried look tells him he looks exactly as nervous from the outside as he feels. He’s never been to a sex shop. Are they going to ID you? Are you going to meet someone you know? Is it going to be all dingy?
Normally, you’re like an anchor to Peter, your presence can make him feel comfortable in situations that would usually make him panic. But in this situation, you’re making him even antsier. Not in a way that he would describe as anxious but more like a, he’s scared he’ll get a boner any second. That’s always a risk when he’s with you but that risk quadruples when you’re going to a sex shop to buy a vibrator for yourself.
You stop Peter in his tracks and stand in front of him to wipe his sweaty forehead with your sleeve, his heart beating even faster now. “You know you don’t have to come in if it makes you that nervous. But it’s just a shop.”
“What? Yeah I’m fine, pff, like so fine. I’m just hot,” Peter says, watching your eyes go to the thick winter coat Peter is wearing. You’re wearing one too. Even in his jacket, Peter could do with a bit more warmth.
“Here,” you unzip his jacket, and even if it’s only to assist Peter with his stupid lie, you’re still undressing him. You’re not helping the boner risk decrease at all.
The shop is classy and clean and the employees leave you alone (unlike when you dragged Peter to Lush that one time and he was forced to try out bath bombs and oil that he didn’t know the purpose of).
Now he can tell you’re flustered too, just a little bit. Holding on to Peter’s arm the whole time, you find what you need, pay, and put your gloves on top of the packaged vibrator just in case anyone decides to look in your bag.
Even though it’s a Saturday afternoon, the shops aren’t busy so you go to look for some new clothes. Peter thinks you could wear a potato sack and you’d still look pretty, so he’s not the best judge when you come out of the dressing rooms to ask for his opinion on whatever clothes you’re trying on.
“This is so ugly, oh my god,” he hears you from inside the dressing room, laughing.
You pop your head out behind the curtain to make sure no one sees you as you show Peter a top that, yes–even on you, looks ugly. You still look gorgeous, that’s for sure, but even your perfect face and body can’t save the Shrek-coloured thing that is supposed to be a t-shirt.
“You know, you’re the only one who’s allowed to see me in something as ugly as this,” you say absentmindedly as you go back to try on something else and Peter’s heart beats faster at your words.
It might sound ridiculous to an outsider, but to Peter these little things mean the world.
He might not be able to tell if what you feel for him is platonic or more, but he knows you feel something for him. You feel a lot for him. He feels it every time you so much as look at him. 
With you, Peter feels loved.
The love you give him feels like it’s supposed to be for a lover, supposed to be for that one special person. And the lines between friendship and more are so blurry in your relationship that he can’t tell how much is spilling onto the romantic side already.
Peter contemplates paying for your new jeans but in the end, he’s too awkward (and too broke) in front of the cashier to interrupt when you get out your money. Besides things like cinema tickets, drinks and food, Peter has never paid for anything that you bought and it would feel very boyfriend-y.
You get food on your way home and by the time you’re in Peter’s room, it’s dark outside already. Peter was surprised that you even came to his room and when he keeps noticing you looking at the bag with your new toy in it, his assumption that you’d rather be doing something else now is confirmed.
You’ve been so casual when you talk about things like vibrators and getting off, but Peter has never had the courage to properly contribute anything to the conversation. But he decides to put on his big boy pants and before he can chicken out he nods towards his door and says, “Go on, try out your vibrator. I know you’re dying to.”
You give him a charming and apologetic smile, snatching your bag, ready to go. “I’d love to spend time with you, you know that but–”
“I know. But we have enough time for that tomorrow. Just don’t break your–” Don’t break what? Don’t break your pussy? Your clit? He’s never said any of those words out loud.
“I won’t,” you help him out and climb on the bed again to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Pancakes as always?”
“Pancakes as always,” Peter smiles, feeling himself blush, “Text me your review of the toy,” he says before you leave.
“I will,” you smile back at him, wave, and close the door.
Peter waits a few moments until he thinks you’ve arrived at your door. Are you going to throw yourself on your bed as soon as you get in? Shower first? Are you going to slowly take off all your clothes, caress your body to turn yourself on? Seduce yourself? Or are you going to push your pants down just a few inches and shove the vibrator between your legs?
Whatever you’re doing, thinking of any of those scenarios makes Peter hard immediately; that, and the tension from today that he can finally release.
He moves to the side of the bed that you were just lying on, and the sheets still smell like you.
Peter unbuckles his belt and pushes down his jeans, grabbing himself through his boxers and instantly feeling a sense of relief.
He imagines you lying in your bed, right now, two fingers between your legs. You’re so wet from being with Peter, the guy you’re into, all day, that your fingertips easily glide over your skin.
Peter shifts and runs his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the precum. The warm, familiar pressure is already building up in Peter’s body, and he slides his fist up and down himself faster.
In Peter’s mind, you’re spreading your lips now, holding the vibrator against your clit. You jolt at the first contact and smile, knowing you’re about to feel nothing but bliss.
Your body relaxes and you let the vibration take over completely, chasing your orgasm that’s so close after only a minute. You throw your head back when you cum, your eyebrows scrunched together. Your legs start shaking once you can’t take it anymore, but you press the vibrator to your clit during the last few aftershocks.
Peter cums at the same time as you do in his imagination. He’s spilling over his abs and his hands, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
He lies in his bed for a few more moments, sighing as he cleans up the mess he just made. He gets a message from you: Had a nice day btw :) Can’t wait to see you again tomorrow <3
He smiles and texts back, too exhausted to feel bad for what he just did.
Tomorrow will be the third day in a row that you’re spending time together and you’re showing no signs of getting tired of him. But at this rate, it seems like Peter will never know what being with you while you orgasm is actually like.
He can be patient, but he doesn’t know if he’s waiting for something that will never happen. 
He doesn’t even care about the sex, he just wants to hold your hand and know what it means, know that it means that you’re in a romantic relationship.
He’ll give you all the time you need, that’s all he can do. He simply can’t confess his feelings, he can plan on doing it and dream about it as much as he wants, but when he’s standing in front of you he can’t risk losing you.
Maybe one day he’ll be brave enough, and who knows, maybe you’re thinking the exact same thing right now, trying to be brave but you just can’t.
Peter knocks at your door the next day, ready to get pancakes like you always do on Sundays. There’s a lot of commotion behind the door and you take a while to open it.
“You’re early,” you say, hair messy and overall dishevelled.
“Am I? I don’t mind waiting,” Peter says.
“I’ve just quickly got to shower, you can go back to your room or wait here, whichever you want.”
“No problem, I’ll just wait here.” Peter feels as if that’s the wrong answer because you don’t exactly look thrilled that he’ll be in your room, but you still let him in with a small smile. He knows that you can’t be mad at him and by the time Peter’s on your bed and you're about to go to the bathroom, you’re giving him a genuine smile and say you won’t be long.
Peter gets out his phone as he hears you turning on the water and he drops to his back on your bed.
Just as he’s about to go on Instagram, he hears a quiet, mechanical whirring. He wouldn’t be able to pick up on it without his enhanced hearing.
He hears how you smack your hand over your mouth, but you’re not quick enough. Peter still heard a tiny moan.
So that’s why you didn’t want Peter coming in. You’ve probably been making yourself cum all night and you weren’t finished with the last round.
Peter sits up and tries to stick his fingers in his ears, but even if he can’t hear you anymore he’s still got the vivid image of you in his head, only a wall separating you two.
He stands up and looks for something to distract himself before he gets hard, but to make things even worse, Peter’s eyes land on a pair of panties next to your bed.
He feels like a perv as he picks them up. He can see your arousal still glistening in them, and it’s like they’re calling out Peter’s name.
He’s about to lift them to his face when he hears you turning off the water. Peter stuffs the panties into his jeans pocket quickly and out of reflex. He stiffly sits on your bed, unsure if he still has enough time to pull your underwear out of his pocket again and throw it under your bed. 
He’s too nervous to hear what you’re doing, his ears ringing, and before he can bring himself to quickly put your underwear back, you’re coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go.
With your innocent rambling about college he manages to calm down but you and your stupid vibrator are still on his mind. But it’s a good thing that you two can talk about stuff like that, so maybe he’ll get his mind off it once he asks you about it.
“So, is it good?” He asks you as you slide into the booth at the place you always go to for pancakes.
“Is what good?”
“Your, your vibrator thing? You didn’t send me a review,” he says.
“Oh yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “It’s so good, oh my god. I’m so glad we don’t have roommates here cause I did it like six times last night. I get why people pay so much for it. I mean it’s supposed to simulate oral sex and I can’t imagine that it feels the same but I guess I’ll find out one day.”
“You always have me if you want to find out how it feels.”
He can only gather the courage to say that because of what you once said about sucking his dick for practice so you could suck Andrew’s dick for a better score. The only difference is that you turned out to be joking, but Peter is serious.
He probably sounds too serious too because you give him a questioning, “Huh?”
“Well- well I’m just saying if you wanna compare your toy to oral sex then I... you know... my tongue is available to you,” he says it exactly how it comes to his mind, unsure if he should make it sound more like a joke.
You laugh, declaring it a joke yourself, “Okay, thanks. You’re so cute.”
It’s not ideal but the fact that you’re not running away from him and gagging shows him that at least the thought of Peter going down on you doesn’t disgust you. The fact that you made a joke about going down on him first, even if that was weeks ago, gives Peter a tiny bit of hope that maybe his instinct has been right all this time. Maybe you do like him back and you just need a bit more time.
“Um, I heard that next week there’s going to be loads of shooting stars. I was thinking we could drive out of the city and go stargazing. I already asked James and he said we can take his car–the truck, it’s big enough for us to lie down in while we look at the sky, it’s going to be warmer next week too and–”
“I’d love to,” you grin.
He mirrors your smile immediately because it actually took a lot of convincing for Peter’s friend James to let Peter have his car. And more importantly, looking at the stars sounds very romantic. He wasn't sure if he should invite you to something so obviously romantic.
What if it makes you realise that Peter likes you and you distance yourself from him because you don’t feel the same?
What if you do feel the same, but you need your time and it’s too early for a date-like activity?
But what if... what if it’s just the right thing?
You hold hands, you’ve slept in a bed together, so Peter doubts you will be freaked out by stargazing. But Peter can already feel the butterflies just thinking about lying under the night sky with you, and what if you don’t?
But maybe Peter is ready for the risk after all. He’ll see if you’re enjoying yourself, try to see in your beautiful eyes if you’re as smitten as him. He's realised that he’ll have to try one day and now that you’ve agreed to his plan, it feels like this is the right timing, the right thing. Maybe he’ll even ask you how you feel, or make a comment about how romantic the situation is.
And if you and Peter belong together, then maybe it’s time for you. He certainly feels that he’s ready. He’s not expecting a kiss, he’s not expecting anything except the tiniest hint that a romantic night with Peter doesn’t leave you cold. That would be more than enough to keep him going for so many more months to come.
He can wait if you need time but he’s just one man and his passion for you burns so brightly inside him that he just needs something, no matter how small it is.
You two walk home, your bellies filled with pancakes and warmth from seeing your person. No matter if it’s platonic or romantic, Peter would be blind if he didn’t see that he makes you happy and how much you glow and grin and his presence. 
You hang out on campus for a bit more but you tell him you still need to study and you’ll see him tomorrow (he tries not to think about how you’re probably lying and are simply going to use your vibrator over and over).
Peter changes into sweats once he gets to his room and as he’s putting his jeans away he notices something pink peeking out of the pocket. Your panties. He completely forgot about them.
He carefully pulls them out, holding them like they’re a sacred treasure.
Making himself comfortable on his bed, he takes a deep breath before bringing your underwear up to his face.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting your arousal to smell like, not like this, but it’s even better. 
It smells heavenly, just like everything else about you.
He bunches your panties up in his hand and presses them against his face, inhaling your scent while he reaches a hand under his sweatpants and strokes himself. 
He’s been hard since he remembered he had your panties and he doesn’t even think about you making yourself wet, your smell alone has him coming undone within seconds.
He does it again before going to bed, this time wrapping the panties around his hand so he’s jerking himself off with them. He bites his t-shirt in an attempt to muffle his moans as the material slides up and down his cock.
He fucks his fist as hard and as fast as he can, his bed starting to squeak from the intensity of it.
Your wetness on your panties has long dried but the thought of your arousal so close to his dick has him–once again–reaching his orgasm pathetically fast. He sighs after he cums, examining the panties to make sure he pulled them away in time and there’s none of his cum on them.
He wants to save them for another time; as many times as they’ll still have your addicting smell on them.
He cleans the mess off himself, his cum ending up in a tissue that he throws into the trash can with all the other tissues. He’ll empty it before you come over the next time.
。・:*:・゚★。・:*:・゚☆ 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 ☆。・:*:・゚★゚:*:・。
You’ve been driving for half an hour now, the city nothing but a few lights in the rearview mirror. 
You find a spot next to a field, not a soul to be seen anywhere near you. You get the blankets and snacks to make yourselves comfortable in the back of James’s pickup truck that Peter borrowed.
“Look,” you point towards the sky, but Peter misses the shooting star. He goes back to looking at your beautiful face, only to find your eyes already on him.
He feels your hand on the side of his face, pushing his head to face the sky again, “Look at the stars, not at me,” you say and he can hear the grin in your voice. You’re enjoying yourself, and that’s all that matters. You want him to enjoy himself too, not knowing that your face is so much more interesting to look at.
After a few moments of staring into the brightly lit sky–it never looks like this in the polluted city–he has to admit, the night sky isn’t bad either.
It only takes a few seconds until another shooting star races across the sky and you share an excited look, “Did you see that?” You ask.
“You’re supposed to make a wish,” Peter whispers, eyes closed as he wishes for a relationship with you.
You’re still looking at him when he opens his eyes, your gaze intense, eyes flitting across his face.
“Did you make a wish?” Peter asks. You nod and slowly divert your gaze towards the masterpiece of nature above you again.
He can’t shake the feeling that your wish also had something to do with him. Something romantic. He always overthinks and doubts himself but this is one thing he’s sure about.
But the moment is fleeting and Peter doesn’t find the words to say. You’re back to looking at the stars, and he doesn’t want to have to grab your face to kiss you.
He swallows down the disappointment and tries to enjoy the time with you, his dear friend. Not many people have a friendship like yours and at this moment he just tries to be grateful for that.
“Peter?” Your voice is quiet.
“I’m so glad we met,” you turn to your side, your whole body facing him now. He can hear the raw emotion in your voice, he thinks he can even see tears in your eyes. That’s what your shared love does to Peter too. He could cry just thinking about it.
“Me too,” he says, reaching for your hand, trying to bring the monstrosity of his feelings into words to let you know that nothing has made him as happy as meeting you, but the words won’t come out. 
“Our friendship means so much to me,” you say, and it stings. In this romantic moment, cuddled up beneath the stars, is that all Peter will ever be to you? A friend?
You continue, “I‘m sorry if I ruin it with what I‘m about to do.”
You lean in and kiss Peter.
The world stops. Nothing matters, nothing but your lips on Peter’s. He always thought he’d be overcome with great excitement when you first kiss, an explosion of fireworks in his mind and his insides, but he feels at peace. It simply feels right.
“Did I just ruin our friendship?” You whisper, and it’s then that Peter realises that he barely kissed you back. He was too stunned to.
He puts his hands on your face and pulls you in, pressing his lips against yours over and over.
“You didn’t ruin our friendship, you turned it into something better, so much better. And you know that our friendship is hard to beat,” Peter says.
You let out a laugh of joy, “It is,” and you kiss him again, slinging your arms around his neck to pull him as close as you can.
Your lips are soft, so so soft, and even in the cold night, Peter feels warm because he has your body against his.
“Could you maybe uh… slap me?” Peter asks.
“Um, what?”
“Just so I know I’m not dreaming. Please.”
You pinch his cheek instead and you both smile. Peter’s not waking up. He’s already awake. It’s not a dream, this is actually happening.
The fireworks come after all, an explosion of happiness shooting through his chest when he realises that this is real.
He hugs you tight, as tight as he can without breaking you.
Peter’s heart drops when you pull away and tears stain your cheeks, “What-what’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing, nothing,” you put a hand on his chest, “I’m just so happy.” Your voice breaks as more tears rush down your face but your eyes are full of happiness.
Tonight, Peter was hoping for a hint that maybe in the future you see something more than friendship between you two too. What he got was all of you. A confession of your feelings, a raw exposure of your deepest emotions, vulnerability. But you trust him. And he’s so glad you do. He’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy and safe and comfortable. 
He starts crying too, just a few tears, either because he’s seeing you cry or because it’s the first time in his life that he’s ecstatic enough to experience happy tears—he’s been waiting for this for so long, unsure if it would ever even happen. All the doubt from the last months tumbles away – none of it matters anymore. You kissed him. 
“I really want to blow my nose but I don’t want to leave you,” Peter sniffles.
You look at him, “Go blow your nose, Peter.”
“I have some tissues in my bag.”
You keep your hand on Peter’s leg while he reaches for your bag and half a minute later you’re reunited again with you lying in Peter’s arms.
You drove all the way to look at the stars but you can’t keep your eyes off each other, never going more than a minute without kissing. It takes a few more minutes for you to pretend that the stars are more interesting than Peter, and you straddle him once you decide you can’t go any longer without being as close to him as possible.
Peter wraps his arms around your waist, enjoying your weight on him. The kisses turn from pecks into something more, but it’s soft and unhurried. You’re taking your time with Peter, savouring the feel of him while Peter takes it all, takes all you give him.
Your wet mouths on each other is the only sound far and wide; even mother nature is quiet as you kiss Peter in the back of this truck, out in the country with no one else around.
You shift, your lips never leaving Peter’s, and start grinding against him, slowly.
He squeezes your waist harder as it becomes difficult to control himself. The only thing stopping him from ruining his pants is the fact that you’re both wearing jeans, so you’re narrowly missing Peter’s hardness, doing what feels good for you.
You stop abruptly with horror in your eyes and Peter strokes your back, “Everything okay? Why’d you stop?”
You look down, a bashful smile on your lips, “I didn’t realise I was doing that.”
Peter stops himself from groaning. He’s getting more turned on with every passing second.
“You don’t have to stop on my behalf.”
After two seconds of contemplation, you kiss Peter again, adjusting your position. You both gasp into each other’s mouths when you’ve perfectly aligned your bodies, and they start moving perfectly in tune with one another.
“I’ve been dreaming of having you on top of me for so long,” Peter says, hands now on your hips, feeling your every movement.
“And I’ve wanted to be on top of you.. for so long,” you’re distracted, pushing yourself up with your hands on Peter’s chest, your voice faltering as you hold in a moan.
Peter feels incredible – everything you do makes him feel incredible. 
So incredible that he doesn’t know how he hasn’t cum yet, but he’s trying so hard not to.
He nearly moans when you grab his hoodie harder and you whimper, “I’m so close.”
One hand is at your jeans, trying to undo the buttons but you can’t, too lost in pleasure.
“Peter, unbutton my jeans,” you say–or rather whimper, “Please.”
And even though he’s on the brink of coming, nothing matters more than your orgasm right now, so he quickly fumbles with the buttons and opens them, your hand disappearing down your pants immediately.
Peter grabs the backs of your thighs as you cum on top of him, your face more gorgeous than he could have ever imagined, so pretty and so vulnerable just for him. He cums at the same time as you, trying to hide it but his hips push up against yours nevertheless.
You let yourself fall to Peter’s side, hiking your leg up over his lap. Peter puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.
“Did you uh..” you look up at him, half teasing him, half unsure if it even happened.
Peter drags a hand over his face, “Yeah… I.. came in my pants.”
“Oh,” you try not to laugh, “Sorry.”
He looks at you, “No, don’t apologise, that was one of the best moments of my life.”
You give him baby wipes from your bag while you pack the stuff and wait for him in the car. He reluctantly hands you the baby wipes when he gets in next to you, looking at your lap.
“What?” You ask.
“I’ve known how you smell for nearly a week now and I don’t know how much longer I can go without having a taste of you.” He’s thinking about your panties, safely stored in his room but they’ve lost even the last traces of your smell.
You follow Peter’s eyes towards your crotch and figure out what he’s talking about, “How… how do you know how I smell?” 
He forgot that you’re not supposed to know that. 
But maybe, subconsciously, he said it on purpose so he can get any secrets out before you two get serious. Or maybe he’s just a dumbass, but he’s trying to look at the bright side. He’s not capable of any negative feelings when you just kissed him.
“Peter?” You ask. You don’t sound mad, you’re just curious.
“I uh, I took a pair of underwear from your room,” he starts.
“The pink ones? I’ve been looking for them.”
“Yeah, they’re pink. And it was the day after you got that clit sucking toy thing so I kept imagining you using it and then the smell made it so much more real…” he says, head hanging low in shame. You still don’t sound mad or grossed out but you haven’t heard all of it yet.
“Go on.”
“I used your underwear to um… jerk off,” he doesn’t meet your eyes until he hears your next words.
“That’s kind of hot,” you bury a hand in his hair, looking at him like you want to eat him up.
“R-really? You’re not mad?”
You shake your head and lean over to kiss him and Peter feels his blush up to his ears.
“I do want my panties back though.”
He tells you you’ll get them back and starts the engine to drive back.
“Wait,” you say, “Didn’t you want a taste?”
He immediately stops the car and leans over. 
“I- well, I didn’t get a chance to get that wet but..”
“I’ll take anything,” Peter pleads.
You kiss his nose and unbutton your jeans, your fingers disappearing beneath them. He hears the wetness and is hard at once. And that’s when you didn’t have a chance to get that wet? You pull two glistening fingers out and bring them in front of his lips.
His cheeks heat up when he leans forward to take them into his mouth. 
He moans at the taste. Sweet yet tangy. He wants to bury his face in you immediately; but you seem tired and he’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that another time.
Peter pulls you close and kisses you, he’s not that good with words so he hopes his tongue in your mouth tells him how much he wants you. It doesn’t have to be now, he just wants you to know.
“I like you.” It slips out of Peter’s mouth when you pull away from the kiss but his words make you connect your lips to his again.
“I like you too,” you smile, nearly laughing because it should probably have been obvious to Peter as soon as you kissed him. Leaning back in your seat in content, you look at Peter with those beautiful eyes of yours. 
Those four little words could make him cry happy tears again but he pulls himself together when you turn on one of your favourite songs and he turns away when you use the baby wipes. 
Before he drives you two home, a thought pops into Peter’s head; a thought that he’s had time and time again and he has to make sure that you know exactly how he likes you.
“But I um… I want you to know that I really do like you, as a person, romantically. I– of course I enjoyed what just happened–you have no idea just how much–”
“I think it was obvious how much you enjoyed it, Peter,” you interrupt him with a teasing smile that makes him blush and stutter for a few seconds before he continues.
“So, while, of course, I’m into you sexually, the emotional and romantic part is so much more important to me, and I need you to know that. But I’ve had so many sexual thoughts about you and, now that I’ve told you that I had your underwear and everything–”
“So you feel bad that you’ve had sexual thoughts about me?” You sum it up and Peter closes his mouth and nods.
“Well, don’t. Peter, in the last month I’ve spent every minute away from you with my fingers between my legs, imagining–wishing they were yours. I’m glad I was not the only one, it’s nice to hear that you’ve been as affected as I’ve been.”
“Are you sure? Because I remember that time when you said how all guys on campus just think with their dicks and how I’m different from them but I’m really not that different. If I’m not thinking about hugging you or thinking about your smile, then I’m always thinking about getting in your pants. And that is a lot of the time. And I’m sure that, even if you’ve thought about me in that way too, I’ve thought about you way more and I just need to know if you think I’m a perv or something.”
“Peter, hey,” you cup his cheek, “I don’t think that. And you don’t think with your dick. You just said you’ve wanted me for months and you didn’t even kiss me. You’re the opposite of those guys that have nothing but sex on their minds so that they can’t even think straight and ruin friendships with girls. You didn’t do that. You thought about my and your feelings and about our connection rather than getting in my pants.”
“But I did think a lot about getting into your pants,” he sighs.
“I thought about you getting into my pants too. That’s fine. That’s the beauty of liking someone, there’s not just the romantic side but also the sexual side. But you didn’t let the sexual side control you and you cared about my feelings first and foremost. Don’t feel bad for thinking about having sex with me, I’m glad you do. But you do so much more than that. You’re nothing like those guys.”
“I’m not like the other guys?” Peter laughs and then kisses you. (He still can’t believe he’s been kissing you all night). You shake your head, reassuring him.
Hearing you say that helps him immensely. He never felt bad about imagining what having sex with you would be like. It was the fact that it was without your knowledge and he had no idea if you’d be grossed and creeped out if you knew about it because you only saw him as a friend. He was scared of making you uncomfortable if you ever found out.
But you’ve found out now and you’re not just saying that it’s okay for him to think about that, but that you have thoughts about it too. (And now his thoughts are going to be even better, knowing that you might be thinking the same thing as him and his fantasies might turn into more than just fantasies).
The journey back has both of you smiling; what just happened still seems unreal, but every shared grin reminds Peter that it really did happen.
It breaks Peter’s heart when he delivers you back to your room, but he can tell you need sleep and he’s not exactly wide awake either. You kiss him like you mean it and you don’t pull away until you’re breathless.
When he gets to his room, Peter quickly puts your panties in his laundry basket so he won’t forget, and then he throws himself onto his bed and squeals loudly. He doesn’t care if anyone hears, he’s happy and he doesn’t mind if people know.
He gets a message from his next-door neighbour Brian:
Bro, you okay?
I heard a weird noise
He texts back: Y/n kissed me :)))))
Brian: About time, happy for you!
Peter considers going over to talk to his friend and tell him all about tonight. He’s tired but there’s no way he’ll sleep now anyway.
He then gets a phone call from you, and he picks up immediately.
His face drops at your unsure voice. Did you change your mind?
“Did… did that really happen?” He thinks he can hear something positive in your voice but it’s hard to tell over the phone.
“It did.”
“Oh,” you say, “Good. I’m having a hard time believing it actually happened. I’ve been waiting for so long.”
He smiles again immediately, “Trust me, it hasn’t fully sunken in yet for me either.”
“Do you maybe wanna come over?” You ask, “I know it’s late but it’s the weekend so..”
He jumps to his feet and sets off instantly, “I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before.”
You giggle, “Me neither. I guess I was tired, but I’ll just be thinking about you all night anyway.”
You stay on the phone with him until he’s at your door, pulling him in for a kiss before he’s even in your room.
You push Peter onto the bed, lie on top of him, and hug him so tight that he can barely breathe. This would be the best way to go.
You’re both exhausted yet excited and interrupt each other with a kiss every few minutes while you’re talking about anything that comes to your mind.
“How long have you liked me?” You ask.
Peter smiles as he thinks back to the first time you met, “You made me nervous from the start because you’re so pretty, and then we talked about such personal things the first time we met. But I didn’t realise just how attracted to you I was until class a few days later when you were laughing about Professor Garfield’s jokes and talking about his ass.”
You pout and cup Peter’s cheek, “And then later I even made that joke about sucking his dick for a better score. Aw no, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he shrugs, “You just came on top of me and not him.”
You hide your face in his neck at the reminder that you just nearly had sex with Peter outside. His hand rubs over your back as if he’s not blushing at the thought of it.
“When did you start liking me?” He asks and you lift your head again.
“I thought you were cute the first time I saw you and then when we talked in the kitchen I knew I’d have to keep you because I immediately felt comfortable around you. And then… I don’t know. You just did your thing. And then my heart did its thing too.”
“I’m glad my charm worked on you.”
“It worked wonders,” you push yourself up on your hands and kiss Peter again, staying on top of him for a while until his lips feel sore.
“But regardless of this romantic… and sexual side,” you shyly smile at each other, “I meant what I said. Our friendship means a lot to me. And I’m glad we became friends before anything else.”
“Me too.”
He knows what you mean. Being friends allowed you two to get comfortable around each other first without any pressure to do things to make you attractive to the other person. Now you have a solid base of trust and you know each other; you don’t have to worry about only showing your best sides like other couples do in the beginning stages. You know each other inside out, (except for the fact that you’ve liked each other for a while — but that’s different), the good, the bad, the ugly – yet you’re still choosing each other. Happily so. 
You both lie on your sides, Peter’s hand reaching over to rest on your hip. He can’t help but smile the whole time.
“Were you planning to kiss me? Or was it spontaneous?”
“I’ve been thinking about how it would feel to kiss you for months now, but for some reason it never occurred to me to make the first move. I was pretty sure you like me but the time went on and you didn’t make a move and I got scared that I’d ruin our friendship if I totally misinterpreted everything and you didn’t like me back. 
“And I would have never forgiven myself for that. But when we were lying in the back of that truck, underneath the stars, I don’t know, it was so romantic and you were looking at me with so much adoration that there’s no way I wouldn’t have kissed you. My heart was leading me, I only gathered the courage because my body did what it knew I had to do, I was not in control at that moment, but I guess sometimes it’s good to give up control. But it was definitely spontaneous.”
Peter leans down so his face is right in front of your chest and he whispers, “Thank you, heart,” to which he hears your gorgeous laugh. Your whole body moves with your giggles, pushing your chest even closer to his face. It takes a second for him to get the willpower to pull his face away again.
You connect your lips to his a few more times, Peter’s heart fluttering with every passing second.
“Just so you know, I have liked you all this time, you were right. But I felt the same as you and you’re the most important person to me so I didn’t want to take even the slightest risk when it came to us. There were times when I thought our friendship would even survive me confessing my feelings and you not feeling the same, but by not telling you there was always the hope that you did like me. 
“But if I told you and you didn’t feel the same, even if our friendship survived, it wouldn’t have mattered because it would have broken my heart into a million pieces. And I couldn’t put myself through that-”
“I’d never do that. I’ll take good care of your heart, Peter.”
“I know you will.”
You share a small kiss, Peter intertwining your hands.
“Okay, looking back, I probably should have known that you like me as more than a friend. Your love for my legs gave it away, but at the time I didn’t realise-”
“How do you know that I love your legs?” Peter asks as he turns red, looking at your thighs and resisting the urge to put his hand on one of them.
“When you were drunk, you told me how much you love them. You were basically drooling because of them.”
“Oh.. I don’t remember that. But I do love them.”
“I know,” you smile as you place one of his hands on your thigh and he squeezes the flesh.
You lie next to each other for a while, breath evening out and Peter thinks you’ve fallen asleep until he hears your voice, “Peter?”
“I still can‘t believe that this is actually happening. It‘s like when you‘re at a concert and you don‘t realise that you‘re seeing your favourite artist live and in person, and afterwards you still haven’t realised, and you never really get how lucky you were.”
Peter turns to his side to face you, his tired brain taking a while to answer, but he’s satisfied with what he says, “But a concert only happens once, and we‘ll be together forev— a long time. And longterm. We have plenty of time to realise that it‘s real. Maybe we‘ll realise if you kiss me again.”
You grin immediately and lean in to connect your mouth to Peter’s.
He understands what you’re saying, he can’t quite believe it either. It’s been too long for it to be a dream, he knows that it’s real, but it’ll take a few days for him to realise that he really is the luckiest person on earth. 
He’s grateful that you two have something so beautiful that it nearly feels impossible.
You touch each other for a bit, not sexually, you’re just touching each other’s skin, realising more and more that this is reality.
You lazily make out for a few more minutes until Peter drifts off into the most peaceful sleep he’s ever had, with you in his arms.
。・:*:・゚★。・:*:・゚☆ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ☆。・:*:・゚★゚:*:・。 
It’s been a few weeks since that one eventful night and you’re spending even more time with each other than before. Making out with you has become Peter’s new hobby.
He loves that you’re experiencing all your sexual firsts together. You haven’t actually done anything more than kiss since the night under the stars, and he’s more than happy to be patient if you need it but he’s looking forward to more.
“Is it okay if we don’t go all the way yet?” You ask him while you’re both hydrating and eating fruit between makeout sessions, “I definitely want to soon, but maybe not… not yet.”
Peter pulls you on top of his lap and holds you, “We established that the very first time we met, didn’t we? Of course it’s okay if we wait.”
“Okay,” you kiss him, “I don’t mean that we can’t do anything though.”
Peter licks his lips when he realises you’re planning something. You push Peter’s chest so he lies on his back and you slot your hips over his. His eyes flutter shut when he feels your mouth on the special spot on his neck and you slowly start grinding on him.
He grabs your hips and opens his eyes again when you stop kissing him to focus on that sweet place between your legs rubbing against Peter.
You stop when your eyes meet, “You have to close your eyes.”
“I wanna see you though.”
“It’s different from the first time, we’re not out during the night. And the position’s uncomfortable.”
“Then let’s change it.”
He’s already hard and if you continue like that he won’t take much longer; but your pleasure is more important to him so he pulls his sweat shorts further up his leg and lifts you onto his thigh. 
Your eyes go down and you realise what he wants you to do, “But you–”
“Shh, this is about you right now, okay? And I’ll cum as soon as you do anyway so don’t worry about me. This okay?”
He sees how his words give you confidence and you nod, letting yourself fully sit down on his thigh. Peter knew he liked your pretty skirt for more than aesthetic reasons because the only thing between your warm pussy and Peter’s skin is your underwear. He could cum from the feeling of your wet heat through your panties alone, but he tries to focus on making you breathless with his kisses once you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face close.
He holds you as you rock yourself on his thigh, becoming surer in your movements after a while, finding what feels best for you. Peter instinctively flexes the muscles in his thigh when you change your position slightly, and your little gasp tells him to continue doing it.
Your wetness slowly but surely drenches your panties and reaches Peter’s skin. You grab his shirt hard and bury your other hand in his hair, pulling. Peter tries bouncing his leg up and down and is rewarded with the sweetest moan coming from your mouth, followed by a gasp and a whispered: “I’m gonna cum.”
Your legs get weaker while you’re coming but, through his own approaching orgasm, Peter pushes your hips in whatever direction you want them to go and together you try to savour your highs for as long as possible. 
Out of breath, you’re still holding onto Peter tightly. As your hand in his hair slowly lets go, you press a kiss to his head, your hand on his shirt easing too as you smooth down the material.
“Sorry, did I hurt you?” You ask carefully but Peter shakes his head and purses his lips for you to give him a kiss, and you smile when you do.
“Oh, wait did you really cum?” You’re glancing down at the wet spot on his pants but your eyes widen when you get off him and realise how much you leaked onto his thigh yourself.
“I don’t know how I couldn’t cum when I have the prettiest, sexiest woman in the world having an orgasm on my lap.”
You lean your head against his shoulder, hiding your face from him while your cheeks heat up. You get off him and he goes to the bathroom to clean up.
You’re absentmindedly biting your lip when Peter comes back and he pulls you out of your daydream with a kiss.
“Do you wanna eat my pussy?”
Peter freezes for a second and then jumps onto the bed. You laugh, “Wait, I need a break first.”
“Okay,” he sits down next to you and swallows. He’s hard already just from the thought of going down on you. He couldn’t be happier that you want him to do it, he’s had daydreams (well, he’s mostly thought about it during nighttime) about it so many times.
“Do you want me to give you a massage?” He asks. It’s something you’ve done for him countless times and he doesn’t return the favour as often as he’d want to because your massages are heavenly and he can barely get up after.
“Yes please,” you lie down on your stomach, “But don’t stand on me.” You both chuckle.
Your massages consist of kneeling or standing on Peter’s back. It sounds painful but to him it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. He doesn’t just like your weight on his lap, he likes you on top of him in various scenarios.
He’s kneading your shoulders for about a minute when you suddenly sit up, “Okay, the break is over, can you eat me out now?”
A smile spreads over Peter’s face and you kiss him, a similar expression on your lips.
You get comfortable on your back and pull your shirt over your head and slip out of your skirt.
Peter sits between your legs, speechless, thumb rubbing over the large wet spot on your panties. You gasp when he touches you there but Peter can’t continue before showing you how much he loves your tits first. They're perfect.
He kisses his way up your stomach, inching further up until your nipple is in his mouth and your hand goes into his hair. He gets lost in the feeling of one of your boobs in his hand and the other one against his tongue until you push his head away.
He worries he’s hurt you but you whimper and spread your legs, pulling them up against your chest, “Please,” is all you can manage to say. Peter’s hands wander down your sides and between your legs, his fingers gliding over your panties.
Peter drags your underwear down your legs slowly, a string of your arousal staying connected to your panties momentarily. He licks his lips and kneels in front of the bed, pulling you to the edge of the mattress.
With your legs on his shoulders, Peter kisses your clit once, watching as your eyes flutter shut. He’s forgetting that this is your first time too, so your expectations probably aren’t too high. And you’re wet from your earlier orgasm and it seems to be doing wonders for you; you already start arching your back when Peter licks up and down your clit a few times.
He savours the taste of you on his tongue, sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted, and knowing that he’s tasting you because you’re wet for him makes things even better.
As he plays with your clit, his tongue in your pussy, he puts a hand on your stomach. It’s just because he doesn’t know where else to put his hand, but you grab some of his fingers, holding his hand and Peter’s convinced his eyes must be shaped like hearts right now. He’s always loved holding hands with you.
He makes out with your pussy, your juices all over his mouth, and he starts sucking your clit.
“Peter..” your voice comes out as a whimper and you grip his hand harder. You arch further into him and your eyes squeeze shut, and Peter can tell you’re coming – on his tongue, with his face between your legs, just like he’s imagined so many times but it’s so much better than what he ever could have wished for.
He only pulls his mouth away from you slowly, not wanting the moment to end. You don’t let go of his hand, instead using your intertwined fingers to pull him up so Peter can kiss you. 
You hug him like you never want to let him go again and Peter gladly complies. He wraps his arms around you and lies on top of you for as long as you’ll have him.
“I’m too tired to return the favour,” you say after a while.
“That’s okay. I just wanted to make you feel good.” 
He’s glad you said it because then you won’t need to find out that he came in his pants ages ago, yet again, and you don’t need to be reminded of what a loser your boyfriend can be and how you’re the opposite.
Peter lifts his head so you’re looking at each other, and you cup his cheeks to kiss him on the lips a few times.
“I’m getting cold,” you say.
“I’ll keep you warm.”
You smile and kiss his forehead, “I should get dressed. And I need to pee. But you can cuddle me again after.” Peter gets up and scoops you up in his arms, earning a squeal from you.
He carries you to the bathroom and even though he’s completely dressed and you’re naked and vulnerable, he can tell you’re content and comfortable by the way you drop your head to his shoulder and let him hold you.
You’re in the bathroom while gets the clothes you asked him to get from your room, but he changes first so he’s not walking around the student accommodation with a mess in his pants.
You’re sitting on the bed in all your naked glory when he gets back. He stares for a second, smiling softly as he realises how lucky he is to get to see you like this, that he’s the only one in the world who does and that you want him to see you like this.
It’s later in the night and you’re in bed, you sitting on top of Peter, kissing him. It’s not sexual; you’re enjoying each other’s company, touching each other, locking lips over and over and over. Peter couldn’t be happier. There’s a smile on his face the whole time.
“I like kissing you. Like a lot,” you say.
“I love kissing you.”
“Do you wanna be my boy—”
“Girlfriend? Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” He interrupts you, somewhat surprised.
You grin and throw your arms around him, “Yes.”
“Sorry, I wanted to say it. After you made the first move I wanted to do this.”
“Everything okay?” You ask, realising he’s not telling you everything simply by looking at him.
“Well I don’t know, I kind of thought we were together already,” he says and your face softens.
“Oh. I mean we may as well have been. But we never properly talked about it. And just now I realised how sad I was that I couldn't officially call you my boyfriend, so I wanted to make sure that I could.”
“You’re right, now we have talked about it. And now it’s official. The most beautiful woman in the world is officially my girlfriend,” he beams as he cups your cheek and kisses you again. 
You lie down next to him, his arm around you as you cuddle into his side.
After a few moments of looking at Peter, you start giggling, as if you just remembered something funny or embarrassing about him.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing just, I’m so into you, and you really weren’t sure if I liked you? I know we‘ve talked about how we were both too scared to ruin the friendship but we were both idiots. 
“I mean, I tried to give you the boldest, most obvious signs. I kept holding your hand, talked about me getting off. I changed in front of you, slept next to you half-naked? Peter, I said I’d suck your dick.”
“Yeah but it was only in relation to you sucking professor Garfield’s dick for a better mark.”
“Knowing me, do you think I’d really suck a professor’s dick to get a better score?”
He shrugs, “Well, not when you say it like that, no. But we didn’t know each other that well yet. And hearing the girl you like say she’ll suck another guy’s dick isn’t nice regardless of if she’s being serious or not.”
You pout and cup his face, kissing him a few times, “I only want your dick, promise.”
“And my dick only wants you,” he says, earning a small laugh from you.
“But seriously, I contemplated peeing while you were in the bathroom with me at that party. If there was an obvious sign that I liked you, it would be that,” you joke.
“Just so you know, you can pee in front of me. And as long as you’re okay with that, I’d also feel comfortable peeing in front of you.”
You scrunch up your face, “We’ll avoid it if we can.” You both laugh but you know it would be no big deal and you’d be comfortable with it. It sounds like a weird thing to bond over, but Peter thinks it’s sweet.
“Anyway, I know I brought it up but can we stop talking about peeing so you can go down on me again?”
Peter’s eyes light up, “Yes, yesyesyes,” and he starts kissing down your body.
“So,” Peter asks you a few days later, “You know how you said your sex toy is supposed to feel like oral sex? So who’s better? Me or the vibrator?”
You give him an exaggerated pout and scoot closer to him on the bed, ”Don’t make me hurt your feelings.”
You’ve just come back from a date Peter planned. You got take-out from your favourite restaurant and ate it next to the river that goes through the city. You walked for hours, holding hands, talking, getting ice cream and just being with each other.
While Peter loves going out with you, he’s not sure if anything can beat spending time alone with you, in your bed, utterly comfortable and being nothing but yourself. Not to mention that you two can have sex whenever you want to.
“I don’t mind if you say it’s the vibrator, I mean it’s made for making you feel good and I’m just some guy,” Peter says, “It’s literally called a clit-sucker.”
“Sex with you is better but if you’re comparing the toy with you sucking my clit, then the vibrator is better, yes,” you move to his lap and put your arms on his shoulders, linking your hands behind his head.
“Can I use it on you?”
You bite your lip when he says it, “There’s not much you can do, you just hold it against my clit.”
“I’d love to do that.”
You grin and start kissing him.
He flips you around so you’re under him. He slowly takes off all your clothes and you pull off his shirt. He can’t resist getting a taste of you before he starts, humming as he begins eating you out, tongue in your pussy and his thumb on your clit.
You whine when he stops but you both remember that you wanted to use your toy. He kisses his way up your body, your arousal on his lips.
“You’re so hot, I don’t know if I deserve you,” he whispers into your skin as he’s kissing your belly. You tug him up to you to kiss him with such intensity that tells him he deserves you, all of you. You’re made for each other. And you feel it too.
You reach into your bedside drawer and pull out your vibrator. Peter smiles as he spreads your legs and lies down between them.
“Like this?” He turns it on and you adjust the setting, lying back when Peter presses a kiss on your clit and places the toy on your pussy.
You put your hand over his, shifting it so it’s in the perfect place. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and rests his cheek against your other thigh, occasionally kissing the skin there. He brings his arm over your body, smoothing his hand over your tummy and grabbing one of your tits, playing with your nipple.
Your hands absentmindedly find his hair, burying your fingers in it as he tells you how pretty you are and how he wants you to cum.
You glance at Peter between your legs, smiling and laying your head back down on the pillow. A few moments later he notices your breathing changing and how your hips slightly buck up.
“I’m gonna cum,” you moan, your back arching, and Peter puts his hand over your lower belly to keep you down. Your hand tightens in his hair as frantic breaths and strangled sounds leave your mouth, not able to form any coherent sentence.
After a few seconds, Peter wants to pull the toy away, thinking you’re done, but you hold his hand in place until your legs shake and he feels your belly convulsing under his hand. You’re coming until your head drops to the side and you let go of both his hair and his hand so he pulls away the vibrator.
“Oh–God. That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Sorry if I hurt you,” your hand goes through his hair once more but he kisses your hand instead, “Don’t worry.”
You let your head fall back, your eyes not leaving Peter. The way you’re looking at him is nearly enough to make him cum right then and there, but he takes your hand and kisses you instead.
You wrap your legs around Peter’s waist and pull him as close as you can, “Can we go all the way? I feel so empty, I need you inside of me.”
Peter gulps at your words, pulling his hips away from yours so he doesn’t finish before you’ve even started. “Are you sure? Last week you said you wanted to wait.”
“Yeah, I am. I thought it would take me longer to be comfortable around you when I’m naked but I feel so good, and I like being naked in front of you. I like how you look at me and how it makes me feel,” you smile softly and kiss him.
“I like having you naked in front of me too.”
“I know, that’s why I’m so comfortable. And the fact that I want this so quickly shows me that it’s the right thing and also I just really really need you inside of me.”
“Oh my god,” he whispers, closing his eyes to refocus, “I have to get the condoms.”
“Make sure to hide this first,” your hands go to the front of his sweatpants and he playfully narrows his eyes at you because you know exactly that what you’re doing is not helping his situation.
After another kiss from you, he manages to pull himself away from you and hides his hardness as well as he can. He slips back into his shirt and runs to his room to get the condoms you two bought the other week just so you’d have them.
When he comes back you already have your fingers between your legs, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Don’t apologise, baby,” Peter says before taking off his clothes in record time and joining you on the bed. 
You make out for a few minutes, forgetting everything else. His fingers wander to your pussy, playing with your clit until you can’t keep kissing him anymore, distracted by the pleasure.
He slips one finger into your pussy first, then two.
“Peter, it’s not enough,” you moan with a desperation in your voice that makes him even harder which, up to this point, felt impossible.
“‘M just checking you can take it, get you used to having something inside of you.”
You sigh into his mouth and give him the dirtiest kiss you ever have. “Just so you know.. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” he warns you, afraid of disappointing you.
“I don’t care, I just need you right now.”
“What if I cum immediately once I’m in you?”
You hold his face in your hands, “Fuck, Pete, that’s so hot. I want you to cum inside of me.”
“Don’t say that because I will.”
“Please, please, I’m ready,” you whisper.
“Wait, you mean with a condom right?”
You laugh and nod, kissing him on the nose.
“Okay, just checking,” he says, putting on the condom. 
You hold on to his neck as he lines himself up with you, feeling how wet you are. He pushes into you slowly, making sure you’re okay once he’s inside of you completely, “You okay?”
“Yeah, it feels even bigger inside of me.”
He blushes at you calling his dick big and runs a hand down your cheek, “Should I pull out?”
“No, no. Just give me a second.” 
You both take deep breaths once Peter starts rubbing your clit – you because you’re relaxing, Peter because he’s about to cum if he doesn’t focus.
He has you coming around his dick quickly. You press your chest against Peter’s when your back arches from the pleasure and you kiss the side of his face when you’re coming down from the high.
“Lift me up,” you tell him and you end up pushing Peter down on the bed, straddling his lap.
You place your hands on either side of Peter’s head, leaving him with your tits right in his face. You tell him to fuck you and with his hands on your hips, Peter slowly thrusts into you from below.
Your pussy squeezes him so tight, and you’re so warm, “Fuck, you feel so so good,” he groans. 
You start bouncing on him, meeting his thrusts halfway, now more used to him inside of you.
He closes his eyes, trying to think of something else but your quiet moans and your earlier words about wanting him to cum in you make him orgasm after a few more seconds.
He fucks you until he’s too exhausted to move and you grin down at him, both of you lying down to cuddle. 
You don’t say anything for a few minutes, both exhausted and content, only grinning at each other and occasionally giving the other a lazy kiss before you sit up on him again, your nipples right in front of his mouth.
He takes the opportunity to run his tongue around one, but you lean back, dazed, “No, no, you’ll make me horny again,” you smile, “And I don’t think I can take another orgasm right now.”
He kisses your sternum instead and picks you up in his arms so you can take a shower together.
Peter washes your body for you, taking his time to massage every part of you for a few seconds. He wants to spoil and pamper you and take as much work off your hands as he can. He knows you’d do the same for him.
Once you’re both clean, you stand under the water for a while, Peter’s arms around your waist, your back pulled to his chest. Your breathing is calm and your eyes are closed, completely relaxed against Peter.
“I came in here once,” Peter interrupts the silence.
You slowly open your eyes and turn around to face him, a smile making its way onto your face before it turns into a laugh, “What?”
“It was after that night when I got really drunk. I woke up with this perfect ass right against my crotch,” he squeezes one of your ass cheeks for emphasis. 
“You mean back when we were just friends?” You ask, pulling his arms around your body again, “That feels so long ago.”
“And at the same time like it was yesterday.” “Yeah,” you smile, “I probably would have helped you out if you’d asked.”
“I was already into you then and there’s no way I would have been able to–or wanted to–resist if I found out you were horny because of me. I was coming on my vibrator three times a day wishing it was you instead.”
Peter runs a hand over his face, remembering how scared he was that you’d never like him back, “I was wishing it was me too. I heard you that one time, when you were masturbating while I was waiting for you in there,” he nods his head towards the door to your room.
“You can’t blame me, you saw how that thing makes me cum,” you lean your head on his shoulder, hiding your embarrassment.
The moment you look down and see that Peter’s hard again, he stiffens even more.
“You’re getting harder from me looking at your dick?” You ask, licking your lips.
He nods, putting a hand around the back of your neck and gently pulling you towards him, kissing you to distract you from the blush creeping onto his cheeks.
While your teeth tug at Peter’s bottom lip, your hands smooth down his chest, over his faint happy trail and eventually you wrap your hand around his cock. He gasps at the first contact and opens his eyes, meeting your lust-filled gaze, “I can’t believe I haven’t done this before,” you say, starting to jerk him off with a slightly unsure look on your face.
“Is this okay?” You ask and Peter nods, “Show me how you do it,” you urge, lifting Peter’s hand to wrap it around your own.
With a firm grip, Peter guides your hand, “F-fuck,” is all he can manage to get out apart from a shaky breath. Your free hand runs across his chest, occasionally rubbing over his nipples, making him gasp. 
“I really need you to cum for me right now,” you whisper, looking down at your hand sliding up and down his dick. Your words make him groan and before he can prepare, waves of pleasure flow through him, his cum splashing all over your tummy. He can’t stop coming, especially not when you angle his cock further towards you, your belly now covered in him.
“Fuck,” you both moan at the same time and then you smile at each other. You step away from the spray of the shower, sliding a finger across your skin and sucking it into your mouth.
If he hadn’t already cum three times today, Peter would be hard in half a second. He shakes his head in disbelief, not sure what he did to ever deserve a girlfriend as sexy as you. He runs his thumb over your belly, picking up the rest of his cum on you and you open your mouth before he even asks you to.
He pushes it into your mouth slowly and you hum as he does it. Grabbing your face right after, he kisses you until neither of you can breathe. “Can I eat you out again now?”
You grin immediately, “Yes, but I’m tired.”
After you’ve dried off, he carries you to your bed, making sure you’re comfortable on it before his mouth disappears between your legs. He’s proud of how you grip his hair, grinding your pussy against his face and how you cum on his tongue.
He gets a notification on his phone just as he’s done kissing you after he made you cum. He ordered some food before you two went in the shower and it’s about to arrive.
“Go and get it, I can wait,” you tell him, but he makes sure to kiss your forehead and give you water and baby wipes before pulling on some clothes and rushing downstairs to get the food.
You eat it on your bed with a towel laid down to make sure nothing gets dirty. Peter likes how you randomly grab his hand while you’re eating or asking him to pass you your drink.
With some quiet music playing, you make yourselves comfortable in your bed, cuddling.
“Thank you,” you say, looking at him like he’s responsible for all good in the world.
“For what?”
“For everything. For taking care of me. For being you,” you slide your fingers between his. He picks up your intertwined hands and kisses yours, “It’s my pleasure. Thank you for being you, and for being with me.”
“There’s no one in the world I’d rather be with,” you lean over to kiss him, leaving your lips on his for a few seconds. “This white shirt looks so good on you, it’s my favourite,” you tell him, smoothing down the material and then resting your head on his chest.
“Thank you,” he wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you tight, “You know what looks even better on me?”
“Me?” You ask, already knowing what Peter is going to say and he adores you for it.
“Yes,” he smiles, “You.”
“I like this position, I like hearing your heart beating so clearly,” you say, nuzzling up against him.
“And I like that I can feel a heartbeat as soon as I put my hand here,” Peter smirks, sliding a hand between your legs and immediately feeling the pulsating warmth, even through your panties.
“Don’t blame me for getting turned on when the man I love touches my pussy,” you say, grabbing Peter’s hand into yours and away from your underwear to stop you from getting horny.
It takes both of you a second to realise that you just said that you love him. Probably because you’ve both felt it for a while; first as friends, then as lovers. Even if no one’s said it yet, it was obvious.
“I love you too,” he says softly and that’s when you realise what you just said. You turn towards him and start grinning, meeting Peter’s own wide smile. You start littering his face with kisses until he holds your face in place to kiss your lips. It’s like you melt right into his mouth once your lips touch his.
You spend the rest of the night telling each other that you love the other, giggling and cuddling and kissing until the early morning hours.
Peter wants to sit through this lecture with you on his lap when you get to the lecture hall one minute before the lesson starts and there are no two seats free next to each other.
But you two promised yourselves that you weren’t going to be that annoying couple that has to be together at all times, so you two sit at opposite sides of the room.
Peter’s stomach tingles with jealousy when he sees that you’re sitting next to a guy you know. Brandon. Peter remembers him from the day you and Peter met. When it was Peter’s turn to tell an embarrassing sex story and he had nothing to say, you told Brandon to tell his story instead, distracting everyone and saving Peter.
He smiles when he thinks back to it; who knew that you two would end up in love?
But he hears your giggle through the entire lecture hall, over all the over murmuring, and Peter frowns. He knows it’s stupid if not wrong to be jealous about something so trivial. He’s more than okay with you having a male friend as long as he’s a good person; Peter’s happy about every nice friend you have.
But he’s spent the last few months getting to know you inside and out and you never mentioned Brandon. Now you’re talking to him like you’re best friends. Okay, the thing that bothers Peter the most is that you apparently knew Brandon’s sex story before he told it to the whole party.
Why were you talking to Brandon about sex? And why did you never mention it to Peter?
He knows you’ve done nothing wrong, and it’s ridiculous that he feels like this over a story and you laughing at another man’s jokes. If he was sitting next to you, he’s sure he’d be fine, but it doesn’t help that you’re out of reach.
He’s more curious than jealous, or that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, knowing he has no right to feel this way about such a little thing.
He tries to accept the feeling, tries to focus on what Professor Garfield is saying but throughout the whole lecture Brandon is in the back of Peter’s mind.
By the end of the lesson, he’s more mad than anything else – mad at himself for being jealous. He doesn't want to turn into one of those possessive, toxic and controlling boyfriends. He trusts you and he should be okay with you having dozens of male friends.
He waits for you by the door when the lecture is over, and in the sea of students you and Brandon leave the room separately. Peter’s so focussed on Brandon that he only notices you standing next to him once you hold his hand.
“What’s wrong?” You ask immediately. Peter didn’t know he was being that obvious.
He doesn’t want to drag you into his unnecessary jealousy and insecurity. “No-nothing,” he presses his lips together in a smile and you walk him into a quiet corner.
“What is it?” You sit down and pat the seat next to you for Peter to sit down.
“Well. I don’t know. It’s just, we usually sit together in this class and then we didn’t get to sit together and then you ended up next to a guy you know and I just…” It’s the shortened and less embarrassing version.
You smile, half with pity and half out of amusement, but he knows you’re not trying to make fun of him. “You were jealous? Of Brandon?”
“I don’t know. Kinda. I‘d honestly rather have you look at Andrew’s ass than have you talk to Brandon and giggle at everything he says and–like, I don’t even know him and I just felt insecure because I didn’t feel like I was a part of it,” he looks down, taking a deep breath, “Sorry, of course I don’t mean it like that. Obviously it’s fine if you have male friends. I was just wondering why you haven’t told me about him, because I remember him from the party the first time we met and I realised you never brought him up. And then I got so into my head about being jealous that I felt even worse and now I can’t even tell the jealousy from the being-mad-at-myself apart.”
“Okay, take my hand,” you say, “I love you. And-”
“I love you too,” Peter grins instantly, leaning over to kiss you.
“So, I didn’t tell you about Brandon because I wasn’t thinking about him. If he was important to me I would have introduced you two ages ago. I didn't even realise I was in this class until today. I met him the same night I met you and I was talking to a group of people before we played that game where he told that sex story. But wait.. Peter,” you furrow your eyebrows, “So you remember the story Brandon told?”
“I remember that he told a story, but I was too busy looking at you and being grateful that you helped me out of the situation.”
“Well, his story was about the first time he had sex with his boyfriend. And they’re still together.”
“Oh,” Peter says, dumbfounded, “Now I feel even worse. Why was I so jealous about a guy who has a boyfriend?”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ve been attached at the hip lately, so of course we're not used to being apart. I’m sure we’ll get used to it in a few days. But you’re jealous for the first time and we’re already talking about it, I’m sure we’ll sort it out. I promise we’ll work it out together.”
He pecks your lips again, “Thank you. I think I was way more surprised about my jealousy than actually being jealous. I trust you and I love you and I do that more and more every day. It’s just that I want you so much that I assume every guy feels the same, because why wouldn’t they? Forgive me if I project that onto them and don’t trust them. But I trust you and that’s what matters and what I’ll try to rely on. I’m sorry for making such a big deal out of something small.”
“Don’t apologise, I’m glad you told me how you feel. You’re already not jealous anymore and you’re talking about it and working it out. That’s what matters. You recognise that it’s unreasonable but jealousy is a normal emotion.”
He gives you a small smile, already understanding himself better thanks to you. You’re right, jealousy is something everyone feels from time to time. He’ll learn how to deal with it, and now that he’s with you, feeling loved and appreciated, he can’t even imagine ever being jealous again. He can tell his love is reciprocated. He trusts you, and that’s all he needs.
You sit together for another while, smiling and saying goodbye when Professor Garfield walks past you. You wait until he’s turned around the corner to say, “Wait, what did you say about his ass earlier?”
Peter chuckles, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the first time we had this lesson you said something about how nice his ass is.”
“Oh, now I remember. But your ass is the only ass I wanna look at now, you know that?” 
“Really. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my boyfriend if I was interested in anyone else’s ass.”
There’s a comfortable warmth in Peter’s chest at you calling him his boyfriend. He’ll always be happy to be that.
“Well,” he thinks out loud, “There are some guys with nice asses, I can’t deny that. But then we can both admire them, okay? Together.”
You laugh, “You’re so cute. Okay, I’ll let you know when I see a nice ass and we’ll appreciate it together.”
“Good,” Peter smiles, okay with you liking other people’s asses because, after all, those asses don’t have this great connection with you like he does. He’s so much to you than a person with a cute ass.
“But your ass is the nicest,” he adds.
“Thank you," you laugh and kiss his cheek.
You lean back on your hands and tilt your head towards your shoulder. This time Peter feels warmth rushing elsewhere.
“You wanna know what I was thinking about during the whole lesson?”
He nods.
“I was thinking,” you look around to make sure no one else is close enough to hear, “about how I can’t wait to have your dick in my mouth.”
Peter’s heart starts beating twice as fast as it usually does, “My-my- my dick? In your- why would— do you want it to be in your mouth?”
“I do. I had a dream about it last night. And I was gonna wait until tonight to do it but maybe we should do it now to relax you.”
“I.. don’t know if relax is the right word,” he says.
“I’ll do it to show you that I only like you then. And because I really need you.”
Peter’s face falls, “No, shit, I have this class now… no, nevermind, let’s go to my room–”
“No, we said our education and college come first, and that we wouldn’t let our academic performance fall off because of each other.”
“Yeah but I didn’t know that that meant saying no to you…” he looks at his lap and back at you again. 
“To me sucking your dick?” You’re teasing him on purpose now but despite the uncomfortable strain in his pants he’s enjoying it.
“Go to your class now and I’ll see you tonight,” you kiss him and get up.
“No wait–”
“Bye, baby,” you call out and walk away.
A class has never lasted as long as Peter’s next class. He leaves his bunched up hoodie on his lap the whole time even though he’s cold in just the shirt he’s wearing.
After class, he runs home, going to his dorm room first but you’re not there so he rushes to your room instead. You open the door as if Peter hasn’t been suffering for the past two hours, giving him a quick kiss and sitting back down to read a book.
He gets on his knees in front of you, putting his hands on your thighs, “Please. You can’t be serious right now. I need you.”
You pat the bed next to you and he lies down with a sigh, hoping to get your attention but you keep reading; maybe he can take a nap to make the time pass quicker. You pretend to read for another minute or two and then grin at Peter and straddle him, starting to kiss him. 
“Sorry, I thought it would be fun to tease you but I don’t know what I was thinking. I really want you.”
He’s panting into your mouth after a few moments, already feeling relief as you pull at his belt, taking off Peter’s pants and your and his shirt.
“Let me know uh, how I’m doing,” you say as you get down on your knees in front of the bed.
Your words clear Peter’s mind for a second and he leans down to give you a kiss, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, by the way.”
You shake your head, “No, I really want to. I just don’t know what to do, so, be patient with me.”
“Always,” he reaches for your hand to kiss it, “So I guess you just– oh my god.” He moans as your mouth wraps around him, all wet and warm.
He makes the mistake of looking at you, the head of his cock in your mouth, your pretty lips against his skin, eyes big and gorgeous and so innocent. He’s close so quickly and motions for you to stop.
“Everything okay?” You ask, already knowing what’s going on though. Peter’s eyes go to your chest, perfect tits pushed together by a pretty bra. If you take that off he doesn’t want to know how fast he’ll cum.
“Yes, more than okay. I love you so much, you know that?”
“I do, but Peter, this is torture for me,” you say seriously.
“What?” He sits up straighter.
“I wanna make you cum so so bad, please just let me, I don’t care how long you last.” You sound so horny that it makes Peter’s cock just that much harder in the way only happens when he’s with you, never when he’s alone.
“Okay. But try to go slow, I wanna enjoy it as long as I can.”
You smirk and he already knows you’ll give it your all, but while he wants to enjoy it as long as possible, he also really wants to cum.
You wrap a hand around him, slapping his dick against your tongue a few times, putting on a show for him. But once you wrap your lips around him, there’s no stopping you.
Peter’s skin glistens with a mixture of your spit and his precum and you keep taking him deeper and deeper until all of him disappears in your mouth. “Fuuuck,” he groans, huffing with a smile, accepting that he’s about to cum.
You start going faster, your wet mouth making a loud, obscene sound against his skin. Peter lies down on his back, barely able to keep his noises in.
“God– oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever felt,” his mouth falls open as he cranes his neck to look at you taking his dick. He puts a hand on your head, feeling your every movement up and down his cock.
He cums right down your throat as soon you start moaning, mouth stuffed full of Peter’s dick. You taste the first few drops and then jerk him off so his cum lands on your cheek and the sight is so dirty yet so beautiful.
You’re both panting when Peter is finished and you’re smiling at each other, in silent agreement that that was one of the hottest things you two have ever experienced. Your smile has something shy to it too, unsure how you look with Peter’s cum on your face.
But he’s looking at you with pure admiration, not believing how lucky he is for a bit before pulling you up to kiss you.
“Wait, Pete, you’ll get cu–”
“I don’t care.”
He kisses your mouth, and tasting himself on you is the sexiest thing in the world. He kisses his cum off your skin, connecting your lips afterwards, his tongue in your mouth until the cum is gone.
He wipes his mouth, asking something he’s been thinking about for a while, and he can’t go a second longer without it. “Do you wanna sit on my face?”
You’re taking off your clothes before the question even fully leaves his mouth and he takes in the sight of the prettiest woman alive getting undressed in front of him, for him.
He licks his lips when you slip out of your panties, the holy place between your legs shiny with arousal that’s started running down your thighs.
“You’re so wet.. from going down on me?” He asks, grabbing your thighs as you come closer, straddling him.
You simply nod and while you’re making your way up Peter’s body there’s a moment where your eyes meet for more than a few seconds. You don’t say anything, there’s just mutual appreciation and adoration for one another.
This is something good. Maybe it’s the best thing in the world. It is the best thing in the world.
“I love you,” he says, feeling so much more than those three simple words.
“I love you,” you say, your eyes holding such intensity that he doesn’t think there’s a single person in the world who has ever been as loved as Peter is by you.
He hopes he’s making you feel like the Goddess he sees you as, he adores every inch of you, all the things you’ve ever said to him and every second he’s spent with you.
The moment feels like it goes on forever, and at some point, you both move your heads towards each other, lips meeting in a kiss.
He grabs your ass, ready to drown in your pussy and to make you cum as many times as you want.
“Can I…?” You ask as you lower yourself. 
Peter pulls you towards his face and makes love to you all night. 
You spend the rest of the weekend in each other’s arms, feeling like the luckiest people on earth and you probably are.
☆.。.:*support a writer and reblog if you enjoyed, it helps out a lot.。.:*☆
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irndad · 9 months ago
Orbitational Pull
peter is disastrously bad at talking about how he feels. friends to lovers!
NOTE: tysm @gotkindabored for helping me post this, and also being all-around lovely! pls go easy on me, im VERY rusty :)
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“Hey you,”
She hears it from the familiar corner of her bedroom, one that she’s used to. He sounds hoarse and out of breath, and his suit is slick with rainwater. She looks beautiful, of course. There isn’t a moment of the day she doesn’t steal his breath.
“Peter,” she says, voice low and careful, but even still- he can hear the honey-sweet affection his name is spoken through, “You’re early tonight, huh?”
He cracks a smile, and looks her over- he can’t help it.
He fell on her fire escape, one night. Her crappy college apartment, a shared place with her own room. It was months ago, feels like decades now. Of course, he knew who she was before that night. He knew she was the kind girl, who smiled at him every time she passed him in the hallways. He’s had a crush on her since was ten, when she offered him a chocolate bar the day after Halloween, when Aunt May had just packed a granola bar.
And when they got older- all through high school, he never had the nerve to say a damn word to her. And the worse thing about it was, she became his friend. Became close enough to him that he could memorize the curve of her lips just from the sheer amount he’s stared at them, close enough that her fingers brushed his enough times when seated next to each other, it was torture to consider if he’d ever get to be the one to interlock them. He’d wanted to tell her, planned on it, thought about it every single day.
She only found out about Spider-Man when he’d fallen on her fire escape.
She’s gorgeous, he observes, in the low light of her bedroom. Her eyes are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and they never get less remarkable of a sight, even when he comes here almost every night. He peers at her with an adoring gaze, one that he’s sure can’t be too subtle.
What can he say to that? The sun has barely set, and their little pattern they have, of coming to her after a patrol to eat microwaved ramen and watch some show on Netflix, was all he thought about all week?
“I guess I’m getting lazy,” he quips, with a half upturned smirk, before sitting on her bed, “You wanna watch a movie or something?”
“How was your day?” She asks, her voice a sweet call of sympathy. She worries for him, which fills him with a selfish sense of rapture.
She worries for me.
“It was great, I just wanted to get it over with though. I’ve been thinking about getting a chance to sit down with you for a bit since first thing this morning.”
Did he reveal too much? He worries that every time he opens his mouth with her. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t realized how desperately into her he always has been.
The mask has been off since he entered the room, but when he is sat beside her, is when she combs through his tousled hair with her delicate fingers.
She smells like a rose.
It’s an ache, to want her like this. A little tragedy he carries around with him every day in his pocket, a bit of pain to sit beside him on the subway. Someone once told him that unrequited love was like an affection never known to its’ fullest.
He can’t imagine wanting her any more than he does now.
It’s a nice night. The rain made the swinging a bit more inconvenient, but honestly, it just made coming back to her that much warmer of
He studies her face, can’t seem to stop as she rushes around trying to find her remote to her shitty little TV she’s got propped up on her shelf. She’s got the prettiest eyes he thinks have ever existed, and the adorable way she crinkles her nose has him held in something of a trance.
When she finds it, she sits next to him. Actually, her thigh is touching his, and her Iron Man blanket draped over the two of them when she starts a film.
He tries to focus on the movie. It does not work.
In his defense, she’s very distracting, Her hair is up in the most adorable bun he’s ever seen, and she’s distracting, okay? Every moment he’s around her feels like she’s a magnet pulling him in, a force keeping her in his orbit.
Then, he notices it.
She’s wearing his sweatshirt.
And it’s like he can’t breathe, and it’s so fucking stupid, but- he left it here months ago. Didn’t even mean to, just brought it as a change of clothes so he’d be more comfortable than he usually is in his suit.
But she’d washed it, kept it, and worn it, and his brain is so fucking cruel to him. If he was her boyfriend, he’d give her all of his sweaters, tease her about it but still get to marvel that the woman he adored- she would be his.
“You okay?” he hears her say, her voice cracking through the haze of desperation he’s trapped himself into.
“I,” he can’t think of what to say. His throat feels dry, feels like it’s frozen. Everything he wants to say could break what the little haven he’s got now. And where would he be then, without her? Still, loving her feels inevitable, and he can’t not say what he wants. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”
She preens. She preens.
If she were his, she’d have million reason to swoon. He’d be the best boyfriend he could ever be, if it meant seeing that look on her face.
It’s a glimpse into another life. A life where she’d be his to hold, his to touch, where she’d seek out his clothes when his own presence could not be found, and god, Peter would give anything to have her want him even half as much as he craves her.
“Yeah, is that okay? I can give it back.” Her voice is shaky and uncertain.
Don’t give it back. Keep it. Keep me.
“You look beautiful in it,” he murmurs, and fuck, he usually manages a joking tone when he says the things he means. But somehow, she’s gotten close to him, so close that she’s looking up at him with those eyes he keeps falling for, so close that her lovely fingers actually are on top of his now.
Her magnetic pull is not always one he can resist.
“Thank you,” she replies, voice so low that its’ almost a whisper, almost reverent. She’s unsure of herself. She pulls back a fraction of an inch, and he follows to meet the gap, because now he can smell the hot chocolate on her breath, close enough to her lips that leaving feels like a crime to his own self-preservation.
“We can change the movie-“
“Kiss me,” he whispers, more of a thought turned to sound than an intentional action, but he wants it, wants it like her orbit is pulling him, like the universe at large is begging for it to happen.
Drunk on how close she is, he cups the side of her face with one hand. He’s so fucking glad he remembered to wear his normal clothes under his suit to hang out because feeling her face in his hand without the gloves is pretty close to what salvation feels like.
“Please,” he says, “Kiss me.”
It happens slow, slower than he ever would have thought, but then again, he never thought this would happen in the first place. She pulls in and his breathing gets heavier, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet more than he could’ve expected.
She tastes like cherry chapstick and her a taste he can’t seem to get enough of.
When she pulls away, she doesn’t get far- one of his hands is still on the side of her face, the other on her waist. God, did he never expect this.
He certainly couldn’t have predicted what she’d say, with her forehead pressed to his, the two of them slowly pursuing air again.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
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spidervee · 9 months ago
Overheard (TASM!PeterParker x Reader)
Summary: A moan—soft and quiet and muffled by closed glass, but very clearly coming from the other side of the velvety curtains that were blocking his view into your room. Shit. Peter gulped. Did you have a guy over? He hadn't known you'd been seeing anyone, and the thought of his best friend rolling around in the sheets with a guy he hadn't even met somehow set a flame of something ablaze in the pit of his stomach.
Words: 1.7k
A/N: lots of cursing, non-graphic but includes unseen masturbation, sexual innuendo, flirty best friends, making out & implied sex; college-aged characters
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Peter's feet landed firmly on the rickety metal of your fire escape; perhaps a bit too firmly, the rusted metal creaking dangerously beneath him. He frowned—your apartment was old and rundown, but, as you mentioned each time he expressed his concerns, it was rent-controlled and much better than your childhood home in "Bumfuck Nowhere" as you so affectionally called your hometown.
He'd texted you just minutes earlier before leaving his place—it was several blocks away, but the trip was quick when superhuman agility and web-shooters were involved, so he slipped his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and checked to see if you'd replied—you hadn't.
Your curtains were drawn, which was odd. Peter knew you loved the way the sunlight filtered between the buildings and seeped into your bedroom, creating a small patch of warmth right where you'd placed that ratty old wingback chair you'd made him carry home from the Salvation Army for you. Plus, your window faced nothing but a crumbling brick wall and you claimed to love the aesthetic of urban decay.
Even if you hadn't seen his text, you'd presumably heard him landing outside your window, but the curtains remained opaque.
Peter was about halfway through processing the thought of possibly using the regular entrance to your apartment—he had a key, after all, though he'd never needed one—when he heard a sound that made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks turn deep crimson.
A moan—soft and quiet and muffled by closed glass, but very clearly coming from the other side of the velvety curtains that were blocking his view into your room.
Shit. Peter gulped. Did you have a guy over? He hadn't known you'd been seeing anyone, and the thought of his best friend rolling around in the sheets with a guy he hadn't even met somehow set a flame of something ablaze in the pit of his stomach.
Another moan, this one a little more desperate. Peter felt gross all of a sudden, but found himself frozen to the spot, overthinking the situation, as he chronically did when it came to you. It was something that couldn't be helped—he might have had super strength, but you were enough to make his knees go weak.
Still, this was invasive. It was weird. He would throw twenty-one questions at you later, when you weren't...doing whatever and whoever it was you were doing at that moment. Swallowing that odd little feeling the was clawing up his throat, Peter turned to go, but ice flooded through his veins at the next noise he heard.
His name. Your voice. There was no doubt about it. What the fuck?
Peter allowed himself to listen, really listen, and his ears pricked at the sounds no other person would be able to hear from his current spot. The shuffle of skin writhing on soft sheets, the irregularity of quickened breath, a heartbeat like a hammer.
A heartbeat—just one. Besides his own, of course, which was currently going wild pulsing in his ears. You were alone in there. Alone with your thoughts and your fingers and his name on your lips.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Now he really had to go. The jealousy—for that was what it was—that had reared its ugly head only moments earlier had quickly shifted to something like excitement, a deep thrill, chased by a pang of shame that he had accidentally intruded on your most intimate of moments. You would absolutely murder him if you found out he'd been—
F-fuck. P—peter. It was a whimper this time, a barely there gasp.
His jeans suddenly felt tighter. Okay. He could do this. He'd slip away from the fire escape, walk around the block once, and then use the front entrance for the first time ever. That wasn't suspicious at all. He'd just stroll up the six flights of stairs to your floor, knock casually at your door, you'd pull yourself together and...well, no harm, no foul.
Peter nodded to himself and zoomed away as quietly as he could manage.
Meanwhile, coming down from a blissful high in your rumpled sheets, you reached toward your bedside table for your phone, eyes growing wide when you saw an unread message from Peter.
Just finished studying for Bio. Be there in 5.
It had been received 12 minutes ago and you knew when Peter said 5 minutes, he meant 3. Barring some psycho trying to burn New York to the ground, he'd arrived on your fire escape anywhere from 7 to 9 minutes ago when you'd been—
A knock at the door interrupted your train of thought and you blanched, all colour draining from your face as you rushed to throw on a pair of yoga shorts and an old t-shirt—for fucks sake, why were the only t-shirts in arm's reach ones you'd borrowed from Peter?
You knew it was him before you opened the door—no one else came to visit you. And if he was using the front door it meant he'd been detoured from using the fire escape window and that meant—jesus christ, it meant he'd heard you getting off to the thought of him.
"Hi," you breathed, trying to play it cool as you swung the door open to reveal Peter's face. He looked guilty as sin. He hadn't even been able to keep his secret identity from you, much less something as ridiculous as overhearing you masturbating.
"Hi," Peter replied, entering as you made space for him in the doorway. He avoided your gaze and your own eyes slid over his body, noting the way he faced away from you, hands hovering awkwardly near his crotch.
"Since when do you use the front door?" you asked lightly, closing and relatching the entrance in question. Peter shrugged, settling himself on your sofa—another piece courtesy of the thrift store. Initially, he'd hated the thing, but you'd restuffed the cushions to get the lumps out and now it smelled like you—vanilla and shortbread and old books and familiarity. It had even been christened with a tomato sauce stain from when he'd brought over Aunt May's lasagna that had never fully come out, even after two years.
"How was studying?" you asked, puttering uselessly around the kitchen and ignoring the heat on your cheeks, the odd fluttering in your stomach.
"Not bad," Peter answered, "I'll ace the test." You made a noise of acknowledgement in your throat. Of course he would—he was the smartest person you knew. "What have you been up to?"
Posing the question, it was the first time Peter met your eye since arriving, twisting himself to look over at you. There was mischief in his eyes, a daring look that said I know perfectly well what you were up to and I bet you won't tell me.
You decided to give him a run for his money. "I was thinking about that time we went to the beach last summer," you said coyly, a smirk tugging up at the corners of your lips, "Remember when we got so wasted we thought skinny dipping was a good idea?"
Peter half-laughed, half-gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently in his throat. "I remember," he said, "I was scratching sand out of god forsaken places for days."
"Pete," you chuckled, "There's not a single god forsaken place on your body."
That turned him red—good. There was a beat of silence and before you could blink, he had you pressed between his body and the cold laminate countertop. Damn superhero abilities.
"I could say the same for you, Y/N." His lips were hovering just over yours and from the way his hips rested against you, you could feel a bulge pressing into your abdomen. Part of you wondered if you'd fallen into a post-orgasm dreamworld, but Peter's familiar scent grounded you, reminded you that this was all very real.
"You heard, didn't you?" you whispered, not breaking eye contact. Peter licked his lips, nodded once.
"I did," he confirmed, faltering for a moment, blinking as shame pained his beautiful features, "I'm sorry—I didn't—"
"Don't apologize," you said, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and pulling him closer—if that were possible. "It's okay. It's...good." There, you'd put it out into the world. Your move, Parker.
"Yeah?" Peter's pupils had dilated and he'd leaned forward to press his forehead to your own. You swallowed thickly. He was as into this game as you were.
"Yeah," you repeated, "Because now I can do this." You kissed him, pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes to meet his lips. It wasn't the first time you'd kissed your best friend—not by a long shot—but it was the first time you'd kissed him like this, like your entire existence depended on it. He responded in kind, thumb coming up to caress your cheek as he deepened the kiss. He pressed himself further into you, using one had to lift you up onto the countertop. That in itself as enough to make you groan—he was so strong.
Peter settled himself between your thighs, kissing you with abandon, allowing his tongue to swirl against your own, pausing only to nip at your bottom lip, kiss along your jaw, bite gently on your ear lobe. For their part, your own hands skidded along his muscular arms, coming to rest on his shoulders and then at the nape of his neck, tugging at his mussed hair and eliciting a noise of approval from him. You found that you liked it very much and wondered what other noises you could get him to make.
Peter broke his lips away from you for a moment, the sheer willpower of such a pause making him light-headed. "You sounded so pretty," he said, "With my name on your lips."
Your mouth made a little "o" as you blushed deeply, the comment somehow innocent and lewd all at once. "Well," you replied, gathering yourself, "I hope you'll do me the kindness of letting me hear the same from you." The thought of your name falling from his lips in ecstasy had you shifting in your seat for some friction.
Peter smiled wickedly, "Oh, Y/N, I'll do you any kindness you want."
9K notes · View notes
noobsquasher · a month ago
Love your writing omg, can you pls pls write one where y/n has never had an orgasm before and is really innocent so her best friend Peter (who’s kinda dominant) helps her by going down and fingering her??
Is This What Heaven Feels Like?
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Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: unprotected sex, praising, degrading, fingering, oral sex (reading receiving), swearing, etc
Summary: Your best friend, Peter is shocked to hear that you've never had an orgasm before. So in return, he offers to give you your first.
Notes: Peter Parker x Female Reader
All characters in this story are 18+
I know. 6 months since I've uploaded something, but here's another toe-curling smut for you <3 also thanks for all love I've been receiving even though I've been gone. Enjoy.
“Which one is this for?” You asked, holding the foreign Lego piece, not knowing where to place it. 
“Oh! That’s the last piece I was looking for. Put that on the top, right here.” He pointed to the arch of the plastic building, indicating where to put it. 
You leaned over, carefully moving forward to gently connect the Lego pieces. 
“There! Voila!” You cheered, impressed that you finished about a quarter of your Hogwarts Lego project with Peter. 
“Great, Y/N! Now we have about… 1,500 more pieces to go!” 
You took a deep breath, already tired of how long you guys have been building this. You took a look outside, the sky was painted with deep rose and tangerine, slight hints of indigo parading the ends of the horizon. 
“Pete, let’s take a break. I’m hungry.” You stood up, making your way towards his kitchen. 
“Uh, sure. What do you wanna eat? I have…” he followed you before opening his fridge, checking to see what he had in store, “Well, I um… I don’t really have much. May hasn’t gone shopping yet.” 
“What about pizza?” You proposed. 
“I have pizza dough. You wanna make it ourselves?” 
“Make pizza with you? The last time you were in charge of cooking, the fire department showed up not even an hour later.” 
“Hey! That was one time like forever ago!” 
“That happened last week, Peter.” 
He narrowed his eyes at you, huffing. You giggled. 
“Look, it’ll be fun! Us two, cooking, creating something homemade. Come on.” Those big brown eyes of his practically begged you with just the bat of an eyelash. 
You gazed at him, a smile creeping up your face. 
“Fine. But I’m in charge of oven duty, not you.”
Afterward, you two started your cooking adventure. Having Peter even be in the kitchen was already a fire hazard, so you took on most of the work, letting him do the easy parts. 
You watched intently as he rolled out the pizza dough, a pretty smile on his face as he enjoyed the activity. 
You couldn’t help but get lost in the minuscule act, something so small doing so much to your heart. You felt pure infatuation run through your veins, your eyes practically twinkling as you watched the person you loved most. 
You knew crushing on your best friend would have you end up in a ditch, a hole deep and wide enough to keep you from crawling out, a dark abyss that held all your pent-up feelings. Emotions that pricked you each time you saw Peter’s heart-wrenching smile. 
You didn’t know if he liked you back, you wondered if it was even a possibility, hoped there was a small part of him that felt the same way you did. 
You’ve known him forever, he’s been your sidekick since you could remember. Even when you found out that he was Spiderman, you still stuck with him through thick and thin, never leaving his side. 
You never thought your relationship would turn up the way it has, but now you are stuck. Adhered to this impending adoration you hold for Peter fucking Parker. 
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize when Peter tried to catch your attention.
“Earth to Y/N? You alright?” He looked concerned, slight fear on his face. 
“Why do you have that look on your face?” 
“Huh? What look?” 
He gazed at you, studying your features, eyes marked to your chest, 
“Nothing. Um, I’m done with the dough. I already put the sauce on it.” 
You took a deep breath, reaching over the kitchen island to grab the sliced cheese. 
“Here, put the mozzarella on it.” 
When the pizza was prepared, you took the pan and placed it inside the oven, setting it. 
“Okay, we just gotta wait a little while, and then it’s done.” You announced. 
“Alright. So… what do you wanna do?” Peter leaned against the counter, looking down at you. His stance sent strange chills down your spine, you gulped, trying to get your conscience together. 
“I- I dunno. What do you wanna do?” 
“Wanna watch a movie?” 
“If you say Star-“ 
“Star Wars. There are new episodes of the man-“ 
“No, Peter. I’m not watching that shit again.” 
“Why not?! You made me sit through five Twilight movies!” 
“Don’t act like you're not on team Edward!” 
“I’m team, Alice!” 
You gazed at him, a grin staining your lips before you rolled your eyes, letting out a laugh. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself, the two of you cackling together. 
“Okay, alright, we don’t need to watch Star Wars again. For your sake.” He put his hand on your arm, squeezing it. 
You gazed up at him, your cheeks suddenly heating up. 
“Uh… let’s just talk, until the pizza is done.” 
He nodded his head, walking back to the living room to grab a seat on the couch. 
You sat next to him, keeping a safe enough distance from him, for your sake, and your panties, of course. 
“So, Y/N. Tell me something about yourself.” 
You grinned, 
“You know everything about me, Pete. You’ve known me forever.” 
“Yeah, but people still hold secrets. Tell me one of yours.” 
You kept your eyes on him, crossing your arms. 
I’m in love with you. 
“You first, Parker.” 
“Hm… well, this secret is one of my worst. Truly horrific.” You tilted your head at him, “I’m… I’m a Leo man.” He confessed, putting his head into his hands as if he was terrified at what he just shared. 
You gasped in mock offense, 
“Leo?! Oh god, no!” You wailed, covering your eyes. 
He laughed, shaking his head, 
“I know… I know, It’s my biggest character flaw.” 
You giggled,
“My biggest character flaw is not being able to have an orgasm.” You admitted, sharing a personal confession with Peter. 
His brows knit together, his gaze shifting. 
“What do you mean?” 
“Well… I’ve only had sex once, and the guy didn’t make me finish. And I’ve you know… experimented with myself before, but I’ve never really had that big O every woman talks about. I’m kinda… embarrassed. I feel like there’s something wrong with me, you know? Guys can get off so easily, but then when it comes to women who are inexperienced and who don’t know much about their bodies, it’s a whole other situation.” 
Peter listened intently, showing care in what you had to say. 
“So, you’ve never had a real orgasm?” He gently asked. 
“Not really. I mean, not the kind of penetration.” 
He kept his eyes on you, analyzing your body language. 
You felt the invisible tension between you two wrap around your neck, practically suffocating you with your vulnerability. You felt your heart race, wanting to change the subject. 
“Anyway, uh… I um, I think the pizza is ready.” You hastily stood up, making your way towards the kitchen. 
“It's not ready yet, but it smells good.” You say, inhaling the mouth-watering scent that’s filled the room. 
You felt Peter creep behind you, placing a careful hand on your waist. You didn’t jump at his touch, instead, you melted, leaning towards him. 
“Y/N… you haven’t had an orgasm yet?” His tone held genuine concern as if he really cared about your situation. 
“It’s- it’s nothing, Peter. You shouldn’t-“ 
“Can I… can I show you how it feels?” 
You were nearly thrown back, almost dumbfounded at his words. 
“I’m a firm believer that every woman should be able to have a good orgasm every once in a while. You are such a hard worker, Y/N. You put in so much care and effort into your everyday life and into the people you love and… and I just can’t see how you haven’t blown up with all that stress you must have.” You were completely starstruck by Peter at the moment, you thought your feet had molded into the floor, “Let me… let me take care of you. Show you how good it feels to finally let go, and have that earth-shattering orgasm you’ve been waiting for.” 
You stood staring at him, unable to open your mouth. Had he just said what you thought he did? Propose an offer that would completely change your life. 
“Peter, you- you don’t need to do that for me. I know you care about me and all, but it’s not your responsibility.” 
“I know, but this feels like it is. I want you to have this experience, to step into a new path in your life.” 
You gazed into his honeyed orbs, contemplating the idea. 
This would be a whole new venture for you, a life-altering experience that you’ve been dying for. Denying the offer seemed like a foolish choice. 
“…It’s okay if you don’t-“ 
“I want to. I want to experience it.” 
He blinked, 
“Are you sure? Like one hundred percent positive?” 
“You're right, Peter. I need to experience this, I need to let go for once.” 
His eyes never left yours as a smile stained his lips. 
“So, we’re doing this? We’re really doing it?” He questioned, leaning closer to you. His chestnut orbs sparkled with underlying excitement, as did yours. 
“We’re really doing it.” 
As soon as Peter peeled off your sticky panties, your mind started to ramble. 
Has Peter done this before? If so, how come he hasn’t told me? Does he like me too? He wouldn’t do this just as a friendly gesture, would he? How does this affect our relationship from now on? Is he—
“Hey… hey, you're alright. I’m here, Angel.” The nickname slipped out his lips so smoothly, so perfectly, it nearly stopped your heart. 
He was so gentle with you, rubbing your thighs carefully, whispering soft affirmations to soothe you, treating you like something so fragile, a thin layer of glass. 
“Are you sure you wanna keep going?” You felt your heart thump throughout your body as you looked down at him, his face inches away from your velvety folds. 
“I mean- my pussy is already in your face so…” he chuckled, his warm laugh calming you. 
“Alright… if I’m hurting you or anything, please speak up. Don’t be afraid to talk to me.” 
“I will don’t worry.” 
He took one more look at you before his thumb trailed to your throbbing clit, drawing slight circles around it. The instant shock had your head thrown back, soft moans escaping your lips. 
“Shit… you're already soaked. Did I do this to you?” He continued his movements, playing with you like a guitar, pulling each string with pure delicacy, with one prominent goal in mind. You whimpered, breath heavy. 
“Tell me, Angel. Who did this to you?” 
Suddenly, his finger sunk inside you, almost too easy. You let out a roar, chest rising and falling as your gaze narrowed to the curly-haired boy between your legs. 
“You! You did, Peter! All you!” The pleasure was overwhelming, you felt your entire body heat up, your mind spinning. 
His fingers curled inside you, hitting that sweet spot of yours. You gasped, gripping onto his bed sheets as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 
“Good girl… such a sweet girl. You like that?” He praises, fingers digging deeper. You can’t help but continue to moan, eyes closed as you take in how fucking amazing this feels. Suddenly, you feel Peter’s hand slap your throbbing clit. You yelp, looking back at him. 
“Eyes down here, baby. Look at me while I make you come.” His sugared demands came as a surprise to you. 
Never have you seen Peter in this light before. It makes you feel a type of way, an instant feeling of desire. All you wanted was him. All of him. Every single inch of his cock just buried inside you. 
“Peter! Oh- oh fucking god!” You felt something burn within you, complete ecstasy running through your veins as Peter’s thick fingers continued to destroy you. 
“Talk to me, princess. Tell me what you want.” Your eyes practically burned into one another, Peter’s chestnut orbs were filled with lust. You wished he could always look at you like this. 
“I want- shit, I want to come. Please, please let me come. I’m begging you!” He smiles, diving into you as his hot tongue starts to draw circles around your little bundle of nerves. Harsh moans escape your lips, your legs starting to shake. 
It was as if his lips were a work of magic, moving them in such an inconceivable rhythm that you thought your mind was going to explode. With how he was devouring your soaked pussy and playing with that honeyed spot within you, it felt like you finally reached nirvana. 
Is this what heaven feels like? 
“Such a sweet pussy,” he groans, fingers hooked inside you, 
“God, you taste so fucking good. I could eat this pussy all night. Shit. Why didn’t you let me fuck you sooner?” He dives back into his succulent meal. 
You couldn’t answer him as crying out your moans was the only thing you could do. You started to wonder if this was really happening. Was Peter about to give you your first orgasm? 
You even realize that he’s been humping the mattress this whole time, fucking out his throbbing boner. 
“God! Peter! I’m gonna- I’m gonna come!” Your chest thumps rigorously, all your nerves start to light a fuse inside you. You start to feel lightheaded, bliss starting to kick in as Peter continues to play with your body like his own goddamn toy. “I’m- I’m gonna-“ 
Suddenly, he stops. You quickly look at him, all your limbs trembling as you whine. 
“Why- why did you-“ 
“All this time I’ve been waiting, just fucking dreaming about this Y/N. 
Now that I’ve got you, I’ll never let you go. I want- no, I need to feel you wrapped around my cock. I gotta make a mess inside you if you’ll let me. I’ll promise to make you cum on my cock for all eternity if you do.” 
You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. You needed at least three to five business days to process what he just said. 
“Please, Y/N. I’m begging you.” 
You laid still, those glossy orbs of yours stuck to the man before you. 
“If you don’t want that it’s alright, I’ll just—“ his ramblings were cut short as your lips connected to his, kissing him with such passion that tiny whimpers escaped Peter. You gripped onto his curls, pulling him into you. 
“Shut up and fuck the living shit outta me.” 
To say that Peter’s cock was big was an understatement. You’ve never seen something so beautiful. It was thick, long, veiny, and absolutely angelic. 
“Holy shit.” You blurt, eyes locked onto his leaking tip. 
“What? Is it too big? Or too—“
“No- Peter. Your dick is so… wow.” 
“Really? Do you think so? I always thought it was—“ You shut him up again with your puffy lips, you couldn’t wait any longer to have him deep inside you. 
“I don’t want you to go easy on me. Just fuck me like there’s no tomorrow, baby. I need you.” You plead before ripping off your top, your breasts falling in front of him. His chocolate orbs immediately stared at them. 
“Can I suck on them?” He asks softly, his hand grasping onto your pebbled nipple. You nod your head, biting your lip in anticipation. 
He lays you back down onto his sheets, his pink lips immediately attaching to your chest. You whine with pleasure, his hand reaching down to your abused clit to play with it again. 
His candied kisses mark your body with much love as if he’s branding you.
Never have you felt this euphoric.
You feel his cock brush over your cunt, as if he was asking permission to completely indulge inside you. 
“You have my word, Petey. Please let me feel you.” 
His pupils widen before he catches a kiss on your lips. As your tongues dance together, his large length slips inside you, stretching you out with blazing felicity. You both moan in desire, wanting more. 
His thrusts increase as he brings your knees up to his chest, completely fucking you insane like how you begged him to. 
The bed bangs against the wall as he pounds his cock within you, your cries filling the room. 
“Oh! Just like that! Fuck, Peter!” 
“You feel so fucking good. My god… such a tight pussy. Jesus Christ— I could cum already.” He groans, kissing you. You whine against his lips, arms wrapping around his back to pull him deeper. 
“You fucking slut. You love my cock, don’t you? Can’t get enough?” 
“Never! Oh, my fucking—“ you didn’t think he could sink any further, but when his cock hit your cervix, you completely lost your mind. 
You could feel him throb within you, your walls gripping onto him for dear life, never wanting to let him go. 
Harsh claps ran around his bedroom, you were definitely gonna feel the aches in the morning. 
Peter was right, why didn’t you let him fuck you sooner? His cock was addictive, this was a feeling you could never get over. 
You started to go numb as he pounded you senseless, utter babbles were all you could make out. 
“Already cock-drunk, baby? That dumb brain of yours can’t handle my pretty cock? Huh?” He teased. 
You honestly didn’t even know what he said. All you could feel was that huge cock inside you just absolutely tearing you up from the inside, and out. 
You felt that burning feeling again, soon realizing that you were gonna make a mess on him. 
“Gonna let me feel you? Come on, Angel. Let me feel you.” 
Suddenly, it happened. 
Your back brutally arched as all your muscles tightened, your intense orgasm raging throughout your body. You screamed Peter’s name like a damn prayer, trembling harshly as your cunt gripped Peter’s cock with all its glory. It was unlike anything else you’ve ever endured. Staining his thick length with your saccharine cum is what enlightenment must feel like. 
Peter soon cried with triumph as he finished inside you, painting your walls with his delicate seed. 
As the high died down, you couldn’t help but feel fulfilled. A smile pricked your lips as you started to laugh, euphoria clouding your head. Peter looked over as you were giggling like a maniac. He too busted out chuckling as it was contagious. 
“Why- why are you laughing?” 
“Because… because that was the best sex I’ve ever had! I feel so… so fucking happy.” You confessed, a huge grin attached to your lips. 
Peter blushes, softly laughing before catching a much-needed kiss on your lips. His kiss was filled with tenderness, sweet love fusing between you. 
Suddenly, a burning smell pricks your nose. 
“Peter,” you try to break the kiss but he doesn’t stop, wanting to caress you forever, “…Peter— what’s that smell?” 
“Huh? What… oh shit. The pizza!” He jumps out of bed, running butt-naked towards his kitchen. 
You sigh as you shake your head.
“Call the fucking fire department again!” 
Copyright © of noobsquasher 2022
2K notes · View notes
genesisrose74 · 9 months ago
No Words Needed
TASM!Peter Parker x Reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Summary: Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.
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Peter Parker is incredibly touch starved.
Living without that typical parental warmth surrounding you can do that, he figures, especially after losing the uncle who so kindly took him in along the way. Of course, that’s not to downplay the generous sacrifices of his Aunt May, who he undeniably adores beyond words.
Yet, as much as Peter’s grateful for what he still has left in his life, he wishes affection could be a more constant presence.
In all honesty, he’s learned to want that sort of thing through his work as Spider-Man—most commonly because of the longing he feels when he can save someone and return them to their loved ones. He gets the opportunity to connect a family together again, to see friends embrace and cry and reach out for one another, to watch on as couples kiss each other’s cheeks and foreheads feverishly, as if they’ve just realized the fragility of existence in that very moment. He’s fortunate enough to have people he’s saved extend an arm to him in thanks, people who’ve hugged him just for the sake of needing it. He’s torn to bits in the circumstances where he can’t save everybody. But he takes the risk of personal heartache with a grain of salt, and he pushes on to prevent their frequency.
Peter Parker is touch starved, but he earns enough compensation for it by rescuing others from the same fate.
He figures that it’ll be another ten, fifteen years of waiting to get that sort of thing for himself—hell, maybe he’ll never get it. Some days, he thinks that he’ll eternally have nobody’s arms to wrap around him but his own.
But then there’s you.
You discovered that he was Spider-Man by complete accident. Peter has an awfully reckless tendency to pull off his mask whenever he thinks he’s alone, even if he’s not in the safety of his own room. On a night when he needed a moment to think, following a very lengthy and tiring few hours of chasing police radio calls all over the city, he just so happened to find himself sitting atop the roof of your apartment complex (and by just so happened, he was being completely intentional in choosing your building, although not yet realizing the weight of his decision).
It was a comforting spot to him—almost as good of a view as the Empire State Building, whilst also providing with him a dose of nostalgia that made him think of all the times you’d brought him up there after school; it was a tradition he’d passed on in the few weeks prior, given that his hero duties started taking up a considerable amount of his time. He found himself missing it.
What he also missed was you walking out onto the roof, right up until you tentatively gasped out his name into the frigid evening air. Peter nearly fell off the side of the building in shock, but you were quick to pull him back to you, very easily pulling an honest explanation out of him when he began to see the concern in your eyes.
He didn’t expect a lot of things that happened that night, but the one that stunned him to his core was the way you hugged him after everything was thrown out in the open.
It was so warm. You were so warm. Sure, he’d known you long enough where basic touch was next to normal. A bumping of shoulders, the ruffling of hair, the unintentional brushing of hands. He saw you so often, after all. Even so, something as standard as a hug was causing a flood of emotions to rise up in him, nearly drowning him in the process, yet letting him breathe so effortlessly that his chest ached. He could feel the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat against his, could map out the grooves in your fingertips as they curled into the hair at his nape. He couldn’t help the onslaught of heat that bloomed on his face at the realization that you weren’t letting go anytime soon.
That night, you stayed up there with him for hours in the cold (although you made a few trips to your room and back with a handful of hot drinks and much warmer clothing at the ready, praying that Peter wouldn’t dart from your rooftop without warning), convincing him to open up sides of him that nobody had ever seen before. You offered him a wool blanket to drape over his suit and a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and it was like a light-switch got flipped in his head.
Peter realized that he had finally found it, not a day or a decade too late, and that he never wanted to live without it again.
He became much more affectionate from then on, keeping a gentle hand on the small of your back whilst navigating the school halls, brushing stray wisps of hair away from your face, and letting you fall asleep against his shoulder on the subway. No matter how many times he’d initiated contact before, it always sent your mind into a frenzy—especially when he would lean down and murmur, “is this okay?” beside your ear whenever his proximity bordered on near-romanticism.
Of course, you wouldn’t mind if it was romantic, but Peter didn’t need to know that.
You’ve discovered that it gets even more pronounced when he’s Spider-Man, because apparently a mask enhances a person’s confidence tenfold. Seeing videos of his cheeky commentary and caring acts of heroism paled in comparison to watching him work in person. You got the opportunity to learn that firsthand when—soon after his accidental reveal to you on the rooftop—some deadbeat decided to rob the convenience store on 14th by Midtown, and you were left to hide in the back corner, ducking beside a wall of energy drinks that you were damn near prepared to start throwing at the criminal if you had to crouch down any longer. Luckily, Peter caught wind of the situation before you could resort to such irrational aggressions, and he took care of it with practiced ease.
“You alright there?” he had inquired once he discovered your “hiding” spot, reaching out a hand as if you were the only person in the place—which you most definitely weren’t. “What’s a sweetheart like you doing caught up in a situation like this, huh?”
You could only stare back at him with an unimpressed look etched on your face—although the way he murmured sweetheart echoed in your head the whole time, like a church bell going off on a Sunday morning. “I just wanted to grab some snacks before my friend came over later.”
“Yeah?” he hums, amusement ringing clear, “Tell your friend that he owes you.”
He was the friend, of course. You had agreed to meet up after his daily patrol for a traditional session of studying and watching TV, but apparently the world had slightly modified intentions before that.
“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured him, sarcasm layered into your voice. “He’s already paid me back.”
Peter then insisted on carrying you out of the store (because there was some shattered glass on the floor, he reasoned—but it was more sincerely because he’s an asshole), and as a result, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had held you so effortlessly for the rest of the afternoon; an arm secured snuggly around your waist, the other supporting your legs up; it was as if you’d just said your vows on the way down the chip aisle.
God, his proximity was overwhelming. How in the world could one person’s touch be so intoxicating?
Unbeknownst to you, Peter was asking himself the exact same question. He was always this close to telling you how he felt, always acknowledging the urge to confess to you as the words sat on the tip of his tongue, but nothing had ever actually come out before. He remembered the night that his identity was revealed to you, and he longed for that sort of moment again—even if just to convey the sheer amount of affection he held for you.
But the back of his mind itched with doubt, and that doubt morphed its way into a sort of selfishness that made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of having you distance yourself from him if his feelings weren’t returned. After all, you were his best friend above everything else.
So he stuck to the warmth of you like a moth to a flame, getting just enough before the absolute blaze that was you could singe his wings. It was a game of give and take that fueled you more than he understood, and it only kept rising in stakes as the days trudged on.
Your hand on his face here, his hands on your waist there.
The smudging of whipped cream against a nose, the bringing of a fork to parted lips to steal a bite of pastry.
Breaths of a shared closeness mingling on a winter’s day, a quick peck on the cheek in parting—
“Hey,” he finally can’t stop himself from saying, sitting up straight on the cushioned stool that he’s pulled up to your family’s kitchen counter. He’s watching you intently as you scour for drinks in the fridge, your face illuminated by the fluorescent glow of the open door. Even hunched over and with your body partially engulfed by the stainless steel appliance, Peter finds himself thinking you haven’t looked more lovely a day in your life.
Maybe it’s because of the kiss he can still feel lingering on his skin—on the place just above the right hand side of his jaw, right where you’d left it before dashing off to third period that morning—but even without that, he’s almost positive you’d still look just as beautiful.
You eventually maneuver out from the door, triumphantly grasping two cans of soda in your hands with a grin before kicking your heel back to shut it. “Hey,” you mimic. “What’s up?”
You know what’s up, seeing as you almost banged your head on your desk in Physics earlier out of pure frustration. The awkward atmosphere was most definitely due to the impulse you hadn’t gained the strength to fight, and you’re sure enough that you’re about to pay for it with the way Peter shifts in his spot.
He offers a slanted grin when you slide a cola over to him, snagging it before it can topple over and get shaken up. “I was going to ask you that.”
“Were you now?”
You’re avoiding his gaze, putting all your focus into pulling the tab of your drink open with a satisfying hiss, downing a gulp of it before he can say another word. Something like hope (and a hint of bemusement) flutters in Peter’s chest.
“Do you really not want to talk about kissing me all that much? I’m hurt.”
“On the cheek, Pete. I kissed you on the cheek. But anyways, do you want to order delivery tonight?”
“You’re not answering my question.”
You finally glance up at him, shooting a pointed glare his way. “There’s not much to discuss. It was an accident, and I’m embarrassed about it. There. Now—delivery or something else?”
Peter frowns, the brightness in his pretty brown eyes dimming, and you find your heart seizing in your chest at his change in demeanor. He seems almost…disappointed. But as soon as you see it, he shakes it off just as quick.
“Why do you need to be embarrassed about something like that?” He mutters softly. “We’re best friends. I’ve seen you do more outrageous shit than something as simple as a kiss, you know.”
Simple. Your heart twinges at the term. “Doubtful.”
“How about that one time you bought a pound of gumdrops on Christmas Eve and threw up trying to finish the bag before midnight?”
“Okay, except for that.”
“I had to hold your hair up for ten minutes straight,” he persists. “I still don’t think I’ve ever seen such colorful—”
You’re smiling now. “Alright, alright, I get it! Hush, before I lose my appetite for the day, Parker.”
Peter just laughs, reaching a hand out across the kitchen countertop and placing it over your own. You let him.
“See? Nothing you could ever do would make me not want to be around you. So talk to me.”
He squeezes your fingers in reassurance, and against your better judgement, your heart palpitates. Damn him and his unrealized talent for flirting. You take a deep breath, mulling over whether to dodge his curiosity, to pin your butterflies to a corkscrew board and keep them there, or to let them fly out into the world without restraint.
“I don’t know, Peter,” you eventually sigh. “It just happened. To be honest, I didn’t really think about it before I did it.“
He’s rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles now. You’re hyper-aware of how sweaty your palms must be. “Why is that?”
“If you mean why I didn’t think about it, then…” Choose. Now or never. “I kind of just wanted to.”
Bye bye, butterflies.
A beat of silence. You don’t realize it, but Peter’s breathing has turned almost dangerously shallow.
Of course, how could you possibly realize such a little thing, at least with the way the corner of his lip is quirking into the faintest of smiles?
You can’t bring yourself to comment on it aloud, but seeing how you can feel his eyes watching your own—tracing the subtlety with which you’re just barely outrunning the interlocking of his gaze with yours, like a game of cat and mouse—you’re sure he knows well enough. Peter’s never needed many words to read your body language just fine, and you with his in turn.
He’s enjoying this.
It’s a wordless communication, but timid hope radiates off that stupid little grin of his in droves. One that he knows you can see.
“I should’ve asked you if it was okay,” you manage. “I’m sorry.”
Peter’s out of his seat now, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way in front of you. He makes up for the lack of his touch quickly, though, as a hand reaches up to tilt your chin—gently coaxing you to look him directly in the eyes for the first time since the conversation started. The sodas are growing lukewarm on the counter, all but forgotten.
“I already told you,” he says, breathy and low and so very pretty, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s okay.”
You nod, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. The irony of it almost makes you laugh aloud, but the rate at which Peter is closing distance is enough to captivate you into silence. You wonder if he can hear the sound of your thoughts from this far—a difference of inches; an unknown territory that teeters on the verge of something completely relationship-altering.
A proposition.
“And what about now?” He ventures. “Do you still want to? Because I really do.”
You could sense it coming—could recall the memory of lingering touches that lasted far longer than needed, could feel the electricity that shot through you every time—and yet, it still made your heart stutter with unbridled elation.
“Yes, Peter,” you affirm, grinning. “Please do.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, bridging the gap and pressing his mouth to yours like his life depends on it. It tastes like cola, sweet and syrupy and surreal, and you’re blown away by the gentleness with which Peter kisses you, letting the pads of his fingers trace the outline of your face with the delicacy of handling porcelain. The colors of monarch, morpho, and swallowtail wings erupt behind your eyelids like fireworks.
You have to convince yourself to take a breath of air, but Peter doesn’t stray from you for long, eliciting a fit of laughter from you when he plants a flurry of pecks to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.
“Peter!” You groan, halfheartedly pushing him by the shoulders.
“What?” He teases. “This is payback for this morning!”
You surge forward to press one last kiss to his lips, backing away from the kitchen with a bounce in your step. “Shut up and get your coat, you ass. We’re going out for dinner now.”
Peter easily catches up to you, a goofy smile stretching across his face. “Like a date?”
“Yes, like a date.”
You blink owlishly when you turn to find Peter offering his arm to you, but you happily loop your arm with his after the second of surprise passes.
“This is much better than ordering delivery.”
“I swear, Parker…”
Peter was touch starved. As in, he used to be. And if you had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t face that issue ever again.
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rubychocolatechips · a month ago
Tony: We call that a traumatic experience.
Tony, turning to Peter: Not a "bruh moment".
Tony, turning to Kate: Not "sadge".
Tony, turning to Y/n: And DEFINITELY not an "oof LMAO".
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