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[secretaccountlol]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.

[secretaccountlol]

peter with glasses is so fineeeee like I wanna ride the everliving shit out of him and suck him dry till he can’t function 😍- 🎀

did you just inspire me to write this???

yes, yes you did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

So, So Mean

✮ tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 0.9k

✮ warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, kissing, cum eating, unprotected p in v (be safe or else), oral (m receiving), edging, overstimulation, fluff, sub!peter, reader is kinda mean SORRY, peter is vocal:).

not my gif

The air surrounding you and Peter was uncomfortably thick, but you two didn’t care. As Peter is sprawled out on the bed, while you’re bouncing on his cock on top of him, the stuffiness of the room is the last thing on both of your minds. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been riding him, but your legs started feeling like jello as you kept your rhythm. Looking down at your boyfriend underneath you, he’s entranced by you. He can’t help but place his hands on your hips, firmly squeezing and pulling the flesh there. His eyes give him away. Peter’s gaze stuck on your tits as they moved along with the tempo of your movements. 

Behind his eyes is nothing but love for you. He’s utterly obsessed with you, and you know it. 

“Does this feel good baby,” you lean down to meet his lips in a deep kiss before pulling away, remaining just inches away from his face, “do I make you feel good?” 

Peter takes a moment before responding, trying to catch his breath and knocking out of his trance before opening his mouth, “Y–Yes, baby.” 

Your movements pause at his response, his cock half in you as you sit back up on your knees, a smug look on your face. Planting your hands on his bare chest, you lift yourself off of his cock, eliciting a deliciously pathetic whine to escape from Peter’s lips. 

You don’t say anything as you sit on your knees in between his legs. You could tell he was so close as you pulled off of him. A vein on the underside of his shaft was extremely prominent, and his tip a deep red. You almost felt bad for him, almost. 

Situating yourself, you press a delicate kiss to the slit of his head, a shiver running through his spine as you did. “Oh, Peter,” you place kisses down to the base of his cock before sticking your tongue out to retrace your path back up to his tip, “ I know you can do better than that.” You bring a hand to his cock, holding it right below his tip as you run your thumb along his slit, “So, I’ll ask again. Do I make you feel good, baby?”

Peter takes another deep breath as you continue to tease his slit, a bead of precum leaking out, “Yes, baby. You make me feel so–so good.”

This brings a smile onto your face, “There we go! That wasn’t so hard, was it Petey?” You don’t let him respond as you take his entire cock into your mouth. His thighs tense at the sudden stimulation. You take your time with him. You never want to rush this, especially when he looks this good under you. 

His eyes are closed, one hand holding the side of your face, and the other gripping the sheets. He’s not going to last much longer, but still, you don’t let up. You continue to work your tongue along the underside of him, while your hand pumps the rest of his length. 

Peter’s moans start to grow louder as he reaches his high. His voice echoes off the walls, sending a wave of heat to your core. You hollow out your cheeks, and this sends him over the edge. Peter’s stomach tenses as ropes of his cum spill into your mouth, his eyes screwed shut. Polling all of it on your tongue, you spit it back onto his cock. The sensation made him open his eyes, his glasses lopsided on his nose. “Bug, what are you doin–,” he’s cut off by you placing your mouth around him again. 

He’s so sensitive, his body trying to squirm out of your touch. You know that if Peter really was too overstimulated, he could easily push you off, but he doesn’t. He ultimately relaxes under you as you keep sucking his cock. You don’t stop until you pull another orgasm out of him, this time you swallow his cum. 

Releasing him with a pop, you crawl over his exhausted frame. He's removed his glasses, placing them somewhere on the bed. One hand draped over his eyes, as he pants, trying to catch his breath. As soon as your face meets his, you peel his arm away from his face. Opening his eyes, he met yours. “God, sweetheart…You have no idea what you do to me,” he grins.

Lowering your face, you plant a sloppy kiss on his lips, making sure he can taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth. You try to pull away, but he holds your face, keeping you within his grasp. 

Peter finally lets you go, only for him to pull you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around your bare back. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. “We should probably get up soon. We need to get to Harry’s housewarming, and we definitely need to shower,” you lift your head to find Peter half asleep. 

You try to pry yourself away from his tight grasp, but he doesn’t let you move an inch. “Can we just–stay here for a minute? I’m tired,” he mumbles. You roll your eyes playfully as you give in, melting back into his chest. 

You swore it was just a few minutes, but after waking yourself up, you realize that maybe you could miss Harry’s party.  And as you look over to the clock on your bedside table, you would buy him something as an apology for missing it entirely.

[secretaccountlol]

smut requests, you say😏

well, how about fem reader with tasm!peter where he's feeling insecure about himself (we rarely get to see our boys insecure) and reader wants to make him feel good about himself and see how amazing he is in a more... physical way

sorry, i don't send in a lot of smut requests, though I love to read them!

-🔮

aww i love this! Thanks so much hunny! fem!reader x tasm!Peter Parker

cw: smut and suggestive material. mentions of insecurity, scars

673 words

You felt Peter tense under your fingertips as you trailed your hand up his torso. It wasn’t a pleasured shiver, but rather a pained wince, he had exhaled sharply and pulled away. You stopped kissing him, sitting back on his lap and inspecting him. 

“Did I do something?” You asked him, eyes wide and searching. Glossy at the thought of hurting him. 

“No, baby. You’re okay, just didn’t expect it. He stroked the back of your head, pulling you close to capture you in a long kiss. You let out a little gasp of surprise that he swallowed readily and braced your hands on his bare thigh, letting your fingers slip under the hem of his boxers. He tensed and shrunk again, pulling your hand up to wrap it around his arm. You stilled, pulling away again and curling your hands into yourself. 

“I did it again, you made that same sound.” 

“You didn’t do anything, I just-” He looked like he didn’t want to admit it. But it seemed like his want to reassure you and his flusteredness won out. “I just don’t like people touching me there.” He reached up to stroke your hair cajolingly again. 

“Why?” You asked, searching and sorrowful.

“I just don’t like people looking or feeling there. I got minced up pretty bad in some fights. Left some parts of me lookin’ kinda weird.” He explained, wincing. 

“It’s not weird, nothing on you is.” You looked so dejected it broke Peter’s heart. “You’re so pretty, Pete.” You muttered. 

“Baby,” He scoffed out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really. You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” 

“But I want to.” You said quickly, leaving no room for argument. “Can I see, please?” It was clear he was somewhat hesitant, but he unfurled himself enough for you to inspect his body. His lack of clothes from your planned activity made it easy to see the roughened and scarred skin covering his body in certain areas. It was varying colors and shapes, but they were all pretty in their own way. Knit skin reflected and shone, flashing and pulling. It was mesmerizing. 

“Pretty gnarly, I know.” He joked. 

“I like them,” You shuffled down his lap, leaning into his inner thigh to kiss the scars there. He inhaled sharply, shivering from the contact. You kept going, gently moving your lips over the healed skin, knowing it was probably extra-sensitive. “They’re pretty.” You looked up at him, all doe-eyed. He could feel himself stiffening, the love and contact and kissing all too much for his body as you gently trailed your fingers over the tent in his boxers, making him shudder. 

“Fuck, babe.” He groaned. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.” He smoothed his palm over your hair and neck as you kissed up his torso, brushing your lips against the scars on his ribs, moving up his neck until you were facing him. 

“I love you, Peter. So, so much. I love every part of you.” You said earnestly. His eyes crinkled with fondness. Ne was no longer thinking about his scars or skin or whatever else. All he could focus on was how soft your touch was and how sweetly you were looking at him. It made his heart ache and his dick twitch. 

“Love you so much, sweet thing.” He said before grabbing your face and smashing your lips against his. You tried to kiss him sweetly, but he quickly roughened, hot tongue licking into your mouth greedily. A horrible sound was pulled from the back of your throat as he pulled you into his lap, your core dragging over his hard bulge. You pulled away and he whined, trying to grab at you. 

“Peter,” You pleaded. “Let me love on you, please.” He quickly caught your meaning as you slid off the bed onto your knees. He wasn’t about to deny, especially when you were looking at him like that. 

“Fuck, sweetness” He groaned as he tugged off his boxers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

[secretaccountlol]

hii!!! i really love your stuff :)

i was wondering if i could request a lil something about how peter (parker ofc) would react to reader being self conscious about looks n being "pretty enough" for him? totally cool if it's not up your alley, i just really like the way you write him! thanks <3

peter parker’s beautiful gf

a/n ilyyy, you’re so sweet, fr kicking my feet rn. I really hope you like it even through my obv incapability of reassuring people. I’ve thought about a more spicy outcome of this blurb so if you’re up to it just tell me and i’ll post it<3

“What are you doing?”

Shit.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror, half-naked in peter’s room. The only clothing you seemed to have on was your underwear and a too-big for you t-shirt with some math pun on it—probably peter’s— that reached to your mid-thigh.

“Um, nothing, i was just getting dressed.” You say softly, with a small smile gracing your face and yet that’s enough to convince peter that there’s something off.

Instead of trying to make you talk which would take hours of you going back and forth, he came up from behind you, his long fingers grabbing at your waist and gently massaging the flesh there, as he leaned his head on your shoulder. His back a little hunched from the height difference, but he seemed not to pay attention to it, giving all his attention to you.

“Do you think i’m pretty?”

Silence rung out in the room, as now you were both looking at your reflection in the mirror—more like your reflection. You were starting to get nervous, as peter kept on staring strictly at you from the mirror.

You had no make up and your hair was a mess, why wouldn’t you be nervous? You rarely let people see you without any of those things in check, so the little sleepovers you had with peter still caused anxious butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“You are so beautiful.” Peter murmured, into the skin just below your ear. He slowly started trailing kisses on your neck, every few seconds words like “my perfect girl” or “pretty girl” spewing from his lips.

Soon he had littered your whole neck and face with kisses, when he turned you around.

“You are the most beautiful girl, you know that?” Peter asked raising an eyebrow. You faces were a few inches away and his breath was fanning your face as your eyes started stinging.

“You’re even way out of my league, you have no idea how many times a day i wonder how am i so lucky? To have the most beautiful and breathtaking and funny and smart—and god, i can go on for hours, but having you in my arms, loving you is the best thing that can ever happen to me. Each time i see you, sweetheart, i can still feel the rapid beat of my heart or the way my breath hitches, just from the sight of you. Each morning that i wake up with you by my side, and you’re still asleep, i’m given the gift of just staring at you for hours till you wake up and smile with that cute smile of yours. Every day that i see you, my day is made. I could stare and stare and stare for hours and still wouldn’t be able to find ugliness on your face nor your body. Cause you’re all beautiful, baby—from the inside out.”

Stunned, once again the room was engulfed by silence, as tears were now freely falling down your face. Peter was sweet, all the time; complimenting you, touching you, comforting you.

But this was different; this was peter confessing, his love, his adorance.

Looking at your tear-stained face, peter took a hold of your cheek in one hand; wiping away the wetness, softly murmuring “you’re my aphrodite”.

not proofread!

[secretaccountlol]

smut idea if you wanted options idk i live to serve (my liege) but stress fuck with peter bc uni is killing him and he’s on the streets every night and happy won’t get off his ass so when you crawl into his bed in just a t shirt and underwear he quite literally goes insane

18+ mdni!!!!!!!!!!!

god peter is so fucking pathetic. he barely has time to himself. barely has time to fucking breathe. yet, when he's alone -- when he knows that he'll at least be alone for the night -- he occupies his time by palming his cock at the thought of you. he thinks of your plump, pink mouth, how it circles his cock. how it sucks heart-shaped bruises on his neck and his broad chest.

and there's a night that he's free -- he means it loosely because he has to wake up the next morning to immediately volunteer. then, his schedule is packed with exam moderation, which he also volunteered for. he's busy as hell, and you'd gotten so used to it that you decided to occupy yourself without him. when you don't text back within five hours, he feels crushed.

but you don't leave him waiting for long. it's his night off, after all. you're excited to have him around in general. the two of you indulge in a marathon of your favorite tv show (you're mostly rewatching because peter had been too absent to watch the season with you, though you don't tell him this) and cooking dinner together. fulfilling his domestic fantasy, ravishing you in sweet kisses.

but peter also craves you in a way he can't say out loud. well, he can -- he's a big boy, he can tell his girlfriend that he wants to fuck her. but it's been a while, and the way you make your sleepytime tea and do your skincare routine discourages him from trying anything.

but then he watches you crawl into your bed with just a t-shirt -- his t-shirt -- and panties. he joins you, spooning you, though he's weary of the growing length that's probably prodding the back of your legs right now.

"want something, peter?" you tease.

he groans in frustration. he doesn't have the energy to play this game with you -- dancing around what he really wants. so he grasps you tightly, hands exploring your hips as he hovers over you. you're pliable underneath him, so soft and sweet.

peter wishes he had all the time in the world just so he could eat you out for hours. but he's been denying himself of you for weeks. he hasn't been able to be next to you in such a close capacity for weeks, either.

so he fucks you easily. there's no resistance -- you were wet by the time his bare cock was even prodding in between your folds. he still feels bad that he wasn't able to prep you (he really fucking wanted to eat you out), but you're still wet enough for him. the way you want him is enough.

peter has to pace himself, knowing that he might finish too quickly or hurt you in the process with his super strength. he drinks in your moans with his mouth, caressing your face with his calloused hands.

his hands have known blood and deep gashes. punches that would send his opponent across a parking lot. but now, his hands are gentle, just for you. he uses them to explore the softness of your body. he uses them to worship.

"love you, baby," he rasps weakly.

"love you, too," you coo. "cum inside me, please. wanna feel it."

and he does. he always does -- loves to listen to you and give you what you want. peter will cherish this moment until the next time he gets to be inside of you, even if the mission tomorrow is quick to finish. even if the mission tomorrow occupies him for days.

he'll come back crawling home to you. always.

[secretaccountlol]

2021 is the year I finally get my shit together

[secretaccountlol]

[secretaccountlol]

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Naked part 2

! READ PART 1. Link down at the very end of this post <3 !

Summary: After Peter sees you naked, he cant stop thinking about it, it’s the only thing he can think about.

Warnings: Peter is a charming loser Mentions of reader being curvy (Srry I’m giving my curvy girls love), kinda smutty but not? Kissing, groping, alcohol consumption. Girl idk lol

•

Peter lays on his bed, his head wondering to the night before.

Your naked body remains imprinted in his head like a picture, he can remember every detail about.

Your curves, your breasts that he would’ve respectfully grabbed if you let him—if Lauren wasn’t there watching in horror, and your cute ass.

If you told him to get on his knees, kiss your ankles and go down on you, he would do it in an instant—if Lauren wasn’t there.

Peter came to the conclusion at that very moment that he wanted—needed you in his arms at all times.

He didn’t want to just have sex, he wanted to be your boyfriend and treat you like how you should be treated.

Anytime you crossed his mind, his face would heat up and he’d start smiling and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl—it was pissing him off.

You guys always made it clear that you enjoyed being friends and taunting each other for fun.

You both argue too much and are constantly at each other’s throats, something romantic could never happen…right?

You hadn’t spoken to him since you…flashed him with Lauren being there. You were too embarrassed to leave your room after that, refusing to leave your room until Lauren had left and broke contact with Peter.

Deciding to swallow down your worry and embarrassment, you hesitantly knocked on Peter’s door,

“Come in!” Opening the door, you slapped your hand on your closed eyes,

“You don’t have to cover your eyes, y/n. I told you to come in” Peter stated, pretending to be annoyed at your presence even though he was actually waiting for you to come talk to him since the incident,

“Sorry! Just thought we’ve both seen enough nudity these past couple of days” Peter let out a chuckle and nodded, sitting at the edge of his bed with his arms crossed and his legs man spreading, looking up at you,

“I came in here to um—talk?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Talk?” You nodded and whistled, looking around his room awkwardly,

“Yep!” He sat there, waiting for you to say something, his head cockily tilting to the side,

“Your probably wondering why I was laying naked on the floor in your bedroom last night” You said.

He nodded and pursed his lips, hiding a smile,

“You cock blocked me and scared away a poor, innocent girl” He said, laughing. Rolling your eyes, you slapped his chest,

“I know! I feel so bad. She’ll forever know me as the scary naked girl who was hiding in her sneaky link’s bedroom” He shook his head and laughed again,

“I was trying to make it even between us, y’know? I saw your naked body, and I’ll show you my naked body!” You explained. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed,

“Yeah, I get why you did that. Why’d you have to do it when Lauren was coming over, though?” He teased, smirking up at you. You scoffed and shoved him by the forehead,

“I didn’t know she was coming over! You could’ve given the group chat a heads up!” He nodded and stared at the ground,

“So, did you like…see my, y’know…kitty cooter?” You asked awkwardly, poking at his shoulder with a grin.

He cringed and groaned at the word you used,

“I did! I saw everything. Also—kitty cooter? Just call it a vagina at that point” It was your turn to cringe and groan,

“Ew! The word ‘vagina’ sounds absolutely terrible coming out of your mouth, Parker. Never use that word around me again” He scoffed and threw his hands up in defence,

“Geez! Sorry for calling it the scientifically correct name. Never use ‘kitty cooter’ around me again, alright?”

-

“Since when did you have friends that weren’t me?” Peter asked Ned, as he glanced around the loft that was filled with at least thirteen people,

“I can have friends that aren’t just you. Surprise!” Ned said, scoffing,

“You could’ve asked y/n, Mj and I that you were going to throw a fucking party, dude” He shrugged and grabbed a beer from the fridge, handing it to Peter,

“Didn’t know I had to ask for permission, Daddy” Peter scrunched up his face and took a swig of the beer,

“Whatever” He leaned against the fridge and continued sipping it, starting to wonder where you and Mj were,

“What the hell?!” There you were.

You and Mj had shopping bags in your hands, struggling to hold them all as you scanned the loft full of people in annoyance,

“Who let humans in our loft!” Mj yelled over the music, catching your shoulder with her free hand when you began to lose balance in your steps,

“Let me help” Peter jogged over to you both and grabbed some of the bags,

“Did you invite these people, here? I thought we were your only friends, Parker” You said. He rolled his eyes and slung your purse over his shoulder with sass,

“I didn’t know about this party, either. Ned invited them without telling us” Mj groaned and dropped the bags on the floor,

“I hate it here. I’m going to my room and not coming out until these people leave” She walked away down the hall to her bedroom. You began following along behind her,

“I’m doing the same” Peter trailed behind you like a lost puppy, now holding every single bag you brought home. Getting into your room, you shut the door and pointed to your bed,

“Put the bags there, Bug-boy” He tossed the bags,

“Gently!” You shoved him out the way and double checked that nothing in them broke,

“You’re welcome, Princess” Peter scoffed, sitting down in your fluffy pink chair, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head.

You turned around to face him and almost gasped as his happy trail was showing from where his shirt lifted up. Your attention then focused to how his big muscles flexed through his white shirt.

Jesus Christ.

“So…big” You mumbled as you stared at him. He raised an eyebrow,

“What was that?” Your eyes widened,

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything! Shut up the fuck up” He snorted and ran a hand through his hair,

“Where’d you and Mj go today?” He asked, now manspreading.

Can he stop sitting like a bitch, for fuck sake?

“Uh—we went to Sephora, Walmart, the food court and Victoria Secret. When we were at Victoria Secret this old lady called me a whore for looking at this lingerie set that looked like two tiny triangles and a string of floss” You rolled your eyes at the memory.

He laughed and stood up, walking over to you,

“Aw, that sucks. Old people, am I right?” He wrapped his arms around you, giving you a hug. You froze before nuzzling into his arms, sighing contently with your eyes closed, sniffing his armpit,

“Did you just sniff my armpit?” He asked. You could hear a smile in his voice,

“Pffttt—no, I’m not weird” He smirked and hugged tighter, his bicep now completely covering your face.

Is he doing this on purpose?

“You are pretty weird” You hummed to what he said, not recalling paying attention to anything but him.

“Never let go” The words left your mouth before you could really stop them,

“What?”

“What?”

-

“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” Everyone chanted as you and Peter were seeing who could chug down a beer faster. You managed to finish first which had everybody cheering and a couple of people ruffling your hair,

“Lick me, Parker!” You yelled, shoving his shoulder. Peter groaned and tossed the can away,

“I wish” He whispered to himself, but smiling as he watched you awkwardly dance in victory to the Pitbull song playing,

“Let’s play a game!” Ned yelled, drunkenly slinging an arm around your shoulder.

-

“We close our eyes and hold up a number on our fingers, and then on the count of three we open our eyes. Whoever is holding up the same number has to kiss!”

You and Ned sat next to each other while Peter sat across from you, next to a girl named Emily while she sat across from Ned.

Everyone was slowly starting to form little groups, playing different games together since it was still early in the night. You and Peter somehow got roped into playing this stupid game together,

“What are we, twelve?! This game is so stupid” You complained. Peter nodded along to what you were saying,

“Exactly! Also, Ned, I’m not kissing you if we hold up the same number” Ned scoffed,

“Why are you acting like we’ve never made out, before, Peter?” You looked at the both of them confused,

“Wait—

“We never kissed! Anyways, I’m only gonna play if y/n plays” He said, shrugging and staring you down nonchalantly. You squinted your eyes at him and looked over at Emily and asked,

“You playing?” She shrugged and then nodded,

“Okay, cool. I’m playing, then” Peter smiled and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from your’s,

“Damn. I guess I’m playing as well” Your breath hitched at his low tone,

“Yep! I’m playing, too” You repeated, mentally slapping yourself at your weird behaviour,

“Right. I’m gonna play, yep” He said back, now both of you becoming awkward once you guys realized how close your faces were,

“Ahem!” Emily cleared her throat in annoyance, breaking you guys out of your odd, repetitive conversation,

“Everybody shut your eyes, please!” You all did so before Ned began to count,

“Alright, open your eyes” Emily and Ned both had two fingers held up,

“Sweet!” He whispered under his breath before leaning in to kiss Emily.

Peter couldn’t hide his discouraged self when he opened his eyes to see that you both were holding up different.

After two more rounds of just Ned and Emily holding up the same number every time, Peter was getting fed up,

“I’m getting tired of watching you guys kiss, y’know” He said, still staring at you. In fact, he hadn’t stopped staring at you this whole game, this whole night,

“Honestly, me too. At this point, I’ll kiss anyone!” You stated, staring at everybody who was in the room, except for Peter himself. He couldn’t help but frown at that, now feeling like his feelings were one-sided,

“Fine! One more round, okay?” Ned said, closing his eyes and starting to count down to three,

“Open your eyes!” Coincidentally, you and Peter were both holding up four fingers. His heart sped up as he began to blush, but his face fell when he heard your groan and throw your head back,

“No way! I’m not kissing him!” He began to become defensive now, his way of hiding his hurt feelings,

“Well, I don’t want to kiss you either, y/l/n! And by the way, you said you’d kiss anyone!” You rolled your eyes and stood up,

“Whatever! Goodnight” Peter stood up as well in a hurry,

“Goodnight, as well!” He began to trail behind you as you made your way to the hallways to your bedroom,

“Why are you following me?!” You yelled, turning around and flailing your arms,

“I don’t know!?” He yelled back as you guys made your way to your room, the door being slammed shut by Peter,

“Why are you in my room!?”

“I don’t know!?”

You both stood there, simply staring at each other with squinted eyes,

“I didn’t even want to join the party. I just wanted to watch a movie and go to bed ” you mumbled, sighing heavily and sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, leaning your back against it.

Peter did the same, sitting next to you, his head falling back against the frame,

“Damn. I wanted to invite Lauren over” You whipped your head around to look at him with a scowl, to end up seeing that he was grinning and looking at you already.

He was teasing you.

You rolled your eyes and bumped his shoulder,

“Not funny, Peter” He doesn’t know why, but the way his name rolled off your tongue had his spidey-senses tingling, his ‘Peter-tingle’ is what May would call it.

An awkward silence fell between you both. There had been many awkward silences since the ‘incident’ a couple of days ago. You guys saw each other naked for god’s sake! That would make any roommates and friends feel awkward for a bit, but it was coming up on a week that you and Peter had that unresolved tension.

Almost like you were reading his mind, you started to speak,

“There’s this weird feeling between us” He glanced over at you and pursed his lips,

“I kinda miss the old us, y’know? The us before we saw each other naked and vulnerable” You let out a small giggle at the end of your sentence. He smiled and scratched his eyebrow while nodding,

“No—yeah, I get what you’re saying” You leaned your head on his shoulder, catching him by surprise,

“I just thought that if I showed you my naked-self back it’d make things less awkward and have everything go back to being—normal?” He let go of a long breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and leaned his cheek on top of your head,

“It did kind of take away my embarrassment…but—

He cut himself and bit his lip,

“But, what?” He puffed out his cheeks and and rubbed his chin.

Just say how you feel, Peter.

“It took away my embarrassment but—it also made me feel things?” You grew confused and raised your head from his shoulder to look at him,

“Feel things?” He looked down in shyness,

“Like—I couldn’t get you off my mind after I saw you in my room…naked” Your face became hot to the touch at his words,

“Not just your naked body, by the way! You’re so much more than your body! What I mean is that—

“Everybody is leaving!” Ned swung the door open, cutting Peter off,

“Oh! Finally” you quickly stood up and sprinted out the room, leaving Peter there to sulk on your bedroom floor,

“You gonna come and say goodbye?” Ned questioned, giving the Spider-boy a weird look,

“Just leave me alone to die”

“Um—okay. What an odd thing to say”

-

After saying goodbye and doing your nighttime routine in the bathroom, you made your way to your bedroom to find that Peter was no longer in there,

“What a weird night” You whispered to yourself, flopping down on your bed.

You started to think about what Peter had said before, about not being able to stop thinking about your naked body.

The way he said it, in such a nervous but charming way, had you clenching your legs together while replaying it in your head. Did you really have that much of an effect on his mind? Did he like you?

I mean, he did say it wasn’t just your body that he was thinking about. What would he have said if Ned didn’t open the door?

Meanwhile, Peter was in his room at his desk with his head in his hands, his head running wild with thoughts as well,

“You’re so stupid, Peter. You should’ve never said anything to her in the first place” His foot tapped on the ground anxiously, trying to decide if he should never talk to you again (which he knew was not possible and too dramatic), or if he should walk across the hall to your room and tell you everything he has been feeling.

-

Needing a distraction, you felt around for your phone on your bed, to your end table, and then groaned in annoyance when you remembered you forgot it in the bathroom,

“My god!” You lazily got out of bed and went to the bathroom, grabbed your phone, and started the seemingly endless walk back to your room,

“Holy shit!” You screamed in fear, placing a hand on your chest.

There stood Peter in the hallway,

“Sorry! It’s just me! It’s Peter!” You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead,

“Yeah, I know it’s you. Just—why are you standing like slenderman in the middle of the hallway?” He glared at you and ran a hand through his hair,

“I wanted to talk to you but, you look tired and annoyed so, I’ll just let you go to sleep, or whatever” You straightened your back and blinked, your heartbeat beginning to beat rapidly at his words,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

Peter could sense your heartbeat deep in his ears and a smell that he couldn’t really put a name on, but he liked it, and he knew it meant you were excited. It’s times like these where he’s happy that he is spider-Man. The hairs on his neck stood up as he stepped a little closer to you,

“Your heart is beating really fast” He started to feel cocky as he watched you look down to avoid looking into his face, and how the smell of your arousal was becoming more intense. He placed his hand on your chest,

“Peter” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Yeah?” You cleared your throat and awkwardly looked to the side,

“Your hand is on my boob. That is not my heart” His eyes widened as his cocky demeanour disappeared. He went to snatch his hand away, but to both of your guy’s embarrassment, his hand remained stuck to you,

“Um—

He tried taking it off again,

“I’m starting to think this is not your spider-ness, or whatever. I think you just wanted an excuse to keep your hand on my boob forever” His eyes bulged out of his head and continued to try and take his hand off,

“I did not do it on purpose! I’m sticky! It’s apart of me!” You slapped a hand on your forehead, and grabbed his wrist to make him stop pulling,

“Stop! Rip my shirt off” His face flushed at your words,

“I’m—what?”

“You heard me. You’ve already seen me naked, so just rip it off and we can—talk?” He nervously chuckled at your words,

“Are you sure? Cause—

“Peter”

“Okay, sorry! I’ll just—

A loud tearing sound could be heard,

“Wow”

He stared at your chest, suddenly getting déjà vu, but this time you were wearing a pretty white bra that had a small bow in the front instead of being completely naked.

You crossed your arms over your chest,

“Are we gonna talk, or?” You trailed off, whispering and looking up into his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and looked into your eyes as well,

“I, uh—we still haven’t kissed. We held up the same number, remember?” He said, walking so close to you that your back was almost against the wall.

Your ripped shirt that was still hanging from his hand finally detached, plopping onto the floor at your feet,

“Peter?” You whispered, biting your lip,

“Fuck” Peter grabbed your bare waist and pressed his lips onto your’s, a surprised gasp coming from you. You placed your arms on his shoulders and practically melted into him.

He felt relief when you didn’t pull away, instead tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging, grinding into him desperately. Remembering that you were still a human who has to breathe, you pulled away and took a deep, shaky breath, Peter as well. You glanced into each other’s eyes, chest moving rapidly,

“I like you” He whispered, gulping. You grinned and pull him back in by his face to your lips. His hands were now experimenting, rubbing your lower back, the straps of your bra, and then your breasts. He let out a high pitch pathetic moan when he squeezed them,

“I cant believe I’m squeezing your boobs right now” you snorted against his lips at his loser-like way of saying it.

You let out a gasp when he unexpectedly picked you up bridal style like you weighed nothing, his super-human strength causing your mind to lead to very sinful thoughts,

“I think it’s so hot your spider-man—and so, strong” You blurted out, staring up at his brown eyes as he kicked your bedroom door open. He smirked at that and gently laid you down on your bed. He stood at the foot of the bed and shrugged, flexing his biceps (on purpose),

“Thanks. I can lift cars and buildings, too. S’like, no big deal or whatever” He looked down at his feet and scratched the back of his neck,

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna like—come here and have sex with me— or?”

“Right! Shit, yeah! Um—

He took his shirt off, hurriedly pulled down his pants and let out an embarrassing girl-ish scream when he tripped over his pants and fell on the ground with a loud thud,

“Oh my god! Peter, are okay?!” His head popped up,

“Yep! Totally good! Don’t even worry about!”

He dove on the bed and made himself comfortable between your legs, making you giggle at his enthusiasm. You guys went back to making out, his kisses beginning to trail to your neck, shoulder, breasts, and stomach. He slowly slid your pyjama shorts down your legs and tossed them behind him. He placed a hand on your boob and the other in your underwear,

“Oh! Peter!” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Wow, barely touched you and your already screaming my name” You screamed his name again and pointed to the window,

“No, Peter! You threw my new expensive shorts out the window!”

-

END

-

Author: Wow I’m so sorry this took so long to post LMFOA I got that Christmas break depression

Here’s part 1 down below

[secretaccountlol]

Peter's Bad Night

@hollandlover19 asked:

So I have another request.....

What about cockwarming with peter and starkreader again but this time instead of relaxing it’s complete torture for peter cuz he was already hard and it’s just making it worse but he can’t cum cuz it’s not enough stimulation but y/n had a lot bf day and already fell asleep and he doesn’t wanna wake her so he just lays there silently crying all night cuz it hurts so bad...

I’m really sorry if this is too specific You don’t have to do it if you don’t want too I’m just bored 🖤🖤🖤

hi there! here's a small blurb hope you enjoy :) it can be read as either stark!reader or not, i didn't put much detail on that in there. requests are open! tags are not working and a few other things are not working, please let me know if you see any glitches (such as random bolded areas/random spaced areas) on here!

Peter Parker x Reader [Smut] Warnings: smut, swearing, cock-warming, overstimulation Word Count: 715

-

Peter was in a predicament. Here he laid, with his cocks tucked inside the best pussy in the world, and he couldn't move. He refused to move because you finally fell asleep after having such a long and rough day, and you were having trouble sleeping the last few nights as well.

He kept arguing with himself the moment your eyes closed, in his head, he'd go back and forth from: should I move my dick out and jerk myself off? Or should I endure this fucking torture and let my girlfriend sleep?

He chose the latter of course.

He really cared about your health, and it was time you finally rested and slept longer than those mere four to five hours you usually sleep.

He laid in bed and half of your body was on him, snuggling up as his cock continued to twitch and wither with excitement. He tried to literally send brain signals to his dick to calm down, but it wasn't working. He even tried counting in his head to try and get his dick to slowly stop itself and revert back into its normal length, but it really wouldn't work.

He was receiving just a small amount of stimulation - whenever you shifted in your sleep, or your pussy would squeeze around his cock randomly. And that was part of the reason he couldn't calm his dick down.

The other reason was because it was you, you were a dream come true to him and far beyond that, you were a treasure. You were so beautiful, the way you cuddled close to him, never wanting to let go was so sweet and incredible to him - and how pretty you looked at the moment.

He wished he would stop gazing at you, but he couldn't.

And then just as he reached to shift his pillow, you pushed yourself even more down onto his cock, reaching into your pussy farther than ever now.

"Oh, fuck me... I'm so dumb." he cursed himself, whimpering as you started to breathe deeper and somehow, he could feel the very small movements of your body from the breathing.

Up and down, in and out, each breath made his cock inch closer and deeper, and it twitched so much now.

"Stop it peter. Don't even think about it." he mumbled, closing his eyes tight as he started to struggle even more. It was like he was denying himself from moving - which is so hard for him. He had to move, like all the time. He was fucking Spiderman, he was required to move at least every millisecond.

"Gah, fuck!" he swore, gasping as you twisted your leg under his. How was that even possible? He didn't even know if there was a sex move like this and if there was it must always be so intense as he wondered if he really just grew even harder than before.

He slapped his face hard. It left a mark on his face, but it still didn't even distract him for just a second from the horrifyingly good pleasure and torture that was happening to his dick.

He started to cry about twenty minutes later and he tried to look at everything else, but his eyes kept wandering down to you and then down to his cock which was being tightly hugged by your pussy.

And the smell - fuck, he wished he could put it into a perfume bottle and savor it for years, it was so fucking hot and good, but it only really put him into a more stressful situation.

The tears were running down his face faster than ever before, and he was biting his hand to stop himself from making more noises. He didn't want to wake you up at all - especially from him groaning or moaning from every sensation.

He ended up crying for a while longer until exhaustion hit him. And right as he started to close his eyes, you shifted once more, and he finally let out a huge sob. It came pouring down him, not an orgasm, but the pain hitting him harder than ever before. He shook and shivered as the crying continued and he shoved a pillow over his head, and he finally closed his eyes.

[secretaccountlol]

just thinking about asking nerdy!peter parker just casual asking for a whimpering audio

Missing You

--genre: fluff & SMUT

--pairing: nerdy!tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

--word count: 0.8k

--warnings: language, mutual masturbation, sexting, i think that's it???

this gif...my godddd

Peter has started to travel for work more often, leaving you at home without him. Along with your loneliness, Peter finds himself aching for you more often than not. His company doesn’t have him working late nights when he’s on these work trips, and he doesn’t really do well in new environments, especially when you’re not there, so he finds himself in his hotel room flipping through shitty channels on the TV. 

It was early when he decided to ditch the local news broadcast and scroll through his phone. It must’ve been only 5 minutes of jumping back and forth through his apps, even opening the weather app a few times out of sheer boredom. Looking at the time, he did the math in his head, figuring out what time it was back in New York. You should be home by now. 

Pete: Hi bug, how was work?

You: it was good! nothing out of the ordinary…you already done with your day, baby?

Pete: Yeah, I'm just lounging at the hotel. 

Pete: I miss you, so so much. 

You: i miss you always, pete. 

You: miss the way you touch me…

This makes Peter flush with warmth, he suddenly feels very vulnerable in a room with no one but him. He didn’t know how much he missed kissing you, touching you, and especially hearing you until he was forced to leave. God, he missed the sound of your voice. 

Without thinking about it, he slowly slipped his hand into his work pants and boxers, slowly stroking his soft cock. With his phone in his other hand, he texts you back. 

Pete: Fuck (Y/N), I wish you were here. I need you. 

Back in New York, you’re lying on your stomach giggling at your boyfriend’s texts. You know exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly how desperate he is for anything from you right now. You’ve always loved to tease Peter, especially when you two haven’t had sex in a while. But you know that he’s needed this for a while now and that you being a couple hundred miles away from him was taking a toll on him. Rolling over to your back, you text him back.

You: if i was there, what would we be doing? 

You: maybe we would go out to eat, or check out the area? what do you think, baby? 

Pete: I think we’d stay in, and have some fun in the hotel. 

You: aww petey…you still touching yourself right now?

And for the second time, Peter’s flustered. His now hard cock twitches in his hand at the thought of you knowing he was pumping himself to your texts. It somehow turns him on even more, a low groan leaves his mouth. Now that the secret is out, his filter is gone. 

Pete: Yeah, I am. 

You: good.

You: Attachment: Voice Memo

The minute-long voice recording intrigues Peter as he clicks on the play button, setting his phone down. As soon as it started to play, the sound of your moans filled his hotel room. You started soft, with a couple of whines as the seconds went on. He can picture you in your shared bed, touching yourself to the thought of him. 

His hand starts to pump faster as he closes his eyes and listens closely to your recording. He starts to hear a soft hum in the background, it’s very faint but it’s definitely there. He realizes that you’re using the vibrator he gifted you for your birthday, and his head spins. He’s so close when your moans grow louder. 

His warm seed spilled all over his hand, a wet spot forming on his pants, but he didn’t care. He slowly pumps his cock as he starts to come down from his high, the only thing on his mind is you. 

Peter is still in a state of bliss when your moans come to a stop, he thinks the recording ends until you speak, “I love you, Peter. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

He sighs as a grin spreads across his features. He starts to sit up when his phone buzzes, and his ringer screams at him. Looking at his phone next to him, he realizes that you’re Facetiming him. With his clean hand, he picks up his phone and answers it, your smiling face looking at him. You giggle, “You look kinda crazy right now, baby.”

You weren’t wrong, his hair was tousled from laying in bed, and his glasses were crooked. “You do not want to see my bottom half if you think I look crazy,” he replies half laughing half speaking. 

You can’t help but smile at Peter, thinking about everything you two will do when he’s back home in the comfort of your apartment. 

--authors's note: THIS REQUEST IS GOLD!!!! thank you anon for this, it's so delicious. my asks/inbox is open, so keep sending in requests!!! thank you so much for all the support, and don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed. ok, ily bye<3333

[secretaccountlol]

Requesting more dom!peter 😮‍💨🥵

𝗔/N: Your request is my command! (especially since I've been searching for more dom!Peter fics myself and have been failing so I might as well do it my damn self!) Also, yeah, it's been a damn long time lmao. I planned to finish up and release this like 4 months ago. Then a whole bunch of bad shit happened and I kinda gave up on writing for a little bit (outside of school cause I need that damn Bachelor's degree) BUT I've slowly started reading again and that bled into me opening up my drafts and finding this and spending some time with it. If you couldn't tell I had a shit ton of fun with this one...so feel free to check my newly updated Masterlist and request guidelines and send me more requests! The more I get, the more I'm gonna force myself to actually write them. (If you already sent one just know I’m working on it I promise)

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗧𝗮𝘀𝗺!𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

(heavily inspired by the song with the same title by Adele.) It came up in my shuffle and when I started listening to the lyrics it was just too perfect.

he's so fucking pretty aghhhh (gif not mine)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tasm!Peter Parker x Vigilante!Fem reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.6k+ (This is my big comeback so I might as well feed yall)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You and Peter have been broken up for about 3 years, but when an impromptu visit to your apartment takes a turn...that may no longer be the case...

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 (𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗡𝗜): SMUT!, lil bit of angst at the end (ex to lovers so ofc), minimal use of y/n, P*rn-with-plot, Reader and Peter are FERAL for each other because of their powers (enhanced senses and all that), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), a lil possessive Peter, oral (r receiving), fingering, praise kink, Peter using his webs to restrain reader (pre-consented ofc), dom!Peter, sub!Reader (bratty at first tho), pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, angel), choking, rough sex, brief spanking, other positions, creampie, etc...

The remaining sunlight of the evening bled through your wide studio apartment windows as you finished folding what was left of your newly washed laundry. The plan for the rest of the evening was simple;

Drink two bottles of wine (knowing that your enhanced metabolism would sober the effects), catch up on a few missing assignments to keep your NYU professors off your ass, then jump into your suit and go patrolling.

It was a familiar routine.

Or at least, it had been...since he left.

Your relationship with him ended during your first year of college. To say it hurt like hell would be an immense understatement.

What hurt the most was the fact that you both gave everything you had to make it work...but long distance can be a bitch.

On that warm Saturday night in May, your ex-boyfriend received a call informing him that he had been accepted into a very prestigious engineering program (with a full-ride scholarship attached) all the way in California.

You applied for the very same program, so you knew just how big of an opportunity it would be. And, in good faith, you pushed him to take the offer.

You both insisted, "we'll make it work," and "we'll video chat and text every day. It'll be fine!"

What a load of horseshit.

It took 6 months for you to both arrive at the conclusion that you couldn't juggle your individual academic loads, your nighttime hero personas, AND a long-distance relationship all at the same time. A three-hour time difference didn't help matters either.

It took a while, but you eventually moved on. You kept your grades up, went on a few dates here and there, and even managed to convince yourself that you were doing fine without him.

Until...

*knock knock knock*

Your head peeked out from the fridge to look where you heard the strong yet hesitant knocks on your front door.

Only a handful of people knew where you lived and you weren't expecting to see any of them today.

Assuming it would be a postal worker or someone along those lines, you swung open the door with a polite smile.

"Hi-"

You felt your voice die in your throat as you locked eyes with the deep brown ones you hadn't seen in three years.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips, barely audible.

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with that awkward grin you knew all too well.

His hair was shorter than the last time you saw him, but from the tight fit of his jacket, you could see that was about the only thing about him that shrunk.

You wanted to actually hit yourself in the head for actually imagining yourself doing many things to his large...meaty...biceps- NO, no, no, no get a grip! a voice of logic sounded in your mind.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there silently sizing him up until he spoke again. "Can I...uh...come in, maybe?"

"Umm...sure," you nervously answered, finally taking note of the small cardboard box he was holding.

As you stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment, his familiar scent invaded your sensitive senses.

"Oh God," you muttered under your breath, knowing that he heard you, yet unaware that your scent had basically the same effect on him as well.

"You alright?" he turned and asked you in concern trying to hide the tightening of his jeans with the box he brought.

You nodded way too fast, promptly putting some distance between yourself and him. He hadn't been there for longer than 5 seconds and he was already having an effect on you.

"How've you been?" he questioned you, scratching his neck and actively avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently repeating every physics law he could remember in his mind to try to quell his growing erection.

It wasn't working very well.

"I've been fine. You?" you quickly spoke, slightly out of breath.

"I-uh-I'm alright," he shook his head with a tight-lipped smile.

He soon found himself just looking at you. It wasn't a blank stare, no, it was the sort of intense look you unintentionally gave someone when trying to commit every single feature to memory as if you weren't certain when you'd get another chance to.

It was a habit of his you noticed a lot when you were dating. And just as it did back then, it sent chills running rampant down your spine. Not to mention your nipples growing obviously hard behind your large shirt with no bra to hide it.

Peter noticed it immediately and fought back a smile, which you glimpsed.

"Why are you here, Peter?" you decided to get down to business before your body betrays you any further.

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before actually coming up with an answer. "I wanted to drop these off," he placed the small box on your kitchen counter.

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "You could have mailed it. Or you could've just dropped it at the door and then left. So why are you really here Peter?" you would have felt worse about your tone if you weren't so bothered.

Why the hell did he feel the need to suddenly show up and make you start feeling things you swore you wouldn't feel for him again?

Peter took a deep breath. "Aunt May called me last week. She's not doing too good. So, I came back to help take care of her."

You felt your stomach sink at his words. While you both dated, May grew to be like a second mother to you. You had no idea she was sick.

"Oh shit Peter-I'm so sorry," you crossed the room to engulf him in a hug, despite your initial reaction to his visit.

Peter immediately accepted your hug and found the anxiety in his body dissipating soon after. Your hugs tended to have that effect on him.

He couldn't stop himself from deeply inhaling and drawing in your hair's familiar scent when he wrapped his hands around your clothed waist.

A few seconds passed before you released each other, with you also savoring the feel of his body against you and the way how your skin lit up with goosebumps though there was a thin layer of clothing separating his hands from you.

"I was just cleaning up my old room at May's and I found some of your stuff so I figured I'd drop by and..."

You nodded in understanding and walked over to where he placed the box.

It was mostly filled with old t-shirts, tools, and gadgets from days when you would sleep over at Peter's or stop by to help each other with school projects.

"Thanks," you sent him a smile as you closed the box.

Your smile warmed Peter's heart. It was actually his second favorite thing about you, after your hugs of course. "Yeah, you're welcome," he smiled back, running his hand through his hair. It was a mess by now, but you still wanted to run your hands through it…or maybe even pull on it-

"Sorting through some of this stuff made me realize how much I...missed you," he said, his tone growing more assured.

Thankfully, you were still facing away from him, not giving him the chance to catch the pained expression that briefly crossed your face.

But you could feel him slowly approaching your frozen figure and found your body silently reacting in ways it shouldn't be, yet again. "Do you miss me?" he asked, his voice heavy.

You held back the urge to scream "Yes!" because admitting that out loud would be taking 3 steps backward.

Admitting that you missed him would be undoing all the work and tears you put into moving on from him and the hopes and dreams you had for a life with him.

Admitting that you missed him would mean giving in to the part of you that thought back to your most intimate moments with him when you touched yourself.

And admitting that you missed him would mean letting him back into the four-cornered box you had locked yourself in for the past 3 years.

But, with every step closer that he took, your resolve disappeared that much faster.

"You okay?" he called for your attention.

Your sharp intake of oxygen brought a tense silence over the room when you turned to face him and realized that he stood close enough for your lips to nearly brush his.

"Peter, I-" you tried to form words, but then you saw his lust-filled brown eyes lower to your lips.

And that was all it took for the last of your self-control to disappear.

"Damn it," you mumbled once you realized what was about to happen.

Before Peter could question your outburst, you found yourself latching onto his jacket lapels and pulling him down to meet your lips.

It took mere milliseconds for Peter to react. After all, he had been thinking about doing this since you swung open the door and looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

His large calloused hands took hold of the sides of your face as you clashed in a heap of teeth and tongue. It was desperate and feverish but it was perfect.

It was a language only you and Peter seemed to master, even now after three years apart.

Your lips moved swiftly against his, eager to taste more and more of him with each passing second. You felt him press his growing bulge flush against you, causing a pathetic whine to involuntarily tumble from your lips and a smirk to find its way onto his.

"I did miss you," you softly spoke, "but we can't do this Peter," the logical part of your brain made an appearance, though you kept peppering his lips with kisses.

As his lips moved to your neck, Peter's hands slid down to your ass where he effortlessly lifted your legs off the ground and up around his waist. The feeling of his hands against the bare skin of your thighs garnered yet another moan from you.

"You don't sound so sure angel," you felt him smirk against your heated skin.

You hadn’t heard that nickname in years yet it sent small chills down your spine for the second time that night.

A mumbled curse slipped your lips when he nipped a particular spot below your ear. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

You soon gathered the strength to pull Peter's hungry lips away from your body, swinging your arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

"We can’t go back from this, you know that right?" you spoke, the both of you panting from the effects of the last minute.

"I don't wanna go back," Peter shook his head, "I wanna fuck you, right here, right now," his lips immediately found yours before his words could fully resonate.

This caught you by surprise which allowed Peter to slip his tongue between your lips.

As his taste continued to flood your senses, you felt yourself grow alarmingly wet.

Peter knew it too because he slowly pulled back and smirked down at you. "I could smell you from the moment I walked in here. Glad to see three years hasn't changed the way your body reacts to me, angel," he accompanied his words with a quick slap to your ass.

His slap and the familiar pet name left you a moaning mess. Just like he knew it would.

A lovely laugh left Peter's mouth before his lips met yours again.

He walked your entangled bodies over to the kitchen counter without breaking the sloppy kiss.

Peter used one hand to blindly clear the counter and place you on it, which sent your box of things flying toward the floor.

Not that either of you cared.

"Too much clothes," you were barely able to say in between kisses.

You followed up by shoving Peter's jacket off his shoulders which fell to your hardwood floors with a thud. He immediately got the message and got rid of his t-shirt as well.

A shameless whimper left your lips at the sight of his very toned muscles. You easily maneuvered Peter's body closer to you and began kissing and sucking his neck and every other available inch of skin just as you had pictured earlier, making sure to leave a few purple bruises in your wake.

“You’re killing me here baby,” Peter harshly swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as you continued to have your way with his chest.

"Wouldn't be a terrible way to die though, right?" you mumbled between lovebites and licks. You felt like an animal in heat but you just couldn't get enough of him, the occasional flex of his muscles with each slither of your tongue and his deep groans only egging you on more.

The taste of his skin alone could've made you cum easily.

But the same could be said for Peter as the feel of your tongue slithering all along his chest had him practically creaming his pants then and there.

Fucking enhanced senses, he cursed inwardly.

“Alright, ease up pretty girl,” he reluctantly grabbed your head, detaching your swollen lips from his body.

“Your turn,” he tugged at the hem of your top.

You quickly pulled off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare top half to him.

He spared no time in cupping your breasts with his eager hands. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbled.

"Me, or my boobs?" you jokingly raised a brow at him.

"Definitely both," he grinned, bringing his mouth down to your tits.

As his tongue made contact with the soft mounds, you loudly moaned and wrapped your fingers in his unruly tangle of hair.

He switched between nipping and sucking on your nipples, in the way he knew you liked, while his free hand pinched and squeezed the other.

"Just like that Peter fuck-" hearing his name fall from your lips drove Peter insane.

His tongue flicked your sensitive nipples harder, and his eager sucking pleased you to no end.

Peter eventually pried himself away from your supple breasts, remembering the other parts of you he wanted to worship, and brought his hands to rest on the sides of your head. Your lips connected once more in a delicate kiss.

Though you knew what lay ahead for the evening, you were both perfectly content with each other's lips at the moment, just enjoying the constant waves of pleasure from the intimate contact.

But it wasn't long before the kiss grew heated and you tried to take control. Peter, however, wasn't giving you a chance.

"I leave for three years and you think you're hot shit, huh," he smirked.

"Why don't you ask the guy I fucked on this counter last week," you retorted, knowingly riling him up.

"Don't say shit like that, it's not funny," he nearly growled as his grip on your ass grew more forceful.

You secured your grip on his hair before pressing a small kiss on the side of his lips. "Gimme a reason to shut up then," you challenged him.

“Trust me, I will,” Peter grabbed your hands from his hair and forced them to your sides. His movements were swift as he laid you flat on your counter and ripped your thong off your body.

There he is, you smiled to yourself. This is the Peter you wanted to fucking ruin you.

You felt his face ghost your drenched opening as he deeply inhaled your scent. "You smell fucking delicious baby," he praised you, his mouth actually watering at the thought of tasting you.

A genuine smile found its way onto your face but morphed into a gasp when Peter teasingly ran his tongue up your sensitive slit.

"You taste even better," he added, using his strong arms to bring your thighs closer to his head. He wanted to tease you but it was getting harder to resist the urge to dive right into your heat like a man starved.

"Holy shit," you all but screamed as he briefly nipped at your swollen clit before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

His grip on your thighs combined with the ministrations of his tongue was pure bliss.

You attempted to slip your hands in his hair once more, but found that they were suddenly held in place against your counter by two of his webs.

Your eyes briefly widened at the feel of the rough, sticky material against your wrists, not having felt it in a few years. Back then, you expressed to Peter your desire to engage in some bondage, but being the daughter of a super soldier, it was clear that no rope or wire would be able to hold you. Peter's webs became the next best choice.

"That's not fair," you pouted, though it melded into a moan as Peter continued to suck and lick between your glistening folds.

The sounds of Peter devouring you resounded through the small apartment.

"I'm close Pete," you whined, your chest heaving in arousal.

Peter decided to focus his tongue on your eager bundle of nerves while he slowly inserted two fingers into your pussy. He instantly curled the digits causing you to briefly squirm at the sudden pressure against your G-spot.

"More," you begged, and Peter delivered, adding another finger inside of you. He immediately sped up his motion inside of you, making sure his fingers gauged that spongy spot to drive you over the edge with each thrust inside of you.

“That feels so fucking good, Peter, oh my God," you loudly moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, calling forth an orgasm with no warning.

You repeatedly bucked against Peter's face as you came, white-hot pleasure filling your veins. Peter locked onto your stare, still skillfully working his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you constantly clenched around his fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ," your legs jerked when Peter dove in and drank every ounce of slick you had to give while still fucking you with his fingers.

With his face now damp of your juices, Peter looked up to meet your blissed-out eyes. "Gimme one more, angel," he placed a soft kiss on your thighs, "I know you can do it for me."

You would do anything to keep Peter's mouth between your legs.

So, you eagerly nodded in response before taking a deep breath in preparation for another onslaught.

You didn't have to wait long.

Peter’s tongue went to work on your glistening hole while his fingers fiddled with your overstimulated clit. And, within minutes, your thighs were trapping Peter's head as an even bigger orgasm rocked you again, the borderline pornographic sounds leaving your lips shooting straight to his hardened cock.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with staying between your legs all night, but you had other plans.

"Pete, I need you inside me," you begged, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes.

He rose from beneath you and climbed up to free your hands from his webs. "I know, baby, I know," he softly replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and using his hands to soothe your reddened wrists. Your own taste on his tongue flooded your senses which made you even more desperate.

Peter obliged, slipping out of his sweatpants and sliding his girth between your folds. He used one hand to hold himself up above you on the counter, and the other to slowly guide his dick into you.

You both shared a long moan as he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, your wetness making it way too easy.

He held still for a few seconds, waiting for you to adjust and give the all clear for him to move.

Eagerness guided your words. “Fuck me, please.”

Peter set a brutal pace, knowing you were more than capable of handling it. Satisfied cries left your chest as you dragged your nails along Peter’s back, hard enough to leave trails.

“You can take it, pretty girl, I know you can,” he groaned as he continued to pound into you, trying desperately not to blow his load with the way you were constantly clenching around him and marking his back.

You tried to reply, but all that you could form were sloppy moans and broken syllables.

“Oh look at you, drunk on my cock already?” he teased with a particularly hard slam that prodded your cervix, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Pleasure-filled cries mingled with words continued to fall from your lips as Peter gently moved a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear with a hand. "-feels so fucking perfect," you muttered, your lips curved into a drunken smile.

Peter reached down and pinched one of your nipples, gaining a loud whimper from you. “I love hearing you make those pretty sounds for me baby,” his strokes grew harder and deeper.

“All for you, Pete, all for you,” you panted as he fucked into you, the delicious smell and sound of sex lingering in the air.

Peter used a hand to wrap around your throat before using the other to reach down and fiddle with your aching clit.

The combination of Peter’s dick hitting that perfect spot, his fingers massaging your clit, and the lack of air from his hand around your neck was making you dizzy and overstimulated.

You fucking loved it.

“God, I missed you,” you spoke breathlessly.

He moved closer to kiss you briefly and tenderly. “I missed you too, baby.”

No amount of time could take away his knowledge on how to please you, how to get you like this with ease, not when you were all he thought about for years on end.

Peter pressed a quick kiss to your forehead then continued to fuck you on your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna cum again baby, right fucking there," you moaned out.

Peter's grip on your neck grew tighter. "Not yet, don't you cum until I tell you to sweetheart," he commanded you, removing his fingers from your clit.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you forced yourself to sustain your orgasm.

"Don't pout," he smirked.

And before you could realize it, Peter had pulled out of you and effortlessly flipped you onto your stomach.

A hand soon gripped your hair, yanking you up against his chest and eliciting a pitiful whine from you.

"Tell me what you want,” Peter commanded, using his free hand to strike your ass. Hard.

You whimpered again at the sting of his slap. “I need you inside me. Please,” you pleaded.

He seized your hair harsher and leaned forward for his lips to graze against your ears. “Beg.”

A small whine left your lips at his words. You were so desperate you didn’t even care how embarrassing this would be in retrospect. “I need to cum, Peter. Please baby you're the only one who can make me cum.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your neck, nearly causing you to lose your footing. And he soon complied by ramming himself back into you.

“Oh my Fuck-“ you cried before biting your lip, suddenly aware that you had neighbors.

But Peter pulled his cock from your heat, with just the tip remaining, before roughly slamming into you, his hips slamming against your ass with the motion. “Come on, lemme hear you angel.”

He repeated the action, knocking the air out of your chest, “Peter!” your hands gripped the sides of your counter with such force you were sure you felt it crack under your grasp.

Peter caught wind of this and freed your hair before using his hands to pull your hands behind your back. "You're so perfect baby," he mumbled in your ear, continuing to brutally fuck you from behind, "So fucking beautiful with my cock inside you."

"I can't hold it anymore," you cried, "I need to cum, Peter, please."

With that whiny tone and those overstimulated tears to top it off, Peter couldn't deny you any longer. "Let it all out for me sweetheart. Cum for me," he littered your shoulders with kisses.

Your eyes slammed shut as your walls contracted around his cock, pleasure shooting through you and rocking you on a seemingly cellular level. Your mouth opened in a silent moan, unable to form a sound from the satisfied tremors attacking your nerves. The intensity of your finish is one only brought on when Peter fucked you and it was damn near cosmic.

"Shit," you groaned in relief, your long-awaited climax passing.

Peter slowed his movements inside of you and released your hands. "You did so good for me angel," he pushed your hair aside and kissed your neck, trying to stave off his own orgasm for a little while longer.

Aftershocks rocked your body while Peter continued sporadically moving inside of you, yet you couldn't get enough. Your body was more than ready to keep taking whatever he dished out.

Peter didn't need to read your mind to see that, but he needed to make sure. His lips kept up their onslaught on your neck as he softly spoke, "You wanna keep going?"

"Hell yes," you panted with a grin that he couldn't fully see, "You still haven't cum yet, and my bed is still fully made."

Happy with your response, Peter gave your ass a sharp smack. "That's my girl."

He pulled out of you and turned your body to face him, smiling at the sight of your fucked out face. "Three orgasms and a handful of tears later and you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," he held you by the sides of your face.

His words left you reeling, causing a slight blush to dust your cheeks and butterflies to swirl within your stomach.

Before you could form a response, Peter leaned down to kiss you. He soon hoisted up your legs around his waist, preparing to escort you to your bed as per your own demands.

As he looked around for the bed's location, you took advantage of his momentary distraction and latched your lips onto his neck, reapplying the bruises you left there that were slowly fading already.

Peter was the happiest man on earth as he walked over to your bed, his cock prodding your soaked entrance, and your lips ravaging his neck.

He carefully sat on the edge of your bed, with you now on his lap and your legs still around him. You expected him to ease his length back into you but he slowly brought your head down to meet his intense stare.

You carefully wrapped your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself up, the silence in the room growing deafening.

You could tell from his eyes that he desperately wanted to say something, and you wondered if it was the same thing you had been considering as well.

But you were both aware of what saying those words would mean for your broken relationship and simply settled for smiles instead.

Peter brought a hand up to lay your forehead against his, allowing your breathing to momentarily sync.

"You ready for me?" he questioned you with a hand at the nape of your neck to hold your head against his.

You immediately nodded in response causing his own head to shake in time with yours. A small laugh was shared between you both as your nose continued to brush his own.

"You're adorable," you said before you could stop yourself.

That stupid full-toothed grin that you hadn't seen in a while soon spread across his beautiful face at your words, gaining another laugh from you.

"Last round?” you eventually pleaded with a smile.

"Anything for you," Peter replied, meaning it in every way. Adoration littered his stare as he slowly lowered you onto his length.

A satisfied mewl slipped your lips at the familiar feel of him.

The slow drag of his cock in and out of you, while he rocked your hips back and forth to grind on him, had your bottom lip sucked between your teeth with eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure.

But Peter wanted to see it all. He wrapped a hand around your neck and forced you to meet his dilated eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

His soft yet stern tone caused you to swallow back a moan as you continued to move on his girth.

He then slapped your ass with his free hand, silently urging you to move faster.

You leaned down and quickly kissed his lips before happily obliging, now beginning to bounce in his lap, chasing your next climax.

“There you go angel, just like that,” Peter’s stare never wavered.

Peter furiously fucked up into you, your moans and the constant smack of skin on skin filling the apartment.

His other hand which never left your throat now squeezed it harder. “Fuck!” You were barely able to moan out as your breasts bounced with your every move.

“Shit, you’re gripping me like a vice,” Peter groaned, his crude pace never faltering though his orgasm was closer than ever.

Your bed creaked under the onslaught of your bodies, but neither of you payed it any attention only having one goal in mind.

“One more time,” Peter planted his feet on the ground to get a better angle, "Need you to cum on my cock one more time."

But from the broken pacing of his hips to the strong furrow of his brow, you could tell he was close too. “Together?” You breathlessly suggested, grasping the nape of his neck with your hands.

Peter nodded in agreement before engulfing your chest and back with his arms, pulling you closer to his body.

Your breaths mingled, eyes focused on nothing except each other as his grip on your upper body allowed him to help you ride him even faster.

"Yes, Pete, oh my God-" pleas, curses, and moans tumbled from your lips as your skin buzzed at your incoming release.

"There you go, cum for me," Peter's voice grew strangled as his hips stuttered below you.

"Fuck," you wailed, your finish hitting you like a freight train and your pussy leaking into Peter's length.

The intense clench of your walls around him was all it took for Peter to explode with a groan, his pace faltering with that final pump.

"Holy shit baby," he panted, his cum painting your walls in spurts.

His firm hold on your body brought you collapsing on your bed together, satisfied and smiling.

And, for what felt like hours, you lay there in his arms. But of course, your thoughts began to run rampant.

Peter could damn near hear your thoughts spiraling.

"I don't regret this," he suddenly broke the silence you had elapsed into, "Do you?"

"Peter I-...I don't know," you freed yourself from his hold and sat up to look at him.

His brows furrowed at your response, hurt briefly flashing across his features.

"I loved you," you spoke, "I loved you more than anything."

"I know. I loved you too," Peter nodded with a small smile.

"And I will never blame you for leaving. Ever," you slipped a hand in his own and squeezed briefly.

"But?"

Your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall. "What happened to us, it damn near destroyed me, Peter. And it took so so long to put myself back together."

Peter swallowed harshly at your words.

"And then here you come, waltzing in here, fucking my brains out and making me feel things," you lowered your head, looking away from him.

You heard Peter move closer to you before feeling him lift your chin to face him again. His expression wasn't as disappointed as you'd expected, just confused. "Spit it out. I know you're holding something back."

"Why'd you come back here and-and do all this? Reminding me of what we had when you know you're gonna be gone again in the next few weeks?" you felt your voice shrink to a broken whisper.

Peter used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that fell from your eye, his previously puzzled look now morphing into a smirk. There was obviously something he wasn't telling you.

You sniffled and lightly hit Peter's shoulder. "Well, now it's your turn bug face, spit out whatever you're hiding!"

You received no answer other than Peter leaning forward and pressing a deep kiss against your lips. You eagerly accepted and returned the spontaneous action but were left even more confused when he pulled away.

"That wasn't an answer," you arched a brow at Peter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm moving back to New York, or already moved, technically," he began to explain.

Your mouth opened and closed in shock as your brain fumbled for a response and came up inconclusive.

"I'm gonna finish out the school year online and stay here to take care of Aunt May. I mean it, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he grinned, watching tears of joy fall from your eyes.

"This better not be some sick fucking joke Peter, I swear to God," you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Can you shut up and just come here?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you obliged and grabbed Peter's neck before pulling him in for another kiss, your face still wet from tears and a smile almost permanently etched onto your face.

You pulled away but sank into his open arms. You relished how securely he held you. "I'm so happy," you said aloud, truly meaning it for the first time in a long time, though it was only meant to be an inner thought.

Peter kissed your forehead and looked down to meet your eyes, "I'll never stop making you happy, Y/N."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

[secretaccountlol]

the only one

DATE: JANUARY 2, 2024

summary: you go on your first date with peter, and it ends even better than you could have ever expected. ;)

request: yes!

words: 6.3k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [oral, fingering, multiple orgasms], protected sex, dirty talk), language, and the most gentlemanly man.

note: i cannot believe i’m finally writing another gyno!peter after all this time… anyway, this is NOT an actual series, simply just more situations/scenes of these two together!

gynecologist!peter x patient!y/n

–

Every date that you’ve been on in the past never made you this nervous. You didn’t spend two hours just deciding on what to wear and taking an extra hour to prepare yourself. You worked for a fashion magazine, editing and reviewing comments and critiques. You were surrounded by clothes and creativity all day, but struggled to pick a “first-date look” from your closet. You swore you read something about that before…

You never thought first dates were anything more than a simple introduction, a first impression of another human being. It was one of the foundations of the question, “Could I get along well enough with this person to go on a second date?”.

You had only been on two first dates: one with your ex, who you were with for four months, and recently with that guy from your work. The second one was mainly just a hook-up, and the first one obviously led to some type of relationship that didn’t work out in the end. Maybe you didn’t have enough experience in the dating world to be wondering if the amount of nerves you had right now was healthy.

Your hands were clammy as you strapped on your black heels. You noticed you were swallowing more frequently than normal, and you didn’t understand why. When you looked in the mirror, your hands flattened out your black dress more times than you could count, ridding wrinkles that aren’t even there.

After your appointment a few weeks ago, you had texted Peter. More specifically, you texted him the next day. Immediately after simply saying hello and your name, you thought of how many other people he may have given his phone number to. Or worse, how many people he had fingered in his office… You started worrying if you shouldn’t have texted him at all because he was a doctor. He was probably too busy for anything. It was just a nice gesture, maybe?

But an hour later, in the evening, he had texted you back with a short apology. He was working a little past the clock in order to get more doctor stuff done. Even his texts were sweet with a dab of charm. How do women control themselves around him?

Or maybe it was just you, and you were a fucking weirdo.

Yeah it could be that.

Peter and you went on to texting every now and then to texting daily. Texting him was something to look forward to after a long day at work. It also became pretty clear that he wasn’t texting anyone else because well, he was working throughout the day doing doctor stuff while you were doing editor stuff. He would even text you during his lunch break and that always made your heart skip to see his message in the middle of the day.

One night in particular, you were complaining to Peter (yes, you had gotten to the point where you could complain about little inconveniences) about your sink malfunctioning. Instead of asking you to send pictures of the pipes under the sink, he had you FaceTime him. It was the first time you guys have ever called and the second time you’ve ever seen his face, so your heart was a little race-y. But when that charming, wide grin flashed on your screen, he easily slipped into conversation. Peter helped you fix your sink with a little wrench movement along with replacing a broken screw through the phone.

It wasn’t awkward. It was relieving.

You didn’t have to force a certain personality in order to engage in a conversation with him. You felt more yourself than you ever have when talking to him, flowing easily like two streams into one. You hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you guys ended the call until he was gone. The serenity of your place felt a little more emptier than usual without the sound of his beautiful accent from your speaker. It was nearly midnight by the time you went to bed, wondering how things would be if you and Peter took your friendship a bit further.

Would talking always be this simple? Would he always be this charming?

After that night, you would make excuses to call him. He never denied you, even after he told you he had a long day at the hospital. You guys were not only texting now, but calling daily. You would get excited for his texts and calls, looking forward to talking to him. That’s when you realized you wanted more with him. It felt like you knew each other forever, but it had merely been a few weeks. You wanted to go on a date with him, wanted to be with him in person again. And of course, your mind wandered to the thought of how he is in bed.

If he was that good with just his quick fingers, then how good was he with more space and time? You began to dream about it.

Then he finally asked you. It was so sudden, you honestly didn’t expect it.

You were debriefing your plans for the week and what you had to do at work.

“Sometimes, I feel like my life is on repeat,” You chuckle, but it sounds tired.

“You’re always doing the same thing every week?” Peter questions. He found that he loves just listening to you talk for hours about whatever. He prompts you with questions, and you always answer thoroughly. It’s like an unspoken routine for you two.

“I mean, it feels like that. I never have time to go out and do anything. And when I do, I don’t go out,” You half-smile to yourself as you look down at your lap. You sounded kind of lame, so you were trying not to cringe at yourself.

“You told me your agenda for this week, but what about Saturday and Sunday?”

“Oh, well, you know I don’t work on the weekends. Sometimes, I get extra stuff done at home, but only because I’m bored. I watch TV…” You squint your eyes, trying to think of things you do on the weekend when you’re not busy. “You know, I’m listening to what I’m saying, and I am so lame. God, I need a life outside of work.”

“You’re not lame. Just busy. Give yourself some credit,” he waves off your dig at yourself, and you don’t stop yourself from smiling. He’s just too nice. You can’t take your eyes off him through the small screen as he watches you back.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. What are your weekend plans?” You definitely talk too much, so you always attempt to ask him questions back.

“Well, I was thinking of taking you out,” he very casually says, nonchalantly staring at you through the camera. “Unless you’re busy watching TV.”

“W-What?” Heat crawled up your neck and ears, skin flaming off of his quick words. He’s always charming and always confident with you, so why are you surprised he’s this smooth? You wonder if he’s been thinking about it for a while or if he just got the idea randomly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want to. In that case, I am joking…”

“I want to, Peter,” You smile with the words. It feels impossible to lower your cheek muscles because of the giddiness coursing through you. “If I’m honest, I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me.”

“I was a little slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, both the turtle and the hare beat you to the finish line,” His wonderful laugh echoes through the speaker of your phone, and it fills you with warmth.

While other people have belittled you and forced you to be one way, Peter naturally allows you to be yourself. Your wit flourishes, and your insecurities fade into unique parts of you. Whether you two are friends or more, you need more people like Peter in your life.

After you two had confirmed the plans for Saturday, you two both went to bed when the call ended. When your head hits the pillow, it’s instantly filled with scenarios of you and Peter. Mostly how your first date might go. Is he the type to pull out a chair for you? Definitely. Would he pay without a second glance? Probably, knowing he has that doctor paycheck. Would he kiss you after walking you back to your door? Maybe, maybe not.

But he did finger-fuck you in his office, so nothing is really that impossible.

So, you let your mind wander for the rest of the night while you sleep peacefully. Yes, you had some great dreams.

–

Instead of texting you that he’s here, Peter knocks on your door. The sound itself made your heart accelerate instantly as you stride quickly to answer it. You’ve been overthinking all the ways that this day could go bad, seriously hoping that it doesn’t.

“Hey,” Peter says, clearly eyeing you up and down. He sounds slightly breathless, but not as if he just ran to your door. No, more like he’s speechless. But you could just be overanalyzing every little detail.

“Hey,” As you repeat the word back, you’re both silent for a second. It’s not awkward as it is tense. You’re both just observing and taking in the appearance of the other, appreciating the time and effort in the looks. Peter’s wearing a navy button-up with black slacks. The first two buttons are undone, giving you a peek at his seemingly smooth chest. He’s not wearing a jacket, so you get a view of his arms. From the way the rich fabric stretches around his muscles, it’s obvious that he works out. He just keeps getting better. He continues to check more of your boxes. “Let me just go grab my purse really quick.”

You snatch your bag off of the coffee table after checking you have everything. What if his one flaw is that he won’t pay for at least half the dinner? You must prepare for all the possible outcomes.

“You look brilliant,” You can see him swallow before his compliment, and you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He never makes it a point to look even the slightest bit unsure, which you admire. He’s very charming, which takes a lot of confidence, and he’s very good at it. When he asked you out in his office, you saw that persona slip just a tad, enough for you to see that he is human and that he gets nervous too. You found him adorable. You still do.

“You as well,” You blush as you shut the door behind you. The two of you walk to his car, and of course, he opens the door for you. You can’t stop blushing. “Seriously, how do you make such a simple outfit look so good?”

“Unbutton it,” he answers before gently shutting your door closed. Your mind instantly went to places that it shouldn’t have, making your skin burn. You thought about unbuttoning his shirt slowly and sensually until it fell down his bulky arms. You thought about unbuttoning his slacks and palming his cock. He would be so hard for you, and you didn’t hesitate to get on your knees. God, you wished it was real because you truly would not hesitate for this man.

You shake your head, attempting to rid yourself of those dirty thoughts, so you can have a peaceful date. A first date with Peter.

–

When you guys get to the restaurant, that small voice in the back of your head expects it to be awkward the second you sit down. But once again, you were proven incorrect.

Peter instantly engages in a smooth conversation, asking how your week was overall. You told him all about work and the papers you’re reviewing, and he told you about some of his patients. Every time he mentions anything doctor related, it just makes you swoon. It’s impressive how intelligent he is, and even more so how hard he works. It’s obvious he loves what he does, and you never realized that loving one’s passion was a must-have in your partner checklist.

You also just love the way he talks. His accent makes your skin hot and your spine tingle. Your mind wanders to places it shouldn’t more often than not. And his gaze never leaves yours, only when talking to the waiter when ordering.

There is never a dull moment. Even as you were patiently waiting for your food, you still found things to talk about.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” he asks, observing two people in the back corner with smiles on their faces.

“They’re dressed nicely, and they’re holding hands too much to be together for that long. I’m going to guess the three or four month anniversary.”

“What about them?” he nudges his head in the direction of the people not too far from you two, sitting with straight faces.

“Oh, they’re not celebrating. Probably breaking up.”

“Who goes to such a nice restaurant for a break-up?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like rich people problems to me,” You joke, and you both share a chuckle. It feels nice to casually chat and people watch with somebody else. When your food arrives, you both eat with more adding silence, slipping in words slowly.

“Did I tell you you look really good tonight?” Peter changes the topic, eyes fixating back onto you.

“Yes… Thank you,” You feel yourself blushing all over your body. You use your napkin to wipe your lips, but you’re really using it to protect your face. It was so obvious what his words did to you, that’s probably why he said them. Suddenly, the room feels a little too hot, even just in your dress. “Took me a while to find out what to wear.”

“You could have worn a garbage bag and still looked great,” Peter says, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, stop it. You’re such a charmer. What’s your game? What do you want?” Your words are playful, but the look in Peter’s eye seems more serious. More powerful and heated. Eyes you haven’t seen for a long time in another person, and it freezes you still. The only thing that’s countering the lust circling his irises is the uprising smirk on his lips.

“To take you home.”

Boy, was he a charmer.

“Don’t ask if I’m kidding because I’m not,” he adds, setting down his napkin on the table. He leans over, a curl falling onto his forehead. A hand reaches halfway across the white cloth and rests delicately on your hand. Even his touch was warm and soft, not forceful in any way. “If you want, I’d like to.”

“I…” You were speechless. You knew what your answer would be, but you were just starstruck. How can one person be so gentlemanly yet hot? Cocky yet so sweet? God really didn’t give anyone a chance when making Peter. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

Your thumb rubs reassuring circles on his thumb while you smile like a fool. Peter’s smirk only got bigger as the night went on.

–

You talked. You laughed. You smiled.

But as he drove you to his house, you got nervous again. Maybe you guys would do something as normal as watch a movie. Maybe even cuddle a bit. But you really, really hoped it was more. Especially after your first meeting, you knew Peter wasn’t too shy about sexual matters. However, maybe he didn’t want to do that with you yet and just wanted to take things slow.

But his office…

When his hand was on yours on the table, your memory was brought back right to the moment of his fingers inside of you in the chair. You remembered the feeling of him pushing his digit in and out repeatedly and how good it felt when he removed his latex gloves. Your core rumbled with lust, getting off on the mere fantasy of it all.

When you arrive at his house, you both silently get out of the car. Besides the sound of nature, you could only hear your racing heart and how it was racking against your ribcage in intense beats. He unlocks his door, keying jingling while the breeze flows past. You’re hyper-aware of every noise as if Peter could hear your choppy breath. When he finally opens the door, he lets you in first and you smile, trying to not let your obvious nerves surface.

But you clearly fail when he points it out.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Your eyes lock on his hands as he rests his key on his door side table and feet as he casually slips off his dress shoes. Everything about him was mesmerizing. You swear you could just watch a documentary of a regular day in his life and you could be starry-eyed.

“Bunch of things.” But it was really just one thing.

“Care to share?” Peter shifts to the kitchen and you follow him like a helpless dog, clutching your bag for dear life.

“I keep thinking about…the last time we were together,” the words fall from your mouth as you round the counter. You felt like you needed to create some distance between you two if you were going to admit something like that.

“What about it?” Peter’s knack to ask questions right now is making your face burn from embarrassment under his bright kitchen lights. He grabs two glasses and fills them up with fridge water without even asking if you wanted some.

“You know, the fun part,” You round the counter to reach the water, slowly taking a sip. When you set the glass down, your eyes don’t leave his chest. You’re too afraid to look into his eyes.

“I thought it was all pretty fun,” he says, placing down his own glass and taking one large step towards you “Especially the part where you came all over my hand.”

Your skin flames, eyes peering at him for a moment before dashing away. His finger slides beneath your chin to turn your face back to him. He could feel your radiating heat and could see the widening of your pupils under the luminous lights.

“Were you thinking of that?” His finger directs your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His voice was low and husky, only for you to hear. “Because I haven’t stopped since the day I walked out of that room.”

“Peter…”

“Just say the word, honey, and I’ll kiss you right now.”

You could just melt into a puddle on the floor of his kitchen. His words are so sensual, there is no way you could ever say no to this man. He’s irresistible without trying too hard.

“Please,” You mustered out seemingly breathless while your eyes were locked into his surely.

He doesn’t miss the beat. His head turns as his lips crash against yours. Your lower back hits the island of the counter of marble, but you don’t flinch. His lips electrocute yours, sending jolts of energy coursing through your body like a shock. Your hands naturally find his neat yet messy styled hair on his nape, fingers rummaging through the curly ends. One of his hands holds your waist down from moving as if he already knows you’re antsy to grind on him. His other caresses your jaw in a stable position, the type of dominance you’ve been craving since that day in his office.

His hand goes underneath your thigh, leading you to wrapping your legs around his waist. You thought he was going to sit you on the counter, but he walked all the way to a bedroom without breaking the kiss.

Peter gently lays you on the bed, causing you to depart from the kiss. He wordlessly goes to unbutton his shirt, but you quickly sit up to do it. You’ve been thinking about doing it since he picked you up, so it only seems right that your fantasy comes true, right?

Just like you imagined, you slowly flicked off the buttons and delicately removed the fabric until it was a bundle of cloth on the floor. On the edge of the bed on your knees, you stare up at Peter with a lustful glint in your eye. That glowy look caused Peter to kiss you again, hungrier than before. His force makes you fall onto the mattress again, making you gasp. He trails down your neck in sloppy kisses, touching every inch of your neck and chest with his lips.

“Where did you get this dress?” You didn’t expect him to ask you that while he was groping your breasts through the material. You moan at the feeling of his rough thumbs on your nipples. It’s very distracting while you try to remember where you got the dress that is currently in the way.

“Um Zara? I-I don’t remember,” You moan loudly, not having time to conceal it as he suckles a mark on your neck.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The dress.”

“S-Sure, yeah. It’s-It’s not my favorite, though,” His tousled hair tickles your face as he gets closer to your boobs.

“Maybe you should have worn a garbage bag.”

“Why?” You pull back a little, moving his head up so you can see his face. You thought maybe you would see some expression of disgust, but he only has pure enjoyment. His soft smile turns into a smirk that you’re growing really fond of. It means he’s about to do something hot.

“Because then I wouldn’t feel so bad about ripping it off of you.”

Just like that, the thin straps are easily snapped from his large hands while he yanks the long dress down your body and onto the floor. His mouth instantly went onto your nipple, sucking until he was satisfied with the raw peak of it. He repeated the same movement the opposite one until you were a panting mess, huffing and puffing from just his mouth on your chest.

You can tell he knows how to do this. Yes, he works in gynecology so it’s a benefit that he knows the female body inside and out. But he’s actually skilled in his technique. Although he is hungry and nearly primal, he takes his time with certain areas, making your body want him more and more each time. It’s incredibly smart, and you’re wondering why every man doesn’t know how to properly treat a woman.

You don’t even know your body the way he seems to know it.

His mouth is at your panties before you could even process it. Right when you think he’s about to widen your legs like you so desperately want him to, he stops when his hands rest on your knees gently. He had been going at a fast pace, but now, he’s slow and controlled. Taunting in a way. Torturing.

“I’m going to remove these now, yeah?” He knows you want it now because he has you in his bed right where you want to be. His tone is not as shy as it had been in the office. It’s more controlling yet still soft. “Words, Y/N.”

That demand was all too similar to his words back in the chair with his hands on your waist. He was about to pull off your underwear then for professional reasons, and now, he’s going to yank them off for selfish ones.

“Please take them off,” Just like you had then, you clenched around nothing. Just his sensual words that make you spiral into horny oblivion. Your wavering tone makes him smile as he tugs down the thin material from your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room.

Then he finally widens your legs, facing your aching pussy that hasn’t forgotten about him since all those weeks ago. You were throbbing and leaking to the damn bed sheets, but you couldn’t give a fuck less. You wanted his fingers, his mouth, his cock–anything that he was willing to give you.

“That day,” he starts, “I really wanted to taste you. You were dripping all over my fingers. It was so hard to stay professional.”

He leans down and gets really close to your cunt, inches away from doing what he really wants to do.

“You’ll let me taste you, right?” he asks in an innocent kind of way, but there’s hints of taunt in there. It makes your core burn, and you almost moan at the way his breath hits your center.

“Yes, please. Do whatever you want,” You say that because it’s true–he can do whatever he wants to you, and you would be grateful.

“So polite. So eager,” he kisses your thigh, dangerously close to you now, “And so, so wet.”

“Peter, please,” You were begging now, but you didn’t care. You would beg all night for Peter to touch you the way he did in his office. You’ve tried to replicate it, but it’s no use. You’ve been craving that feeling for weeks now, and he seems to be the only one who can get you there.

“So polite. Good girl.”

To your luck, he doesn’t say another word. He finally puts his mouth on your pussy by slurping up all of your juices. You immediately moan, just by the mere knowledge that his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through your folds all the way up to your clit. Peter suckles on it, feeling it throb in his mouth.

“Taste even better than I imagined,” You don’t know if his whispered words were meant to be heard by you, but you heard them. They caused you to clench right as his tongue slotted inside of you, desperate to taste more of you.

His large hands are pressed against the insides of your thighs, forcing you to stay spread for him. You can feel them ache, but nothing feels as prominent as his tongue inside of you. And then, just when it starts to feel good, he makes it feel even better. One of his digits finds your clit, circling pressure until you’re a moaning mess.

“Fuck, Peter. That’s… so good.”

His mouth pops off of you for a second to catch a breath. But he could honestly drown in the taste of you. He smoothly slides a finger to replace where his mouth was, filling you up just like in his office. Now, his mouth is sucking on your clit, needing to make it throb. You feel that feeling you’ve been chasing for the past few weeks building up in your stomach, and you know it’s not going to be long at all until you achieve it.

“Come. Show me what only I can make you do,” Peter grumbles, his words cascading over your body. The deep rumble of his voice tips you over the edge, causing you to come all over his fingers again. After cleaning up some of your orgasm, he lifts his mouth, but doesn’t remove his fingers. He continues to pump them in and out, even though you’re sensitive.

“So fuckin’ tight, and I haven’t even given you a second finger,” one of his fingers taps of your clit, causing you to gasp at how sensitive you are. “Can you give me another?”

“A-Another one?” You’re panting and sweating from just one, but he wants to give you another? Who is this man, and where has he been all your life? “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. The body is an amazing thing,” he inserts another finger into your cunt and increases his intensity on your nerves. You gasp again, moaning without caring how loud you are. “See, your clit makes you do that. And I love that.”

“Oh, Peter,” You helplessly whimpered. As he thrusts his fingers inside of you with that charming smile and a hint of a smirk, you already feel your high approaching you again. The sight and the feel of him was just too overwhelming. With each thrust of his fingers, his arms bulged, forearm veins popping deliciously. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“C’mon, baby. Give me another. Want to feel you clench around my fingers. Imagine it’s my cock. Imagine how big my cock is going to feel in your little, tight cunt.”

His words oozed sex. So it only made sense that you came not long after. Your release coated his skilled hand once again, and this time, he seemed satisfied with your two orgasms.

When you could finally catch your breath, you didn’t see him reaching for his belt like most men do. But you really, really wanted him to reach for his belt.

“Are you tired? How do you feel?” The tone in his voice was soft. He was easily able to change from sex Peter to caring Peter. Your heart melted at his concern.

“Tired, but good tired. I’ve only ever had three orgasms, and you just gave me two of them,” You laughed breathlessly while he chuckled. “Would I be selfish to ask for more?”

That made him laugh. It was wholehearted and deep, echoing throughout the room. “Not at all.”

And then he reaches for his belt. You feel your organs twist in that lustful, horny way that they do when he does anything. When all his clothes are discarded and you’re faced with his raging cock, you’re practically drooling. He was right when he said he was big; thick and veiny all along the sides. It seemed unfair, really.

He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom, ripping it and rolling it on easily. You continue to watch him in awe as he strokes himself a few times over the condom. Truth be told, he’s already incredibly hard. The second he slips inside of you he fears he will come on the spot because of how tight you are.

But he leans over your body, elbows holding himself up. You can smell his fresh scent, full of pine and wood.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” he whispers next to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, which gives you the shivers. Your hands trail up over his body until they’re resting on his broad shoulders. You can feel his tensed muscles working to hold him up right, even though it looks like an effortless task to him.

“Oh shush. But thank you,” His comment makes your face warm, like a candle right next to your cheek.

“You look especially pretty under me,” his cock brushes your cunt, sliding delicately through the folds. You’re not shy of gasping, trying to mentally prepare yourself for his impeccable size.

When he finally pushes the head in, you take a deep breath and release it in a small whimper. You know you’re tight because you haven’t been with anyone in a few weeks. The most you’ve taken are Peter’s fingers, which are nothing compared to his cock.

He waits a few moments before moving again, giving you time to adjust. But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to fully settle with his size. It seems like he’ll always be stretching you out, no matter how many times you take him.

“Breathe, baby,” his words are breathy and wavering, but so sweet. The small nickname gives you the butterflies you haven’t felt for a while. Not the nervous butterflies, but that tingling, excited feeling of fondness. It’s one of your favorite feelings, and you’re so glad Peter gives you them.

You listen to him, taking deep breaths. He takes the opportunity to push himself a bit further until he’s fully inside of you. He stays still, looking at your face as you grow more comfortable. He watches as your expression contorts into desperation, which is what he’s been waiting for.

“You’re so tight, honey. But you’re taking all of me. Knew you could,” Peter reassures you, even as you clench snuggly around him. It’s embarrassingly hard for him to stay still, given how warm you feel wrapping him.

“Please move. Fuck, I need to feel you.”

Slowly, Peter removes himself and then slots in again. You remember to breathe as his movements become less languid and more fluidly quick. Soon, his thrusts have a bit of speed, causing you to scratch his shoulders at the intensity.

“You’re so big… so deep,” Your moan bounces off the walls of the room, making Peter smirk as he continues to move. His cock pins your hips, shutting down your squirming.

“No one’s ever fucked you like this? Never been this good, baby?” A small huff of his breath hit your skin and you were awed. His words alone could get you off, and then he’s pumping himself perfecting inside of you too, just making you go insane. He knows where all the right spots are, lifting up one of your legs with ease to get a better angle. You love that you can just let him take over you without having to work for your orgasm like you’re used to. You’re used to being on top, but it’s evident that Peter just wants to take care of you. He wants you to be satisfied for once, and you’ve never felt so seen. You’ve never felt so… good.

“Y-You’re the only one,” You sigh as you bite your lip, loving the way he's speaking to you. He’s all sultry in tone and even sexier with his words. You believe he has no flaws that are worth noticing.

“S’right. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good. You can only take my cock like this, deep in your cunt,” All you can do is moan and shake as you feel your next orgasm approaching.

Just when you go to reach down to your clit to push yourself even further, he reads your mind and does it for you. His thick finger circles the throbbing bud until you’re arching your back. Your fingers play with the pebbled nipples on your chest as your insides grow more tight. You haven’t had an orgasm feel this intense yet, so it’s hard to anticipate the feeling.

“Gonna come, baby? Come all over my cock, I need to see it. Need to know I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

With one entire pump inside of you, you’re coming over Peter’s cock and showing him that he’s the only one. All you can see is his charming, fatigued smile surrounded by stars. His brown hair is tousled and a dash of sweat is above his eyebrows, but God, he’s never looked so fucking hot.

It’s not long after that he’s coming after you, his release filling the condom completely. Peter was trying his best to hold himself for as long as possible. But with you, he discovered it was very difficult. Like he thought, the second he was inside of you, he could’ve come. You’re so slick and warm, just so alluring.

He gets up from the bed to discard the condom in done trash while you lay there in naked awe. You already know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow like the day after the gym.

As Peter comes back, he has a wipe that he uses to clean you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask before he starts to wipe you.

“Cleaning you up. You know, like aftercare. You can go to the bathroom and even take a bath if you’d like,” Peter answers while you sit straight up dumbfounded. “May I?”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead,” You allow him to soothingly clean you while you just accept it. Your mind is still whirling with confusion. Are all guys supposed to do this? Or is he really just that great? “Thank you. I… No one’s ever done that before.”

“Really? God, you were really with some twats, Y/N,” he shakes his head and walks back to the bathroom while you chuckle. It’s funny that you had to go through those two guys in order to get to Peter. Third time’s the charm. “Want to take a bath?”

You ponder for a second. You were tired, but not like you would drown in the tub. Maybe if you had better stamina you would ask Peter to join you, but for now, maybe you just need to sit and think about what’s happening alone. Peter is too good to be true. He’s such a gentleman, he never misses a beat. You hope you’re not overstepping by accepting.

“Can I? Or is it too much—”

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable. Now, do you like the right or left side of the bed?” You stare at him in confusion. One, because that was a random question. And two, because when did he put on boxers?

“What?”

“Which side do you sleep on?” You felt your cheeks burn for some reason, and then you realize you’re still naked while he’s semi-dressed.

“Um right, I think. Why?”

“So you can sleep there. You are staying, aren’t you?” Peter’s cheeks tint rosy red, that peek of nervousness shining through. It made you smile because even if he seems too good to be true, there is a little human in there who’s just like you.

“Yes, of course,” You can visibly see his tenseness fade as a small smile grows on his lips.

“I’ll start the bath then get you some clothes then, or else you’ll keep me hard all night.”

Your skin burns, but you feel like that’s not the last time that will happen to you. Not with Peter. No, you know.

—

thank you all for being patient!! i also think this is the longest taglist i’ve ever had, so thank you again!! 💞

taglist:

-> @motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @httpscomexe @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @deathst9r @ellenita98 @ellabellabus07 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @eatshitanddiee @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach @winuvs

crossed out= not able to tag

[secretaccountlol]

A Helping Hand

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker / AFAB!Reader  

Summary: You and Peter Parker have been friends for years. When the two of you wake up in a state of… excitement, you agree to let off some steam, side by side. But good friends should help each other out, right?

Warnings: smut, fluff, college au, college student (way aged up) peter parker, mutual masturbation, dry humping, vaginal fingering, praise kink, sharing a bed

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: This is inspired by Andrew Garfield's take on Spider-Man, but could be read with any of the film iterations. Blame @p3mybeloved for this newfound obsession, all of her stories are goddamn works of art!

Read on AO3 / Minors DNI

It was Peter’s idea for you to take the bed, and your refusal to let that mean he slept on the floor. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, a collision of sleep-deprived stubbornness that came from a near all-nighter of chem cramming and one too many sips of Monster Energy. Your first time in his room, and you still can’t believe he managed to land a single. It was one in the morning when you climbed into this bed. Now you’re awake, and not quite sure what time it is, but there's still the silverly twinge of moonlight pouring in from between the blinds, telling you it's still too early to risk waking him up. 

The two of you are squeezed like sardines on Peter’s extra long twin mattress lofted four feet off the floor. His navy blue sheets smell like Clean Breeze Tide Pods and piney deodorant and whatever pheromones are in the air that make Peter smell like Peter. You lie on your back and stare at the popcorn ceiling, watching the steady red flicker of the WiFi router above you, unable to move. You’re wedged between the rock and hard place of Peter and the wall. 

Peter’s on his side, facing you. In his sleep he absentmindedly flung his arm across your stomach, the warmth and weight of the lean muscle pressing against the skin where your tank top has ridden up. You can feel the faint tickle of his even breaths against your shoulder. Over the course of the two semesters you’ve known Peter, you’ve never been this close to him for this long, never touched him for longer than the moment it took for him to brush a fallen leaf out of your hair, or brush fingers when handing him the coffee you picked up for him on the way to class. And now you’re sleeping in the same bed.

It’s too much. The smell, the sound of his soft, sleepy mumbles, the proximity of your bodies. It’s all-encompassing Peter pressing into you at every angle, and it goes straight to your head before traveling down, past your racing heart and settling into a persistent throb between your thighs. 

Right. There’s also the fact that you’ve had a giant crush on Peter Parker since he sat next to you in class that first day, all the way back in August.

“He’s infuriatingly handsome,” you’d confessed to your friend from home over the phone. With his rumpled dark hair, big brown eyes, and easy smile. When the two of you had been paired up as lab partners and you’d learned that he was actually nice? And funny? And the most helpful person you'd ever encountered? You almost didn't mind the mountain of homework if you did it with him. When Peter explained things to you, everything just made perfect sense. 

You’d tried ice cold showers. You’d tried journaling your feelings and then burning the pages with your friend’s dorm contraband candle. You’d tried looking yourself in the mirror and speaking it aloud: I cannot entertain these feelings for Peter Parker. He’s too good to risk losing over a silly crush. 

But no amount of mirror mantras could wipe away the fact that, in the moments before your body had snapped awake in the wee hours of the morning despite needing a lot more sleep than it’d gotten, you were entrenched in a lurid dream about Peter whispering filth into your ear with his hand in your pants. Making you his. There was that. 

Just thinking about it is getting you all worked up again. No matter how much you twitch and squirm, you can’t get comfortable, even with his memory foam mattress topper and two, two pillows, one allotted to each of you. You wish you knew what time it was, just so you could know just how little sleep you’re getting. 

You turn your head to the side. Of course Peter is sleeping like a log. His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale, casting long shadows over his cheekbones. His arm is a warm, persistent weight against your stomach, and, unfortunately, the only beacon of heat in sight. When you first arrived at his room, you’d joked about how lucky he was to have a dorm with working AC, but now you’re cursing it. You aren’t just frustrated and delirious, but cold.

Peter's blankets have tangled up around your shins, pinned between Peter’s knees. You try slide your leg up, hoping it’ll take the offending piece of cloth with it, but all it succeeds in doing is making the whole situation worse. 

A low rumble emanates from Peter’s chest, putting you on edge. Your mind races, trying to figure out what to do. If you don’t get this blanket, your chattering teeth are going to wake Peter up. Just one big yank and you’ll get it. Just one big…

You reach forward for the blanket again, and manage to wrangle it into your grasp and yank it up to your waist. 

Another rumble comes from Peter, but this time, he moves as well. There’s a newfound pressure to the arm on your torso, pressing down, in, pulling you closer like you’re a teddy bear or something. You’re certainly warmer now, but at what cost? The closeness, the intimacy of it all, is only working you up more. You can’t chalk up the tingles racing down your spine all to the cold. There’s a shimmer in your core that is growing more persistent with each passing second.

Suddenly, something stiff presses up against your thigh. Puzzled, you crane your neck forward to look where your torsos disappear into the tangled wreck of sheets. Something’s up with Peter’s pants, you think.

Oh? Oh…

Something’s up in Peter’s pants. 

Your whole body freezes with realization. You lie like a brick, staring up at the ceiling so hard you can make out the ruffled popcorn texture through the dark. Your mind spirals back to the crackly VHS tapes about puberty you watched in middle school, chipper teenagers with bowl cuts talking about how wet dreams are nothing to be ashamed of. “Sometimes these things just happen” with a wan shrug and an empty grin. Of course, you know it’s a bodily response that happens on its own, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but the part of your brain that releases arousal chemicals isn’t on the same one track as the rest of your mind. 

Tentatively, you try to squirm closer to the wall, but you’re already smooshed against it, and the blanket gets caught in your elbow somehow, and the mattress pad slips beneath you, and the “shit” you try to let out under your breath comes out more over your breath, and before you know it Peter’s stirring next to you and fuck , you’ve fucked up, you’ve fucked up bad and there’s no way out of it. 

“Hmm…?” 

The sound emanates from Peter’s throat, roughened and deep in his chest. And god help you, you clit practically throbs in response. 

“Peter.” His name feels strange to say all of a sudden, tripping up on your tongue. 

“What is it?” he asks, voice languid and floaty, like he’s still got one foot in dreamland. 

“You…” You swallow hard. “Um…”

A few seconds pass, and then Peter’s eyes snap open. You watch recognition blaze across his face, mouth wrenching with panic as he retracts his body from yours in an instant. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” His voice is clearer now, and his cheeks blaze scarlet. “I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happens sometimes-”

“I know, it’s no big deal-”

“I’ll move to the floor.” He sits up and turns away from you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You catch one of his hands lowering down to adjust the crotch of his pants. “Or, Do you want to leave? I can walk you back to your place, or call you a cab or something.”

Man, do you feel terrible about how he must feel terrible. You should also feel terrible, you were doing the exact same thing as he was. Maybe you should be feeling worse, you were thinking about him . You just got lucky your biology didn’t mean he could feel it. 

“Wait.”

You catch his arm before he can jump ship.

“It’s fine, it’d, I’m…” You chew at your lip. “I don’t want to leave. In all honesty, I’m in a similar boat.”

Peter turns back to you with a start, eyebrows scrunched with confusion.

“Really?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he breathes. A little incredulous. “You don't…? You’re not-“

“Let’s just take care of it,” you tell him. As soon as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself internally stunned at your audacity. Where was this coming from? You hardly had the nerve to ask people to kiss you on a third date, and now you were tossing out a suggestion for a side-by-side masturbation session with your lab partner? “If you want to. I’m sorry. That was weird-”

“Okay,” he says quickly, nodding with an eagerness that crushes your hesitation in a heartbeat. “It’s okay with me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you're both overexerted and delusional from lack of sleep. Maybe you'll both wake up in the morning with a haze recollection of this whole agreement and never want to see each other again. This is risky and weird and downright stupid, but you're so turned on that you can't bring yourself to care. Before you know it, Peter has laid back down by your side, arms knocking together as the both of you shove your hands into your pants. The combined pressure of the elastic bands of your sweatpants and underwear presses down into your wrist as you cup your hand as you slide your fingers down to circle your throbbing clit. 

The soundscape of the room widens with the rustling of clothes and the clipped, moany breaths the two of you start to spill between bitten lips. Finally touching yourself, you feel a sense of relief wash over your body, opening up to give way to a bone-deep need. Need for what you can’t quite place, it’s different than the usual arousal you feel when getting off in your own room, sneaking in quickie orgasms when your roommate is out. This erotic energy crackles around you, feeding off of Peter’s presence, sparking on all sides like a Tesla coil. The sight of him, the feeling of him in front of you is so much more visceral than trying to picture him in your head. Here you can try to count the faint freckles on his cheeks, feel the heat of his body bleed into yours, listen to him-

“Fuck,” Peter spits out alongside your name, and the sound of it tumbling out of his mouth, like he can’t help it, like it’s the first thing on his mind, has your stomach flipping. 

It drives you to finally sink a finger inside yourself, tracing the soft give of your walls. You assume as steady a rhythm as you can manage, pumping in and out, in and out. You can hear, ever so faintly, the wet, slipping sound emanating from between your legs, and it makes your cheeks flush. Peter has to be hearing it too, and you can’t help but smile faintly at the thought of it spurring him on. 

Peter’s hips grind forward, nudging up against your leg, but he wrenches it back quick. He’s trying to keep to his own space, you think. As considerate as ever, even at a vulnerable moment like this. 

“You can…” You swallow, trying to coax moisture into your parched throat. “You can use me if you want.”

“Really?” He sounds a little amazed at the suggestion, like he can’t believe his ears. 

“Really.”

You reach out, maneuvering forward to slot your thigh against his crotch. Peter’s hand moves from between his legs to your hip, holding your body in place as he starts to grind against it. The hard length and persistent warmth of his erection is evident even through the layers of clothing. A litany of desires wells through you in response to it. You want to take him in your hand, you think. Want to put your mouth on him. Want him inside you. 

Peter gives his hips a testing rock against the soft pressure of your thigh. 

“Feels so good,” Peter mumbles. “Thank you.”

Peter’s face is nestled in close against your neck now. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin. His lips just barely brush against your throat, and a part of you wants to lean in close, in hopes he’ll kiss it and keep kissing it hard and long enough to leave a mark.

But for now you just savor the sounds. The beautiful sound that pour from Peter’s mouth, covering the whole spectrum of debauchery with ease. Faint, needy whines. Primal grows you feel shake in his chest. Over time, his thrusts grow more intense, more desperate. His hold has slipped from your hip and up to your waist. He’s stronger than you expected, holding you firmly in place so you can’t squirm away. Not that you’d ever want to, not when you can tell he’s close. 

“Are you gonna come, Peter?” you ask. 

You slow the activity between your own legs, retreating to cupping your sex to maintain the pressure while still allowing the focus to fall on him. You twitch your thigh between his legs, feeding into the movement of him rutting against it. 

“I’m gonna-” The words die on his tongue with a sharp inhale. “Keep talking.”

“Do it, Peter.” 

Peter lets out a shivering sigh, and you feel his teeth skim over the skin of your throat, just barely. It spurs you to keen against him even more. 

“Come,” you goad him. “ Please . You’re so fucking lovely like this. Wish I could see you better-”

Peter gasps with a shudder that wracks through his whole body. You can feel the muscles in his legs seize, clamping down around your thigh. His fingers grip down hard onto your waist, gathering you as close as you can. You turn your head as much as possible and see a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, glowing gently in the minimal light. 

“Did you just-?”

Peter’s hair tickles against your ear as he nods. His chest heaves against your side with each labored breath as tries to collect himself.

“Yeah.”

Now that he’s gotten off, your focus snaps back to your own body. You feel like you’re going to melt down into Peter’s mattress, every inch of you is scorching . Your hair sticks to the back of your neck against Peter’s pillow. Your entire side is aflame in every spot your body meets Peter’s. And then there’s the roiling inferno happening in your sweatpants, which are more than living up to their name. The fuzzy fleece and cotton underwear and your flushed skin and slick arousal and steadily working hand. You work your palm up, nudging the heel of your hand with steady pressure against your clit. The returning sensation makes your back arch up against the weight of Peter’s arm banded around your waist with a cry you try to suppress through gritted teeth. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asks. 

He props himself up on his elbow. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of your flushed skin, your messed hair and rumpled clothes. Your nipples are so hard you bet he can see their stark outlines through your tank top. His eyes flick down to where your hand disappears into your sweatpants, watching the rock of your wrist.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need…”

God, it’s so hard to talk right now when all you can focus on is the desire clawing up your spine with a vengeance, desperate to be unleashed after so much waiting. You grind your clit down onto your hand again and this time, without his arm to restrain you, your back arches up off the bed. You bring your freed arm up to clamp your hand over your mouth as you empty a mewl into your palm.

“Hey hey hey,” Peter says. He strokes his hand against your cheek. “I’ll help you too.”

Heat sears through your face in the wake of his touch, so gentle and soothing and only riling you up more. Kind, responsible Peter, who always reminded you to take a snack break while cramming at the library and gave you warm smiles across lecture halls. Always willing to give you a helping hand. 

You’re not going to stop him. 

“Okay,” you tell him breathily.

Peter’s hand slides down your stomach so fast it makes your head spin. You catch a glimpse of it in the low light, his cool palm against your warm skin as it splays over your stomach. Has his hand always been so big? His fingers so long? They spider over you, sweeping down, down to grab the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“This’ll be a lot easier with these gone,” he says. 

“Take them off,” you tell him. 

You don’t have to say it twice. With a firm yank, Peter shoves your sweatpants down to your shins. You frantically kick the fabric away from your ankles, and it lands with a dull thump into your mess of chem notes. 

Peter’s hands wrap around your wrist, tugging your hand away from your cunt. You open your mouth to protest, but then he guides your hand upwards, and you watch as he leans forward to take your slick fingers into his mouth. 

“Peter…”

He dutifully cleans the traces of arousal from your fingers with quick flicks of his tongue and, god help you, moans at the taste of you. The sound sends a fresh wave of roiling desire rushing through your body, tingling your scalp all the way down to the soles of your feet. 

Peter’s lips part, and he releases his hold on your wrist, but you can’t bring it in yourself to move your hand back down, even though your pussy is aching for relief now more than ever. Instead, your hand lingers at his face. His infuriatingly handsome face. You can feel the gentle prickle of new stubble at your fingertips as you trace along his jaw, the heat in his cheeks as you cup his cheek in your palm. 

You feel the weight of Peter against your hand as he leans into your touch. He moves his hand to caress your throat, fingertips skimming the place where your pulse races beneath the surface. 

“Can I tell you something?” Peter asks, voice low and dark as the room. 

His hand moves down the column of your neck to trace along your clavicle. 

“Yes,” you say. The word comes out thin and fluttery. 

“I was dreaming about you earlier,” he tells you, tentatively skating his fingertips over your breasts. “It’s why I got hard. I was dreaming about touching you.”

“How?”

You bring your chest up to fill Peter’s palm, and it’s the push he needs to grasp you in earnest, feeling the tender give of you in his hands. 

“Hmmm?” he asks, too distracted by circling his fingertips over your pebbled nipples to notice your question. 

“How did you touch me?” 

“Everywhere. But mostly here.”

His hand descends from your breasts over your stomach, down to cup against your pussy over your underwear. Your hips tilt into the firm pressure of his palm on their own volition, craving more. More . 

“Did you actually touch me?” you ask, “or just tease me?”

Peter tsks as you rut against him helplessly.

“Gimme a second,” he chastises you, “This was my dream, remember? I’m getting there.”

He’s getting there, but you aren’t. Peter’s got you suspended in a stasis of horny frustration. You don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on in your life, all from his voice in and him holding your cunt in his hand like it’s all his. It just might be. 

“I made you come on my hand,” he tells you. 

He teases with the gusset of your underwear, dragging over the line where fabric gives way to skin. Dipping just barely beneath. 

“It was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he continues. He moves down then, and under. Beneath the fabric to tease two fingertips over your slit so gently it makes you want to cry with impatience. “I had to see you do it again, and again, until you couldn’t take it any more. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

His index and middle fingers move back and forth with careful, feather light caresses. Taking his time. You think about begging for him to hurry the fuck up already, but you have a feeling that wouldn’t do much. He has you right where he wants, and god help you, there’s no place you’d rather be. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he continues, “it’s never enough. All the times it’s happened. When I wake up I have to take care of it. Keeps me up at night, makes me late for class. It’s all your fault.”

And then he sinks the two fingers inside you in a single steady thrust. It hits deep, a delicious angle you would have no way of achieving on your own. You bite back the moan of relief which tears out of your throat just in time, repressing it into a tortured mewl. The admission swirls around your head as Peter begins to steadily pump his fingers in and out of you. All the times. So he’s thought about it just like you have. It’s been making a mess of him too. 

And now, he’s making a mess of you.  The heat between your legs rages, the clever pulse of his touch only feeding the flames. It locks up inside you, making your skin prickle and your toes curl. Peter’s fingertips nudge against a spot inside you that has your eyes screwing shut at the pure bliss it rends, and you gasp against the velvety dark of your eyelids. Peter takes note and zeroes in, and the sound floats and sparkles until it transforms into a bewildered laugh of sorts, the bliss making your head go stupid. His mattress feels like a cloud beneath you, you feel yourself settling in deep. Oh, he’s good with his hands. 

“Hey, look at me.”

Peter’s voice wafts through the misty darkness. It takes you a moment to wrap your head around what he says. 

“Hey.” His fingertips trail over your cheek, back and forth. “You good?”

“Hmmm?”

Your vision is blurry when you open your eyes, the darkness still obscuring any harsh lines. Peter’s face swims into view above you, still infuriatingly handsome, of course. But also attentively trained on you. He keeps his touch trained on your g-spot, but his rhythm has settled into a languid pace, keeping the pleasure coasting at a stasis. Just on the cusp of shattering. 

“There she is,” Peter muses. “Just checking in. Thought you were falling back asleep for a second.”

“Feels good,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

Peter smiles. 

“I haven’t even made you cum yet. Thank me then.”

The hand Peter’s been trailing over your cheek moves down, sliding along the column of your throat. His thumb arcs up and down reassuringly over your pulse point, but it does little to soothe the anticipation eating away at your core. More .

“Still teasing…” you retort. “Need to come. Please?”

Peter nods.

“Well now that you’ve asked so nicely. Okay. You’re gonna come, I promise.”

His thumb rises to circle over your clit, and your hips stutter forward. Stars leaping into your periphery and you gasp .

“Ah-!”

With your instruction, Peter leaves all teasing to the wayside and redoubles his efforts. The consistent, circling press on your clit paired with the even thrust of his fingers is one deadly combination. Every system in your body screams in anticipation for release, the heat of desire flushing your skin, making your muscles seize tight. Your breath staggers in your chest with the weight of your thundering heart. 

“Close,” you choke out.

You clasp your hands onto Peter’s arm, holding onto it like a lifeline. It’s the only thing keeping you steady as you fall apart on his hand. Pleasure crackles through your body with the vivid intensity of lightning streaking across a pitch black sky. Burning hot and leaving a glow in the aftermath. You can feel your arousal damp between your legs, against the skin of your thighs, against Peter’s sheets, against his hand. You fucking shiver , and it’s not because of the cold, it’s because Peter fingers you gently through the aftershocks, prolonging the high for as long as he can and looking at you with a reverence that makes your head spin. His stupid long boy eyelashes and lips parted, big brown eyes roving over every inch of you. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, and all you can do is whimper in response.

"Now can I thank you?" you ask him.

"Sure. Now you can."

"Thank you, Peter."

Finally, Peter withdraws his hand from between your legs. You swear you can feel your pupils dilating as you watch him raise his hand to his mouth once more, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes your release on his fingertips. Your breath recedes as you catch the careful way he swirls his tongue over them, laving away every last trace of it. His eyes open once more, and immediately zero in between your legs.

“Is that enough?” he asks. “I could put my mouth on you...”

He says it simply, dreamily, so smooth you almost miss it. Almost. The suggestion clicks into place in your lust-hazed mind. Peter glances back up at you with a small smile and eyebrows piqued with curiosity. It’s a request you know the immediate answer to so fast you have to clamp your mouth shut to prevent it from tearing free a split second after his question is posed. Yes . Every nerve in your body is alight with the idea of it. Unfortunately, the exhaustion provided by your circumstances has started to settle in, all leaden limbs and heavy lids. It’s only been exacerbated by the natural exhaustion that comes in the wake of an orgasm. Your mind and body need a second to rest. The faint promise of morning light that’s begun to bleed through the window is a reminder of all the much needed sleep you very much haven’t gotten. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

Peter glances down at his watch.

“Three twenty three am.”

“Postpone an enthusiastic hell yes to some time in the near future,” you tell him. “We need to sleep.”

As if on cue, Peter’s face scrunches up in a giant yawn that collapses into a contented sigh as he flops down next to you. 

“You’re right,” he says, rearranging the pillows beneath your heads. 

“At least six hours,” you suggest. Somehow, the smushed downy fluff feels far more comfortable than it did before. “Then in the morning we can do breakfast.” 

“Breakfast?” Peter asks teasingly, with a raised eyebrow and sparkling eyes that tell you he’s unpacking every possible implication from your suggestion.

You swat at his arm with a scoff. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you say. “I meant actual breakfast. Like pancakes. I’m gonna wake up starving.”

“Me too.”

You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face, and you give his arm a halfhearted swat. 

“ Enough! I’m trying to count sheep over here.”

“Okay okay,” he relents. “Sweet dreams. But not too sweet.”

“Right back at you.”

The conversation recedes as the sleepiness washes over you. Peter’s arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you close to him. You can feel the even rise and fall of his chest as his breathing deepens and the R.E.M. cycle whisks him away. But even in his sleep he finds a way to overwhelm your senses and imbue with a sense of settled security. All-encompassing Peter pressing in against you from every angle, and as the popcorn ceiling blurs into the familiar darkness of the back of your eyelids, you can’t think of any place you’d rather be.

Find me on AO3 @/goldengrapes  

[secretaccountlol]

happy new year {peter parker}

part one here

plot: after your ex peter leaves you a card on christmas, you go visit him.

character: peter parker x female character

note: i love emotional, touch starved peter parker

It had been almost a week since Peter had left the card on your fire escape and you'd not reached out in any way shape or form despite Peter's hopes and wishes. He took that as the final nail in the coffin. You had completely moved on so it was time he did too.

He had just finished his second patrol of the day and was coming back to Aunt May's for some lunch when his enhanced hearing could hear muffled voices and laughter coming from Aunt May's home. Someone else was here. Peter frowned. Aunt May hadn't mentioned anyone else coming over today. He shrugged it off, maybe just a neighbour coming to wish her a happy new year.

He pulled the mask off, shoving it into his hoodie's pocket - he liked doing his patrols with a hoodie and sweatpants over it to keep the winter chill of New York away - and opened the door. The voices were louder but still muffled, he couldn't tell who it was.

He dropped his backpack by the door and walked into the kitchen where the voices were coming from. Peter was expecting a neighbour - Mr Jenkins or Anita from across the street - he certainly hadn't been expecting the person who was sitting across the kitchen table from Aunt May.

It was you.

Everything seemed to stop, time slowed right down and all Peter could do was stare at you with an expression with resembled that of seeing a ghost. He was acutely aware of his heartbeat, hammering loudly in his chest, ears ringing as your head rose to look at him. Your smile faltered for the briefest of moments as Aunt May stood, re-introducing the two of you after all this time. Your lips moved but he couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears.

It took a solid ten seconds for Peter to come back to reality. He opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. He hadn't prepared for this. He wasn't prepared to encounter you again. He thought that this chapter was done, closed and finished... But you were standing in his Aunt's kitchen.

"Hey, Peter," you said gently. God, he wanted to fall to his knees with the way you said his name. One word, two syllables and he would've killed for you if you asked him to.

Aunt May saw his surprise and half stepped in front of you, almost shielding him from you so that he could regain some form of composure, "(y/n) wasn't sure where your new apartment was, Peter, so she came here. She brought some delicious scones as a new year's gift." Her eyes were aglow with excitement, she had hoped the two of you would find your way back to each other and maybe this was that connection finally happening like it should've stayed.

"Uh," Peter nodded to his Aunt May, silently telling her that was he was okay and she moved out of the way. Peter took a deep breath. You looked perfect. He'd seen you a week ago, Christmas Eve, but right now it was like he was seeing you for the first time. Your hair was loose and bouncy, your cheeks slightly rosy from the winter chill, your eyes wide and smiling at him with a slightly unsure expression, "Hi." All it took was that one word and he saw you visibly relax, saw your shoulders fall and saw a flash of relief on your face.

Aunt May quickly thought of an excuse to leave and left the two of you in the kitchen with so much tension hanging in the air between the two of you, "How-"

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out.

Peter frowned, "What?"

"- for just showing up. I-I went to your apartment - your old apartment - the woman that lives there didn't have a forwarding address for you and she wasn't all very pleasant at all-" Peter smiled slightly at your nervous rambling, "-and I knew where Aunt May lived and I had to talk to you so I just came here. I didn't think to call because- I don't actually know. I-"

"Hey," his voice was so soft and gentle, "it's fine." There was a moment's pause and he continued, "I moved about six months ago. Needed a change." The apartment was full of the ghost of you. "Few blocks away from my old apartment. Nicer. Rent is horrendous though." This made you crack a smile.

Again, silence fell. It was awkward. You had come here prepared to tell him what you needed to tell him and now, standing in front of him... you were too scared. He looked good. Tired but good. He had grown his beard out which was nice, you always loved him with a beard. It suited him. His chocolate eyes were just as warm but there was a sadness surrounding him again, like when you first met him.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asked quietly.

You nodded immediately, "Sounds good."

The snow fell slowly, floating down to the ground as you and Peter walked. Neither of you spoke but it was a little more comfortable being out in the open with the sounds of New York around the two of you.

Anxiously, your fingernails dug into your skin. Just tell him, (y/n). You came all this way to chicken out?! You took a breath but Peter beat you to the chase.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped by coming to your apartment," he said sincerely, "I-I know that's why you're here so scream at me if you want, I just... I deserve it." You frowned, confused, "Aunt May had told me she bumped into you and you were with someone and you were happy... I... I got jealous but I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Pete," you said with a shake of the head, "I mean, yeah, you overstepped the mark. It was completely and wildly inappropriate and almost kind of creepy?" You took a second to pick your words, "But you made me kind of snap out of the auto pilot mode I was in."

It was Peter's turn to be confused.

"Jasper... He was great. He's someone Rachel set me up with a few months ago and yeah, he was fun but..." He wasn't you, "it wasn't going to work out. We wanted different things."

You cleared your throat, refusing to look at him and instead looked away from him watching the snow fall, "Wait... you broke up?" You nodded, again not looking at Peter. Embers of hope began to burn a little brighter in his stomach, "Oh."

"He knew about you, you know," you said quietly and had Peter not had enhanced hearing he wouldn't have heard your next few sentences, "He knew he had no chance competing against you even though you weren't trying until last week. He knew that I still loved you."

Peter's face softened and he slowed down with you. He stretched his hand out to take yours but hesitated and his hand fell. For a moment, the two of you stood - you with your back turned and Peter with the most forlorn expression.

"I really tried to get over you, Pete. I really tried." You sniffed, wiping tears away before they could fall. You turned to him, seeing his own eyes welling with tears, "It wasn't your fault, Peter."

His head fell back onto his shoulders as he closed his eyes, tears mixing with wet snow as he exhaled a long breath. For over a year, he harboured the guilt of your accident. It was because of him; who he was. You got hurt and he hated himself for it.

Your hands clasped his cheeks and Peter gasped. He was so touch starved, he hadn't realised that another person hadn't touched him besides Aunt May in a year. You pulled his head away from the sky to look down at you, "You hear me?" You were crying, "What happened to me, it wasn't your fault. I don't blame you, Peter, I never have and I'm so sorry that I couldn't help you last year. I'm so sorry you've held onto this all this time."

He opened his eyes, staring at you again for what felt like the first time, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"I know that," you let out a sob, "Peter, everything you've ever done is to protect me! Had it not been for you, I would've died. You webbed my wounds and took me hospital immediately, you saved me."

"But-"

"You saved me, Peter. None of it was your fault. I do not blame you. Please, please stop blaming yourself."

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, pulling him down so you could plant the kiss on him. Then one on his wet nose. Despite the cold, Peter's body was on fire at your touch. This was what he'd been craving for a full year. You.

"You better stop," his voice was thick, "cause if you let me kiss you, I'm never gonna let you go again."

You smiled widely, pressing your foreheads together, "I'm not gonna leave again so by all means..."

He didn't need to be told twice. His lips were on yours in a flash, hot and cold, melding together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He still tasted the same; chocolate, coffee and peppermint. His hands pulled you in, not hesitant anymore but confident and knowing. He pulled you flush against him as he kissed you, a hand weaving into your hair as the other wrapped around your back. God you missed him. And for a moment, just for a moment, everything in the world was good and everything was right.

What a way to start the year.

[secretaccountlol]

[secretaccountlol]

baby, don’t make me spell it out for you

Summary: A snow squall leaves her stranded at Peter’s apartment. Strip dreidel is clearly the move.

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Female Reader

Word count: 10.2k

Rating: 18+, no minors

Tropes/warnings: friends to lovers, mutual oblivious pining, sex, light praise kink, aural kink, light teasing, hair pulling, sacrilegious use of dreidel (I’m one of the tribe, I’m allowed), also Peter is Jewish because AG says so and who am I to argue with him

This is for the lovely Ree @fallensilencefics! You are a joy to know. Happiest holidays to you and yours!

It started with a scattering of snow and a last minute assignment. No big deal. She’d go to his apartment and they’d tag-team the article instead of texting heyy did you get my edits yet thirty thousand times. Not that it was a task to hang out with Peter; he was a friend. An outside of work friend, even. They’d gone to the movies together and gotten drinks after finishing an arduous assignment. He’d taken her to the High Line for her birthday last month. They’d even tackled the Guggenheim a few weeks ago just because she’d never been. Friends did stuff like that. 

What friends didn’t do was perseverate on an almost-kiss at a Fourth of July work barbeque that thankfully no one else had seen. And it had been a complete accident— they’d been in the corner of the rooftop bar because it was so damn loud and he’d been telling her something about an NPR podcast that she couldn’t hear, and they’d been sitting so close that they’d both leaned in to say something at the same time and like something out of a mid-nineties romcom, their mouths had brushed before they'd both pulled away instantly, cracking up because how else were they gonna react to that?

No, she didn’t think about that at all. Ever. It certainly didn’t have her overanalyzing their interactions from that day forward. Or every interaction they’d ever had preceding that. And she definitely didn’t have a crush on him. 

That would be entirely unprofessional. 

Their assignment was winter holiday traditions. She could still remember putting her pink sneakers in the hallway for Saint Nick during naptime in kindergarten and being delighted to find an eraser shaped like a dolphin inside when she’d collected them later. She’d been crushed to realize it had been Mrs. Hudson all along when she’d seen the empty eraser bag in the trash by their cubbies. 

The next year, her teacher taught about Kwanzaa and the kinara. Nguzo saba and the importance of unity and culture. She’d created a family portrait on canvas with far too much red paint and a dog they didn’t own. 

Hanukkah came in second grade, and so did the waxy gelt that she was so proud of winning after learning to play dreidel with letters she didn’t recognize but was absolutely hellbent on memorizing to beat Mike Petersen, her annoying math partner who made her hate learning how to add two-digit numbers because he whined nonstop about carrying numbers. The gelt was objectively not delicious but her victory over him made them taste like a five star dessert. 

Las Posadas came in third grade when her teacher brought a shiny star-shaped piñata that she’d wanted to break so badly, but had lost out to Lila O’Malley who’d landed the winning blow. She’d sulked while coloring her poinsettia picture, because she was just a little competitive and wanted to be the one to smash it to pieces. It wasn’t flattering to be so determined, and she’d learned to control it as she’d gotten older. But still… it would have been rewarding to smash that star into colorful bits of confetti. To hear that crack of the bat as it had crumpled and dropped a rainbow of treats all over the worn tile. To be the hero of room 301, the candy deliverer. Even as an adult, that gotta be the best streak lit up in her every once in a while. It was like a dormant volcano, simmering under her surface at a low boil. 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t rely solely on her elementary school education to write an article with Peter. Peter, who was funny and smart and handsome and it turned her all inside out even though she knew she shouldn’t let it. But he was just her friend. And she was inside his snug apartment.

She was fairly certain that they were sitting a little too close on his navy couch, knees bumping as they leaned in to trade laptops so they could inspect each other’s work every twenty minutes or so. He’d picked a piece of lint off her dark sweater when she’d arrived, hidden among the starry constellations printed across it, and she’d been kicking his foot every time he’d checked something unrelated to work on his phone. He’d begun to return the kicks, and that had turned into shoulder bumping that had them both cracking up like dweebs. She didn’t touch her other coworkers like that, and she didn’t think he did either. 

Whatever. It meant nothing. 

Currently, she was making sure she’d spelled cuetlaxochitl correctly every time she’d typed it, because it was too important to mess up. Poinsettia just came from the ambassador who’d brought them over in the 1800s from Mexico and stomped out their real name, in addition to being an all-around shitty person. Co-founding the Smithsonian Institution didn’t erase owning and displacing people. And if there was one thing she loved, it was letting the masses know things that had been left out of history class. She was incapable of writing a strictly fluff piece, but Jameson grudgingly let it slide because her work was good. 

“You done with Hanukkah?” she asked, carefully rubbing her burning eyes so she didn’t smear her mascara. 

Peter glanced up from his laptop. He’d dug out a box labeled Hanukkah which had led to a spelling discussion and why there were approximately nine trillion ways to spell the holiday: Hanukkah Chanukah Hanuka Chanukka, even some with a Q and an X. It had also led to Peter rediscovering a dreidel that had been collecting dust in his closet since he’d moved in, and he’d been idly spinning it on and off all evening. It was a pleasant noise, a smooth whir across his book and succulent-covered coffee table that ended with a clatter. He’d been tallying the letters it had landed on but they’d gotten distracted along the way and ended up losing count. 

He nodded, smoothing out the curling edge of a bagel sticker that said LOX AND ROLL that wanted to escape from his green metal water bottle. “Shamash and all. You finish up Christmas, Ace?”

The nickname tugged at her pleasantly, wrapping around her brain like a hug. He’d called her that since they’d all gone out for happy hour back in May, some off-the-cuff joke about an intrepid girl reporter that had made her giggle, which had seemingly cemented it. A nickname was a gift she’d always loved. Something more than a birthday card or a keychain, a this is how I really see you. 

Outside his kitchen windows, everything was a hazy gray, blurring the building across the street into something approximating a rusty rectangle under the streetlights. The snow had kicked up in the last hour, and it was unfamiliar enough to make her a bit nervous. If she was back home, she’d be in a pair of criminally short shorts and a tank top.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket at the same time Peter’s screen lit up. It was an emergency alert, and it made her stomach swallow itself up. 

National Weather Service: Snow squall warning in effect until 11:00 PM. Icy roads, sudden whiteouts. Stay indoors.

Shit. It was late enough as it was, and 11:00 was past when she was comfortable being on the subway alone. She couldn’t ask Peter to walk her all the way home, and she didn’t want to impose. Sucking it up and leaving as soon as it was clear was the only option. Hopefully the subway would be crowded with people in the same situation as her. Crowds felt safer at night. Easier to disappear into and just be a nameless nobody.

“You can stay here tonight,” he offered, cracking his neck with a yawn as he shut his laptop. “I’m not having you go out in this kind of weather.”

Heat flooded her face at his words, and she stared at her corgi-covered socks. As much as she appreciated how considerate he was, it didn’t feel right to spend the night. What was she supposed to do, wear his clothes that smelled like him? Sleep on his couch that definitely smelled like him? That all seemed counterproductive to the crush she’d been trying to fight for months. “I can… um, it’s fine. I don’t wanna put you out.”

“Ace.” Peter shook his head emphatically as he stood, picking up their empty beer bottles from the table. They clinked together and the glassy sound sent a shiver up her spine. “No offense, but you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you loose at midnight on a Saturday. I’ll sleep out here, the couch is comfy. I do it all the time when I get in late.” Great. She could sleep in his bed. That wouldn’t irreparably damage her horny little goblin brain. What the fuck was he doing, trying to kill her?

“Didn’t know you were such a night owl,” she deflected, chewing on her lip as the wind screamed past the building. What the hell was he up to that he was collapsing on the couch instead of taking the ten extra steps to his bedroom?

“First squall?” he asked from the kitchen, leaning on the counter with a mischievous gleam in his eye. The same one he’d had when he’d been the first one to pop his head over her cubicle wall with a hey, new girl as he’d offered her jelly beans from his secret candy stash in his bottom desk drawer. She’d picked a lemon one off the top, tart against the sweet grin he’d given her after telling her if she had any questions, he was her man. Oh, Jesus, had she always had a crush on him and the dumb barbeque had just forced it to surface? For someone who wrote for a living, she apparently couldn't read between her own lines worth a damn. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

She’d moved up to New York from Miami at the tail end of March to take the Bugle job, and despite having visited the city a million times growing up, it had always been during the summer. Never this blustery frigid mess that made her ass and thighs go numb from the sheer sharpness of the wind. “Miami doesn’t do snow.”

“Yeah, but if you’ve made it through hurricanes, you can make it through a squall,” he assured her breezily. That was him: trying to boost others with a sunny grin and a big wink that always made her feel better. And just a little bit fluttery. Which made her feel like a creep because he was her friend and he lit her up inside and she wished he wouldn’t, because it made her brain feel all sticky and stupid. Friends weren’t supposed to light each other up. “Squalls are nothing.”

“Hurricanes don’t just pop up,” she reminded him as she plugged her phone in, ever aware of the potential of a power loss. That was one thing snow and hurricanes had in common. “We have time to buy all the water out of Publix.”

“Fair.”

“But, um, thank you. For trying to distract me. Any other ideas?” 

“Trivial Pursuit. Video games. Strip dreidel. Pictionary,” he suggested, spinning the top across the counter with an easy flick of his fingers. 

She was so busy focusing on his elegant hands that It took a second to realize what he’d said, and her face went boiling hot as the words sank in. “Strip dreidel?” He had to know she felt some kind of way to suggest something with the potential to turn naked. She couldn’t imagine any other reason to bring up a game like that. Maybe her crush wasn’t unreciprocated. Maybe she should tug on this seemingly loose thread and see what might unravel between them. 

He grinned. “Strip dreidel,” he over-enunciated with a lewd wiggle of his dark brows as he popped the P at the end of strip. 

“We didn’t learn that version in elementary school.”

“I would hope not,” he replied primly, examining the letter it landed on, tracing it thoughtfully with his thumb. “You never got drunk and played strip dreidel at a party?” He sounded surprised, like it was spin the bottle common. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re saying it like it’s a thing,” she said dryly. 

“College kids will make anything horny,” he reminded her, spinning it again. She watched the little blue dreidel make its way across the counter, but he caught it lightning-fast before it could hit the floor. She’d watched him do that a million times with a cup that was second from crashing to the ground, always setting it back down like it was nothing.

“What are the rules to strip dreidel?” she asked as the power flickered dangerously for a second. Wind rattled the windows angrily, practically begging to get inside and destroy everything it could touch. Lift them away like The Wizard of Oz and drop them in a strange new land. “Should we even be taking our clothes off in a storm?” Damn him for planting a lewd little seed and needling at her curiosity. Excuse her all to hell for wanting to see Peter Parker shirtless. And maybe pantsless. She was only human. Whatever, he’d started it. 

“I have draft guards,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the windows, twirling the top through his long fingers, which she needed to stop looking at, because she was currently imagining them loosely wrapped around her throat. Was she shitfaced off one beer that she’d had almost three hours ago? What the hell was her problem? Why would she think of his big palm pressed to her throat, thumb skating along her jaw as he tipped her head to the side? They were hands. Her friend’s normal, big hands—

“Oh,” she managed to mumble. Like she’d ever seen a draft guard in her life. It sounded like a basketball position, if anything. 

If he’d noticed that her brain was being filthy, he wasn't letting on. “The heat is up and I have the humidifier over there. It’s also a very stupid suggestion and we don’t have to. We can watch something. Play Scrabble. Drink more. Start a rumor in the office Discord that work is canceled tomorrow.” A chaotic checklist. It summed him up well. 

She was still thinking of dreidel. Objectively, it was a stupid thing to do. She knew it, but the part of her that never wanted to back down was screaming at her. Her competitive streak reared its head, that goddamn piñata flashing before her eyes. And the nagging question of why would you suggest that to play with a platonic friend? “Nervous, Parker? You think you’ll lose dreidel to me?”

His grin was blinding. But it wasn’t friendly at all. It was something past that that didn’t exist between them. Something bordering on suggestive, and she could smell the smoky air from the barbeque, hear the far-off fireworks as his mouth ghosted across hers for a split second in her memory. It twisted low in her belly, and oh, she wanted. “You wish.”

Her heart nearly flipped out of her chest. “So what are the rules?” she asked again, because he was spinning her all out of sorts. Yet here she was, entertaining the possibility of taking her clothes off with him because she wanted to win a game and see what else might happen. “Is this sacrilegious to do? Will we go to Hell?”

“I wouldn’t play it with my rabbi, but I don’t think it’s the worst thing someone’s done with a religious object. Think of the possibilities a menorah offers.” He was busy with the humidifier at his small kitchen table, fiddling with it until it began to hum. 

“Gross,” she laughed. 

“And we don’t have a consensus on the existence of Hell as a people,” he said, like nothing weird was about to happen between them. Just two pals discussing Jewish ideology and definitely not about to start undressing. “One of those things, you know.”

She picked up a dusty guide from the Hanukkah box, the blocky Hebrew letters staring back up at her. She vaguely remembered them: nun, gimel, hei, shin. Nes gadol haya sham. “A great miracle happened there.”

“Indeed it did. You in?”

“Sure.” She matched his inviting smile. At least she’d worn cute underwear, a matching black set with tiny flowers scattered all over. Under her shirt, goosebumps raced across her skin at the thought of him seeing her wearing only that. What would he think? What would he do? She desperately wanted to find out. “Tell me what to do.”

For a second, he looked caught off-guard, like he’d never expected it to go this far. But as quickly as the shock had flashed through his eyes, it was gone, and he leaned forward, like he was going to tell her a secret. “Well, whatever we land on would apply to the other person,” he began. “So gimel would be two pieces of clothing. Hei would be one. Nun is nothing.”

“Shin you’d put something back on?” she asked as she read the game rules.

“You’re gonna nail this,” he said with a wink. What a bastard. 

“We choose what comes off?” She glanced down. They’d both already lost their shoes. Her heart quickened in her chest, finch wings beating in her ribs in a ticklish flutter. 

“Yes.”

“When does the game end?” she asked, wondering just how far it was meant to go. 

“Whenever you want it to.” The flirty look disappeared from his eyes, replaced with a sincerity that was somehow more intimate. 

She nodded. “Okay. You too.”

“Nervous, Ace?” A Cheshire grin hung from his lips.

She shook her head, tapping her dark nails on the counter. “You don’t make me nervous.” That was a lie. A half-lie, anyway. 

“Good.” That flirty look was back. “We can spin near the door.” She followed him toward the tiny hallway near the door. “It’s more level over here, I’m sure you hadn’t noticed.”

“I think the warped floor is charming,” she assured him, and he threw her an eye roll over his shoulder. “Gives it a real funhouse feel.”

They sat opposite each other, crisscross with their backs against the walls, the dreidel sitting innocently between them. Excitement rushed through her, but at the same time, she wished she’d kept her sweater on. Anything to give her an advantage. She was just in an oversized tee from a local diner, jeans, socks, and underwear. Her scarf and gloves sat in a pile with her messenger bag, hidden under her puffer and sweater. That would teach her to get comfortable in someone else’s home. 

“You first,” he offered, and she picked up the top, tracing the Hebrew letters for a moment before giving it a twist. If only Mike Petersen could see her now. 

It seemed to spin for an eternity before dropping suddenly, and she leaned in to study it. “Nun,” she announced, a bizarre mix of relief and disappointment flooding her. 

“Too bad, baby,” he teased with a ridiculous shimmy of his shoulders, and she rolled her eyes as she waited for her fate. 

It was slow somehow, the dreidel spinning away from him in a blue blur before it snagged against an uneven part of the floor, clattering to the floor. 

“Hei,” he grinned victoriously, eyes darting over her. Tracing the length of her neck. The curve of her hip. They moved lower, and for a moment, she couldn’t believe—

“Socks,” he declared. 

She peeled them off and set them next to her knee. Cautiously, she picked up the dreidel and gave it a spin, pulling her knees up to her chest. As she did, the wind slammed into the glass and the lights flickered twice before plunging them into the void. 

“Shit,” she heard him mumble, shuffling to his feet. “You good?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, pressing back against the wall. She wasn’t a fan of blackouts. Faceless shadows and black-oil pockets of darkness in her periphery. Every little sound magnified into a monster—

“I’m gonna get a candle, just sit tight,” he was saying, navigating the dark like he was a cat. She half-expected a muffled thud or an oh shit as his knee found a piece of furniture, but all she could hear was drawers opening before the hiss of a match. There he was, his beautiful face illuminated orange as he brought a candle with a small plate under it to catch the wax. The scent of lemon filled the air, inviting summertime into his apartment. For a moment, she felt like she was back home in the sunshine. 

“You look a little nervous,” he said gently as he sat across from her again, folding his long legs underneath him. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She wanted to stay distracted from the eerie rattling of the windowpane.

Peter leaned in close to examine the dreidel in the faint light. “Gimel.”

That was two things. 

“Socks,” she began, because that was fair. Feet weren’t sexy to her. She wasn’t Quentin Tarantino. “Um… shirt.” She hoped she didn’t look blatantly turned on at the prospect of seeing him shirtless, because her whole body felt like it was about to boil over.

Peter reached behind his neck and tugged his black tee over his head quickly, and the light was enough that she could see the lean muscle of his torso. Gorgeous obliques, pretty abs, kissable pecs. Shoulders carved by God. He probably had that hip line too, although she couldn’t see anything from how he was currently sitting. But Christ, what an evening it was turning out to be. The idea of him being a secret gym rat made her grin. 

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made her stop breathing for a moment. He seriously had the nicest shoulders she’d ever seen, and a collarbone that she did not feel at all friendly toward. Was it bad that she wanted to lick his delts? Her heart leapt in her chest as he shifted, shadows dancing over his long neck. “Don’t get all moon-eyed over me, Ace.”

“What the hell is all of… that?” she gestured vaguely at his bare chest. What the fuck were those traps? “Like, eighty percent of your diet is pizza. And the other twenty is leftover pizza.”

“Parkour,” he offered, and she snorted. 

“Peter Parkour.” She pulled her knees to her chest again, chin resting on top of her hands as she awaited her fate.

“Don’t you get punny and alliterative with me,” he warned as he spun it. 

“What happens if I do?” She could be just as big a flirt. Maybe she could knock him off his game. 

The dreidel dropped again, saving him from an answer. But she’d gotten under his skin. There was a flicker of something in his brown eyes, something decidedly not buddy-buddy that she wanted to know more about. 

“Hei,” he told her, brandishing the toy in the palm of his hand. His large hand. Much bigger than hers. He could wrap his fingers around her wrists so easily—

“It sure is.” She peered down at it, pretty sure she knew what was coming. He’d match what she’d done. It was a game of chicken, and she didn’t intend to lose. Neither did he.

“Shirt.” His voice faltered for just a split second, but she’d heard it. Nerves. 

She crossed her arms and pulled her tee over her head, the logo from Florence Prime crumpled into a cursive heap as she set it on top of her socks before she dared to look back at him. His eyes were fixed on her face, so determined not to look that it would have been funny if they were playing with friends. But it was just the two of them, and instead the whole room felt steamy as a hot spring. She’d seen them in Yellowstone as a child, stunning opalescent pools of azure and lemon and emerald and amber that looked like they were made to be touched. She could still smell the sulfur warning they gave off, recall a tourist’s red baseball cap that sat abandoned in one. Danger.

“I looked at you,” she reminded him as she smoothed her rumpled hair. An invitation that hung in the air between them, an untouchable sentence that was his to take if he wanted. 

“You did.” His gaze was heavy as it slipped from her eyes to her cheekbones, down to the hollow of her throat where her heartbeat shivered insistently. From her clavicle to her shoulders, and maybe it was the heat or the humidifier humming away from the other side of the room, but she was just a little too warm under his umber eyes. 

“It’s my turn,” she said hoarsely, clearing her throat. Still, she didn’t budge. Couldn’t budge. Didn’t want to break the crackling magic between them. 

“You’re pretty,” he said, twirling the dreidel between his nimble fingers as his eyes continued to devour her. Ghosting across her bare skin, lingering on the curve of her breast, down to the scar on her stomach from a pocket knife incident at summer camp when she was in fifth grade. The space between them seemed minuscule all of a sudden, closing in until they were the only two people left in the city. Even the rest of his apartment seemed non-existent. Just them and the cramped glowy hallway and some piles of clothes and a dreidel that was causing far too much trouble. “You know that?”

That question knocked her breathing shallow. She’d never been asked that. She’d been told before, in the heat of the moment or from a drunk girl in a bar bathroom or when she put in the effort. But never asked do you see what I see when I look at you? 

She didn’t know how to answer that. Peter was still gazing at her, a gentle look that made her feel too warm. “It’s, um. My spin,” she said shakily, holding her palm out, knowing it was only going to get worse the longer they played. But she couldn’t help herself. Not knowing what was unfolding between them had overridden any logic and she selfishly wanted to know what would happen next. 

“Come take it, Ace.” He held it aloft, dangling it carelessly between two fingers. His teasing grin was gone, and his voice had gone raspy. Rough. 

She was a goner. She wanted to climb in his lap and kiss him. And she’d had that thought before and always pushed it away— at a group hang at the bar after work when he laughed at one of her jokes, in the office when he’d snagged the last sprinkle doughnut for her from the break room. In the elevator when he’d bump his shoulder into hers and she’d bump it back, and they’d just stand in the buzzing silence when she really wanted him to bend down and kiss her so thoroughly that they missed their floor. Oh, she was a fool. 

Before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at the corner of his mouth, a skittish thing that was definitely not HR approved. An echo of July, hardly even a touch. But still, something she shouldn’t have done. Danger. 

Peter looked flabbergasted, and the noise of surprise he made didn’t help. Her name falling from his lips in a half-whispered question mark. His brown eyes wide, like a spaceship had just dropped her from the heavens and she’d landed at his feet. 

Fuck. She’d ruined it all. Read him wrong entirely. And to top it off, she was stuck in his home, in the situation she’d created. And they were both half-naked.

“I am so sorry,” she mumbled as she pulled back, staring down at her bare arms so she didn’t look at his. Humiliation struck her chest like a harpoon, a solid thud between her lungs as the full weight of her actions settled inside her brain. Look what you’ve fucking done now, you ruined the most solid friendship you’ve made all year, what the fuck is wrong with you? “I thought, um, I thought, shit, I—”

“Come here,” he said after a moment, eyes boring holes through her as he touched his mouth, tracing where she’d left cherry chapstick behind. 

“Why?” she asked, arms tight across her chest, back pressed hard against the wall like maybe it could swallow her up, like that Japanese movie from the seventies that she’d watched in college with her roommates while they’d gotten ripshit drunk on cheap beer to celebrate finals being over. Melding with the beams and drywall and asbestos and paint until—

“You missed. Try again.”

She looked up so sharply that she must have looked ridiculous. Practically slack-jawed at his words: come finish what you started, Ace. Maybe her silly little crush wasn’t one-sided. Or maybe he was just bored and they were trapped together for the night and this would pass the time. The thought of being an easy distraction for him didn’t sit well in her bones. 

“Peter, I shouldn’t have done that,” she protested, even though she so badly wanted to do what he’d asked. Just go to him and get what you want. 

“Then I’ll come to you.” The way he was looking at her now was unmistakable, even in the flickering tangerine light. The shadows made him look dangerous in a way that made her blood burn hot as it thrummed under her skin. Maybe she wasn’t a distraction, maybe she’d missed some signs along the way from him because she’d always been oblivious to anyone being attracted to her. It was always her friends pointing out when someone at a bar was gazing at her, or that a barista had left a black permanent marker heart on her iced coffee cup. Maybe this wasn’t danger after all.

“Really?” she whispered hopefully, and true to his word, he leaned in to close the gap between them. 

“Yeah, really.” He sounded nearly incredulous, like it was obvious he wanted her too. Clearly, she had missed some signs and written off their playful relationship as just that because she’d rather keep a friend than risk starting something different and losing him in the process. 

Slowly, his hand came up to cup her jaw, and she leaned into him like some sort of touch-starved thing. Perhaps she was. She’d been on one bad Tinder date since moving to New York and it hadn’t resulted in any touching other than her ducking his pizza kiss and his mouth landing wetly on her cheek.

But Peter was gazing at her like she was gold, and his fingers were leaving stardust on her skin as he slowly dragged his thumb along her cheek. He had the warmest eyes she’d ever seen and she regretted she couldn’t see their true shade as his mouth barely brushed hers. That itself was more intimate than the fact that they were both shirtless and on the precipice of pushing their friendship way out of bounds. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said quietly. Almost a plea. “Because I do.”

“I…” she began. She did, she really fucking did. She’d thought of him for months. But there were bridges she shouldn’t cross, right? “You’re my friend.” It sounded like a question, high-pitched and wanting. Entirely unconvincing. 

“We are,” he agreed, his hand slipping down to explore the hollow of her throat. Also entirely unconvincing. Friends didn’t touch each other like that. 

“Can we try not being friends?” she asked, stifling a soft sound when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure to her carotid when he tilted her head to the side. 

“Aw, Ace.” His voice was blurry with arousal, and then his mouth was on her neck in a lazy kiss, tongue tracing and teasing as she grabbed his shoulder to ground herself, her shiny black nails digging into the muscle. “You don’t wanna be my friend anymore?”

“You started it,” she reminded him with a gasp as he pulled her into his lap so she was straddling his thigh. “With your— fuck— with your sacrilegious Hanukkah game.”

“Well, I like you,” he muttered, hands busy tracing her sides, slipping over her ribs to her hips, carefully tracing the scar on her stomach with a questioning frown. “I’ve always liked you.���

That made her heart squeeze. How much time had they lost? “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you?” he countered with an unhurried kiss to her shoulder, and then down to her collarbone. It was quickly becoming difficult to think, but she didn’t really want to. His warm breath skated across her skin as he kissed his way down to the scalloped cup of her bra and back up again.

“It’s…” she trailed off as he nipped at the hollow of her throat. “It’s a— a bridge you aren’t supposed to cross.”

He exhaled sharply as she rocked forward on his thigh, not really meaning to but not caring enough about self-control to not grind against him shamelessly. There was something wanton building in her mind, curling around any logical thought and choking it out until she could only think of Peter Parker. 

“Bridges exist to be crossed.” His mouth was on hers again. He tasted like the soft peppermint candies they’d been eating all evening, and she sighed as she kissed him back, tongue sliding along his as she curled her fingers through his thick hair. She could swear he made some sort of guttural noise when she tugged, but it could have been her whimpering as one of his big hands drifted up to palm her breast, thumb sliding under the black strap until it slipped down her shoulder. 

“The Fourth of July wasn’t an accident,” he gasped between kisses, his other hand firm against her ass as he dragged her somehow closer, knees and calves and thighs tangled ridiculously in front of his door. She wondered if anyone passing by might hear them. “But you started giggling—”

“Okay, so I’m not that bright,” she mumbled in embarrassment, ducking her face against his chest. 

“No, but you’re really pretty and everyone knows that’s what’s most important,” he teased, giving her a wrecked sound when she dragged her teeth along his clavicle. “Shit.”

That clearly did something, because he had her gathered up in his arms instantly, lifted clean off the ground with her legs around his narrow waist. He was half-hard between her thighs and embarrassingly, she whimpered as she greedily rolled her hips into his. He was moving so quickly it took her brain a moment to catch up, until there was a shuffle of their papers falling away from the couch as the backs of her knees collided with it. Normally she’d worry about losing her notes but it looked like she’d be spending the night so she had time to find them later. 

She pulled him on top of her eagerly, her legs parting for him without a thought. His skin was warm against hers, and of all the nights for this to happen, at least it was during a snowstorm. It was like being pinned by a human space heater. His mouth was all over her: neck and cheeks and collarbone and shoulders and breasts until she was arching under him, trying to get more but their stupid pants were still in the way. Part of her felt it was a shame they hadn’t gotten to take off each others’ shirts. The rest of her wished their pants had already been discarded. 

“Parkour,” she whispered, tracing her fingers across his biceps as he trapped her underneath him. His muscles twitched under her touch and she wanted to make him fall apart completely. She spun with possibilities, her brain firing too fast to the point that she couldn’t articulate anything as he sucked a harsh mark against her throat, grinning when she grabbed his hip to try to pull him closer. Her other hand was in his hair again, and when she pulled, his grin turned into a groan. 

“Shit,” he swore as she did it again, grinding his hips into hers and Jesus, she didn’t want to waste time. Maybe she could make him fall apart on round two because again, she wanted. She was so turned on from just making out and grinding against him and just hearing him groaning that she was a bit lightheaded. 

“I knew it,” she breathed, giving the silky strands another tug. “You like that.”

“Intrepid girl reporter,” he muttered, and his voice was a growl, burrowing into her brain as it shot through her uncomfortably fast. If his voice was making her wet, actual sex was going to devastate her. “You’re killing me, Ace. Lemme eat you out.”

Her breath caught. No one had ever asked her something like that either. They’d just done it. Usually not well. Attempted it, more like. She’d put money on Peter Parker’s tongue, though. Some kind of airy okay left her cherry mouth, four gossamer letters floating through the room like dandelion puffs. 

The effect on him was instant. 

“Atta girl,” he muttered gratefully, leaving a trail of kisses down her body as he slid to his knees next to the couch, pulling her so she was sitting up in front of him. His warm fingers brushed her stomach as he fiddled with her jeans, and if the cold was creeping in from the squall, it was impossible to tell. It was like the heat of his touch had temporarily transferred to her, leaving her melting under his touch. “Lift—”

She arched up before he could finish his sentence, and if she was too eager, she didn’t care. He was clearly eager too, tugging her jeans down her thighs and discarding them somewhere in the graveyard of their notes. How the hell was she supposed to read their article in the paper and not think of Peter going down on her? Happy holidays, indeed. 

With a sigh, she sank back against the cushions and gazed up at the ceiling as Peter pressed a kiss against her stomach. Shadows flickered across the ceiling, hazy ghosts that swayed and danced as the candle sputtered for a moment. His warm breath skated across her skin as he kissed along her hip and down her thigh, nudging her legs open gently before hooking her knees over his shoulders. 

“You good?” he asked, toying with the edge of her underwear. “Because you look really fucking good.”

“So do you,” she replied as he tugged the black material down, somehow maneuvering her legs out of them without it being awkward or her knee going straight into his nose like that one time in college that had ended in a nosebleed for her partner. It had been an accident, but it had understandably killed the mood. 

He didn’t touch her right away, instead taking her in like she was a fucking oil painting. Long fingers ghosted along her hips to tug her closer as he mumbled fuckin’ pretty, Ace, and he began to kiss the inside of her thighs until she was squirming. His stubble was scratching at her and his left hand had drifted up to her breast and all she could do was stare blankly as bolts of pleasure zipped through her. Not a single discernible word was in her head, just a jumble of pleaseiwantyoutoeatmeout iwantyouinsideofme imsorryimisunderstoodjuly ireallyfuckingwantyou ireallyfuckinglikeyou. 

“Peter,” she began, and he looked up at her the moment he buried his mouth between her thighs. It was a sight she wouldn’t soon forget, his eyes ink-black in the lemony light as hers rolled back in her head. She clutched his hand to her breast, not sure if she wanted him to feel what he was doing to her heartbeat or because she needed him to touch as much of her as possible. “Peter.”

But he was busy with her cunt, slow licks that had pleasure building inside her that she tried to offset by digging her heel into his back. It only made him chuckle against her, and that low sound alone sent a rush of desire through her. He gave her nipple a gentle pinch before he reached to squeeze her hand. She’d never had her hand held during sex before. It was strangely sweet. For a moment, the span of his palm against hers distracted her entirely. Engulfed was a more appropriate word; enveloped entirely, wholly overwhelmed. And how had it taken until today for her to notice how big—

And then her hips seemed to jerk of their own accord as he circled her clit with his clever tongue, humming in satisfaction when she cried out. Again, that rough sound rolled through her, pulling her in directions she’d never ventured before.

“There you go,” he muttered, his thumb soothing a soft line along hers. He’d let go of her hip and through her own gasps, she could hear the clink of his buckle and zipper and Jesus Christ, if he was doing what she thought he was doing, she was gonna lose it entirely. 

“Peter,” she sighed again, because it was apparently the only word she knew. Under her knee, she could feel his shoulder moving rhythmically and he groaned against her cunt. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, and her hips were rolling against his mouth greedily and somewhere in the last few moments, pleasure had wound itself tight in the pit of her stomach and brought her dangerously close to the edge. 

And then he paused, pressing sloppy kisses all over her thighs, still holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the universe. An anchor in the darkness of his living room. He’d been one for her the whole time she’d known him, why would it be anything different right now?

“Don’t tease,” she breathed, the words startlingly thin in her own ears, smoke slipping away from her tongue as fog filled her brain. It wasn’t much, but it was still more than muttering his name over and over like a dizzy little mess. 

“Never,” he grinned before his tongue slanted into her, humming quietly until her eyes rolled back again. She’d never been so enthralled by how someone had sounded in her life, practically ready to hold her breath so she didn’t miss a single noise from him. He made her feel frantic for more, so she reached down to pull on his hair. Vibrations trembled through her as he moaned against her, his fingers digging into her harshly. 

“I’m close,” she whispered as one of his hands came up again to gently pinch her nipple through the thin floral material. Air was razor sharp in her lungs, like she’d run a mile in the snow, but she didn’t care. His mouth was too much, the way he was groaning was fucking sinful, and the fact that he had been jerking off while he devoured her was an overload. “Please, I want it.”

“You want it?” he echoed, moving to rest his stubbled cheek against the inside of her thigh. Even in the candlelight, she could see that his mouth was slick with her and she had to actively stop herself from whimpering at the sight. “You wanna come on my face?”

“Your face is a good place to start.” She could feel that achy feeling slipping away and she felt almost mournful at the loss. 

“Are there other places?” he teased as he crawled over her, his hand slipping between her thighs to circle her clit before the coil in her belly could disappear completely. Instead, it tightened back up and it was difficult to tell if her vision was blurring or it was just the partial darkness that was swallowing them. “Where else, Ace?”

Fucking tease. She started to complain but he kissed her before she could, and she could taste herself as he slipped two fingers inside her. Could feel the hard press of his cock against her hip as he settled on his side next to her, hooking her leg over his thigh. She wanted to reach down and wrap her fingers around him but she couldn’t bring herself to move. 

“Like that,” she mumbled as he slowly began to pump his wrist. “Your hands.”

“Hands, plural?” He grinned, pinching her cheek gently. It was affectionate. Sweet. Unlike his other hand, which was moving in an obscene blur between her thighs.

“Yes,” she sighed as he traced the bow of her lips, gathering the gloss on his thumb and licking it off, his other hand still merciless between her legs. 

“Anywhere else?”

“Peter,” she gasped as he withdrew his fingers, focusing solely on her clit. His gaze was so intense, black holes boring into her as he watched every little microreaction. The tremble of her mouth, the flutter of her eyelashes, the ridiculous stuttering hitch of her breath as she chased his touch with greedy rolls of her hips. “Just—”

Her head went echoey as she fell apart. Whatever he was saying was lost, because her heartbeat was a fucking subway in her ears, drowning out whatever he was saying. It could have been a secret family recipe. Nuke codes. Something about crypto. It didn’t matter. Blinding pleasure rolled over her in a fog, and it was by someone else’s clever fingers for the first time in almost a year. The bad light made it difficult to tell if she’d gone hazy-eyed or not. 

Embarrassingly, she kept shuddering as he kissed her gently, her nose bumping his a little too hard. Her apology stumbled through chattery teeth, and he raised a dark brow. “You okay?”

“No. Yeah,” she amended quickly, her soupy little brain attempting to reconstitute itself. “Felt really good, I just, I haven’t, uh, not since…”

She was rambling. She knew it, and so did he. His grin was affectionate, the one he gave her when she was complaining about something or bemoaning an assignment that should go toward someone in a more junior position. A gentle I know, Ace, it’s all right. 

“I want, um,” she tried to continue, reaching for his cock while her vision was still righting itself. 

“Hey, you can take a second.” He pushed her hand away, taking the time to sweep a tiny little pleasure tear from the corner of her eye. “Just breathe.”

Absurdly, it felt like her lungs had shrunk and she couldn’t get enough air. What the hell he’d managed to do to her, she never know, but she wanted him to do it again. “I wanna touch you too.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said drily, “but slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

She huffed and sure enough, it left her breathless. Still, she snaked her hand down to touch him, and the surety fled his features, crumbling him instantly. All over a simple brush of her fingers. It was like flipping a switch, and somehow, he was under her and she was straddling his thighs, gazing down at him dizzily. In the spitting light of the candle, she could see his cock hard against his stomach, practically begging for her touch. The couch was too cramped for what she wanted to do, so she slid to her knees on the floor, taking his former spot. “Sit up for me,” she said, raking her nails gently along his thighs as she tugged his pants and boxers down. He’d managed to get them halfway down which was impressive, considering he’d been multitasking between her eating her out and jerking off. For just a moment, she could see a long white scar across his knee as he sat up. Maybe it was from all his parkour. She gave it a peck and he bent, taking her face in his hands to give her an achingly soft kiss, lips chaste against hers. As if he hadn’t just made her fall apart. As if she wasn’t kneeling between his legs to do the same to him. It wasn’t a surprise, Peter being sweet, but sex usually wasn’t like that for her. She wondered if he was like that with other partners. Secretly, she hoped not. She wanted all of it for herself. Every last tender kiss and kind smile and helpless groan— every last bit of him. 

“Hang on,” he mumbled against her mouth as he pulled her close, busy with the clasp of her bra. He was hard against her, pre-come smearing against her ribs as he helped her out of the floral piece.

“What’s wrong?”

A weak laugh left him, but it twisted into a sharp exhale when she wrapped her hand around his cock. It was a powerful feeling, to be the one on her knees, looking up into his dark eyes, yet he was twitching in her hand and his fingers had dug into the couch like it was a lifeline. “Ace…” he trailed off. It sounded like a warning. Perhaps a plea.

She held his gaze, his normally soft brown eyes cast onyx in the glow of the candle. “You don’t want me to touch you?” she asked, circling her thumb over the head, trailing pre-come down the underside of his cock. 

Unexpectedly, he wrapped his hand around hers, stilling her movement. “If you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He sounded almost sheepish.

“Oh.” She swallowed hard. The idea of him not being able to deal with her mouth made her feel about as solid as a sandcastle. “Well,” she said as he tugged her to her feet, “then you should take me to bed and fuck me.”

He grinned hungrily as he walked her backward to his room, the door creaking open as it bumped against her ass. The power flickered twice but they remained in the blackness. She wanted so badly to fully see him but there was an eroticism about the dark, a natural blindfold that amplified her remaining senses. 

“Just… hang on,” he mumbled as she sank down on the bed, darting out and returning with the candle, setting it down with a clatter on his nightstand. She wished she could see the posters on his wall, probably some classic films and bands she’d never heard of. He was mumbling to himself about condoms and lube as she got comfortable on his pillows, yanking his nightstand drawer open quickly. It had been maybe two minutes and she missed his touch. Clearly, she had it bad, but he did too, begging to eat her out and telling her he couldn’t handle her sucking his dick. Maybe he’d let her later, but for now, he was gathering her close as he settled between her thighs. 

“You good?” he asked as she wrapped her legs around his hips. “You feeling better about the purpose of bridges?”

She nodded as he shifted slightly, lining himself up with her. “Thanks for reminding me.”

He gazed down at her and she nodded, her breath shaky as he slowly thrust into her. She didn’t mean to, but she dragged her nails across his back a little too hard as he took his time bottoming out. The stretch of him was almost too much, but it was so good that she didn’t know what to say other than his name again. He kissed her sweetly as he set a slow rhythm, but all she could hear were the soft noises she was making as he fucked her.

“You sound really good,” he grunted, a guttural noise falling against her throat as she started to push back at him. “Really fuckin’ pretty.”

“So do you.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

“You do,” she insisted as he kissed her again before fervently trailing his way down her throat. “When you groan, your voice gets all low, and I…”

“So you want me to be loud for you?”

“I’ll pull your hair again,” she teased, and he rewarded her with a harder thrust before he buried his face in her shoulder.

She kept one hand on his back, enjoying the flex of his muscles under her touch while she gently played with his hair, tugging sharply enough every few minutes to pull a whine from him. Another sound to lock into her brain for eternity.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each others’ arms, bathed in golden light. She liked how the curves of her body pressed perfectly against his muscles. It was almost too idyllic, like she’d dreamed it up after falling asleep in his bed like he’d offered and she’d wake up to find herself alone.

Eventually, he began to nip and kiss at her chest, finding his way back to her lips as she dug her heel into his back, selfishly trying to have as much of him as she could take.

“You keep kissing me,” she murmured against his mouth. Everything tasted like her smeared gloss, cloying and artificial but somehow perfect. 

“Making up for lost time.” His hips were lazy between her thighs, almost too gentle as he worked her mouth open again greedily, both hands on her cheeks. For a moment, she imagined he could leave his fingerprints tattooed along her cheekbones, faint whorls and arches and loops pressed into her skin. “Shoulda done this months ago.”

Again, a little twinge of sorrow pulled at her. How could she think he’d accidentally leaned too close that night? Why did she never want to believe someone might want her? “I’m not always intrepid.”

Peter was busy with her throat, leaving no inch of it unkissed, and the attention made her chest ache. Just friends. What a dummy she’d been. “Well, you know. Nes gadol haya sham. In my apartment.”

She couldn’t help laughing, and his grip tightened on her sharply as he dropped his face against the hollow of her throat. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Gonna kill me,” he groaned with a hard thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs. Slowly, she tangled her fingers in his thick hair and tugged, and again, he thrust hard enough that it pulled a gasp from her. It was an obscenely full feeling that made her never want to leave his bed. Thank God for a last minute assignment that they’d decided to make an evening out of and bad weather. A great miracle, indeed. 

“Fuck,” was all she could manage. It was crass and inelegant, but it seemed to work. Vaguely, she was aware that he’d pushed her to the edge of the bed, and that she was on the verge of turning into a rag doll. Whatever ideas she’d had about being the one to pull him apart had clearly fallen by the wayside, because the idea of being fucked into his mattress was so much more appealing than making him beg.  

“What do you feel so fuckin’ good for, huh?” he muttered, hooking his finger under her chin so he could give her a filthy kiss that made supernovas shudder through her. 

“I—” she began, but a whine came out of her as he pulled her knees up against his ribs, and somehow he was deeper inside her and hitting something that was making her heart soar. “Peter—”

“There you go,” he soothed. She didn’t even care that he was fully pinning her, making it impossible for her to roll her hips into his. He sounded too good to try to fuck him back, groaning and panting against her neck with each thrust, mumbling filth and sweetness between kisses as she dug her nails into his shoulders again. It should have been a vulnerable position, the way he had her thighs spread and held in place, but she’d never felt uncomfortable with him in her life and she certainly didn’t now. She only felt good and desperate for whatever he gave her. 

“I’m gonna c—” she tried, but another hard thrust made her forget what she was trying to say. 

“I can feel you,” he growled. He was bottoming out with every stroke, and he wasn’t being particularly rough with her but it was still enough that her thighs were beginning to ache deliciously. “Tightening up around my cock.”

Just hearing him spit the words out made her gasp out his name. Never in her life had she gotten off on hearing someone; she hadn’t even known it was a thing. But every growl and moan and whisper and hitch of his breath had been spiraling through her and building low in her belly until it had her on the edge again. 

“Can you come with me?” she managed, biting the inside of her cheek to stave off her impending orgasm. “Please?”

His thrusts were getting sloppier, and whether it was because of what she’d just asked him or because he was truly close, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she’d take it.

“That’s what you want?” His voice had gone from teasing to rough to absolutely wrecked throughout the night, and that was almost enough to push her over the edge again. Her name spilled from his lips against her mouth as his grip tightened on her. It was one thing to hear Ace growled out, but hearing her real name sent silvery stars streaking through her field of vision. She’d always thought seeing stars was for cartoon characters getting hit in the head with anvils, but it was real enough that it made her shatter apart in his arms again.

He was right behind her, hips harsh against hers while she ran her nails up the back of his neck. She didn’t even know what she was telling him, something like justlikethat justlikethat while she tried to recover her own breath. He was like a slowing train, his breathing ruined as she smoothed his hair back from his slightly glazed eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose with a dizzy grin. Even in the flickering light, all she could focus on was his smile. 

“Am I crushing you?”

She shook her head with a sigh, but he still untangled himself before she wanted him to, mumbling stay right there for me. She watched him disappear across the room to get cleaned up, and she arched into a stretch, rubbing her eyes briefly. The bed felt cold without him, and she snuggled under the blankets, suddenly aware of the weather again. The catalyst for her being in his bed in the first place. She’d certainly survived her first squall. 

The bed dipped under his weight and he was on her in an instant, pulling her into his warm embrace immediately. She could feel him grinning as he kissed her throat, see it vaguely through the ever-shifting shadows of his bedroom. It had been there all night, slipping through jokes and feverish kisses and orgasms and filthy words. 

“What?” she asked, and she sounded laughably dreamy. Fluffy as a princess dress, a sugary little macaron of a word.

“Nothin’. I’m just…” he searched for a moment before landing another kiss against her forehead, “I’m just happy.”

“Oh.” She was too. Overwhelmingly so, like sunshine was spreading through her from the inside out. All this man did was make her feel wanted and it turned her into a complete sap. “Peter?”

“Ace?” He was bordering on drowsy, fingers tracing shapes against her shoulder. She recalled the Nazca Lines she’d learned about in middle school, colossal geoglyphs left behind in the Peruvian desert. The Spider. The Hummingbird. The Flower. Expansive enough for the whole world to see. But his touch was just for her, art only she got to experience. A temporary secret on her skin. 

“I’m glad you were my friend first,” she admitted, kissing his chest. Mentally mapping where she could leave lines of her own next time, maybe write Ace in looping cursive across his back. Maybe her own name over his heart some day. “I needed a friend.”

He hummed in agreement, lacing his fingers through hers and kissing her knuckles one by one. “Me too.”

Outside, the squall had finally died down. She’d become so used to the constant noise of the city that it was strange for it to be absent in the aftermath of the storm. Gone were the horns and squealing tires and shouting voices that carried up to her window. 

But it was nicer to listen to the thump of Peter’s heart as she fell asleep in his strong arms. 

~

Title comes from Make Me Feel by Janelle Monáe. The Japanese film I referenced is Hausu, a film I firmly believe everyone should see at some point in their life.

Taglist: @abibliophobiaa @withahappyrefrain @letmeplaytheliontoo @wicked-remarks @liz-allyn @mortwig @cordiformity @silkspiderstuff @rae-gar-targaryen @tastesupremacy @squiddtheekidd @spidervee @quobber @secretaccountlol @b3autyfuldisast3r

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! I'd love to know what you thought if you read this.

[secretaccountlol]

Dulcet

Peter Parker x fem!reader

in which it's a game

part1| part2| part3| part4| part 5| 11.1 k

a/n: let me know if there are mistakes, more notes at the end &lt;3

Shallow breaths echo around the forlorn silence. He keeps a distance. You endure pain.

He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t want to. He brings you water when you ask and carries you from one room to another. He ensures your pillow is high enough while you eat,and your TV show is amusing enough while you lie. But he doesn’t talk.

You can’t speak, either. You don’t dare. Besides the meek requests and whispered gratitude, your lips fail at words. You want to ask him if he is angry with you and if he hates you as he attends to your wounds. You want to know if he counts the minutes until he leaves you to bed and if he’s been sleeping enough because his eyes are red most of the time. But you can’t speak.

Peter’s hands are shaking as he pressures your wound, his vision blurry, his ears ringing. Mark is dead. Soon, you will be, too, if he doesn’t find a way out of this. 

He needs to think. Fast. He needs to stop crying your name and calm down. He has to get it together, he has to stop trembling, and he has to calm down, and he has to–

He can't breathe, so he takes off his mask. He hates the garment on his hands that prevents his touch. They are shaking as he moves your shirt up to see the wound. Curses echo in your ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I told you not to–” he moves around, estimating the safest way to hold you. “Why didn’t you listen? Why don’t you listen?!”

Your mind is foggy, the ability to move your limbs lost on you. You hear Peter’s complaints and pleas, feel his firm grip on your weak body. 

“Peter…”

“Why? Why?! I told you! I told you to- Why don’t you never listen?!” he holds your hands and brings them on his. “Pressure the wound. Don’t move your hand, you hear me? Just, just- just hold them tight–”

So you do. You put all your strength left into your wound, feeling your hand get wet and red, all while Peter gently places his arms around you, careful not to move you too much. He elevates your legs while carrying you. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to do.

He doesn’t know where to take you.

You listen to the faucet running as your nails dig into your palm. It is lamentable how the only sound ringing in your ears is either water splashing or footsteps thudding when he is around. Heavy words have soared akin to a mountain between you two, one that is painful to climb. The high walls of unspoken cries refuse to crack now that neither of you dares to speak. 

He exits your bathroom, head down, hands wet. You know the routine; he’ll dry his hands with his shirt, pad to your kitchen, and make you a sandwich. He’ll ensure you eat it and then leave to come back late at night to attend to your injury again.

He stops midway to the kitchen and turns around. You watch him enter your room and avoid eye contact with you. He frowns and moves his eyes from one corner of the room to another.

“What is it?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“It’s time for the,” he gesticulates carelessly, and then he nods to your desk as if he found what he was looking for. “the thing that you always watch at five.”

He grabs the remote from your desk and places it next to you. You wish he hadn’t moved his hand so fast before you could touch it. “Thank you.”

He glances at you for the first time in that hour and quickly averts his eyes.

You let him walk away. What can you even say?

“Peter, it hurts.”

“I know, I know, I know, just hold on, trouble, come on,” he prattles, all while holding you in his arms. He doesn’t know if he can swing you in this position, but it is the only solution.

Where was the nearest hospital? He swings around the sky all the time; why did he never pay attention? What was he thinking dragging you into this? Why does his heart sting as your whines pierce his mind?

He shakes his head. 

Standing still is no help to you. He needs to move. Thus, he shoots one web after another, flying with you in his arms, searching for a place that will keep you safe. Safe from danger, safe from hurt, safe from him.

You are clinging to him the hardest you can, eyes closed, face in a frown. He wonders if you feel sick or dizzy. If you do, it is his fault. 

All of this is his fault.

You are bleeding on him, and it is his fault. It should have been him. It should have been him staining your shirt red, not the other way around. This is not how it goes. You are not the one crying from agony. You are not the one in need of saving. You are not the one whom he gets worried over; you are the one that does the worrying.

If not, then it’s his fault.

He thinks of the possible replies to doctors' questions.

You would think the female lead would understand that the boyfriend is lying and that the right person for her is her best friend, but for some reason, she keeps ignoring the poor guy’s pure love. You would also think that Peter would have the same opinion as you.

“He is not stupid. He is in love.”

“Which made him stupid,” he murmurs as his eyes trace the bloody scar on your torso. It’s one of the few sentences he has given you that day. “Sit straight.”

“How is wanting to be near the girl you lo–” 

You sit straight after Peter shoots you a harsh look. He places a pillow behind your back, and you let him slowly take care of your wound. 

“As I was saying,” you start again. This is a mere attempt to have him talk to you more than usual, one that is very uncomfortable for you. “He just wants the girl he loves to be happy.”

“He should leave her alone then,” Peter glances at you when you hiss at the burning sensation of the antiseptic. 

“Why?! She loves him, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

He doesn’t reply, and you know no more words will leave his lips until he is done with his work. Thus, you talk no more, letting silence dawn per usual.

If only one of you broached the subject that’s growing heavier day by day, this could have been easier.

He lays you down on your bed, careful not to wake you up. When you whimper as he does, he curses under his nose. Stepping back, he stares at you for a moment.

He thought he was late.

He thought all the flying in the air had made things worse. He thought your wound would not close, your bleeding would not stop. He thought he’d have to–

Peter feels faint. His limbs are weak, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten all day long. He also hasn’t drank any water, which explains the headache. His body is sore, rightfully so. After getting you to the hospital, he has flown back to his house, changed into something he now realises is wrinkled, and ran back to you as Peter instead of Spiderman.

He drinks your water and nibbles on your bread. He falls to his place by the window and stares at the carpet. 

He knew this day would come. He knew he’d have to wait by your bed, count the seconds, and listen to your heavy breaths. He knew he wouldn’t be able to protect you from harm.

Nothing is new.

Moonlight shines and glazes as Peter watches you sleep.

He has no idea what and how to say when you wake up. He doesn’t know how to act. All he knows is that he will take care of you until you are strong enough to slap him when he leaves.

"I can do it myself," you protest.

"The hell you can," Peter grumbles, face in a grumpy scowl as he grabs your arms. You refuse to lean to him, determined to carry yourself around with as much grace as possible.

By around, I mean the toilet.

It is embarrassing enough that Peter helps you shower; you don’t need him to know your bowel movements.

“How am I supposed to heal if you keep coddling me?” you murmur.

Peter stops in his place, snaps his head towards you. He doesn’t say anything, and yet the look in his eyes is enough words to your heart.

You know you strike a chord each time you mention anything regarding your wound, healing, hurt and pain, but he needs to grow up. He needs to handle this without his emotions, ones that he refuses to communicate. 

You seize the opportunity and enter the bathroom yourself. 

“Call if you need help!” you hear Peter yell behind the closed door. 

“Don’t spy, you creep!”

You hear him step away from the door; he must have really pushed his whole body to hear your movements. 

“It’s not spying,” he calls back. “I was just making sure–”

“Peter!”

“Sorry!” he says, steps fading away. 

It takes time, but you manage to leave the bathroom without a call for help. Bittersweet, that is. A few days ago, you would groan and whine with each movement, trying to stifle yourself so that Peter wouldn’t hear you. As of now, you are slowly gaining your strength back, and the only reminder of the unfortunate incident is the occasional sting and Peter’s distant mannerisms.

“I think I want to make my own sandwich today,” Peter’s back greets you when you enter the kitchen; he’s been going through your fridge in the hopes of ingredients.

"I was gonna make you pasta," he turns around, and you suppress the urge to smile.

He wanted to cook for you.

But again, he's been doing that for some time now.

"Are you hungry?"

When he nods, you slowly walk up to your shelves. Another thing you have noticed is that since Peter has been living in your apartment part-time, your fridge and shelves are full of groceries.

"You shouldn't be walking around," he opens the shelf next to yours.

"I'm sick of lying in bed," you shrug, stretching your hand to take the pasta. 

The sting strikes, almost knocking you over; you shouldn’t have pulled your arm that swiftly. 

Peter hisses your name, “Mule,” he utters before taking down the pasta himself as his other hand rests on your bicep. 

You scowl at him while recovering, “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Peter bends over to find your pan. He’s looking at the wrong places.

“I can handle myself, you know.”

“And I’m Spiderman.”

“You are Spiderman,” you hand him the pan, which he takes without glancing at you.

You notice the subtle curl of his lips and the effort he wasted to hide it. You are doing the exact same; bickering with him has always been fun, even if he is distant and you are injured.

“How about you make yourself useful and sit on a chair?” 

“How’s that any useful?”

“It helps the worrying.”

“I see no reason for worrying.”

“That’s because you are slow,” he turns around once he has put the pasta to cook. You feel his arms around your limbs, firm but gentle not to push your body to its limits, and let him lead you to the chair behind the table.

“You look pretty without being a hindrance,” he says when you sit down.

You don’t think you look pretty at the moment at all. “Mind you, you are the one in my apartment.”

“Preparing you a meal,” he nods and starts making the sauce.  

“One that I’m perfectly capable of making.”

Peter scoffs. “Uh-huh. You as in you who whines every time she moves her arm.”

He finds it amusing that you are willing to banter even in a state like this.

“Oh, I wonder why.”

“Probably because you are so intent on hurting.”

“I am just strong enough to handle it,” you shrug playfully, pretending not to feel his burning stare piercing through your forehead.

You know what he is thinking; you can almost hear his thoughts. You haven't forgotten the fights roaming in your room, his harsh looks and raised voice against your aching body and breathless words. 

He doesn’t remember when the silver hues of the moon abandoned their place for the golden light of the sun to take over. His mind has fled from the grasp of time, running amok with the perilous thoughts between its palm. 

Its games have been played. Deceptions toward self, fear and rage dangling from the ropes it clutched have triumphed in gaining  power over his heart. 

The sound of his heart has been drowned, its echoes only blurring the clarity of the past, staining the white flames of apathy. 

He has made up his mind.

A low whine averts his darkened eyes from his bruised knuckles to your frame on the bed. He slowly rises from the floor, staring at you, gaining consciousness back as the sore muscles and agony of your injury kick in.

It takes time for you to fully focus. 

You are confused, in pain, and uncomfortable. 

Memories of red, blue and black flashing like pictures in your mind, sounds echoing around, but none of them makes sense. Not yet.

You can’t move around. Your eyes look for water and find Peter instead. Maybe he can bring you water.

He’s standing a bit far away.

“Peter,” you say, but your voice doesn’t seem to reach him. Or you. 

You clear your throat as he steps forward, hovering over you beside your bed. “Good. You’re awake,” he nods.

His voice is far, or maybe that’s just the ringing in your head.

“What happened?” you manage to ask. “I need water.”

He turns around and leaves, coming back with a glass of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, attempting to rise from bed. He helps you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. 

Now, they all make sense. The cure and your running. Peter and Mark, the excruciating pain in your bones, Peter’s distressed calls. You remember now.

“Hurt. What happened? Did you cure Mark? What about the–”

“Mark is dead.”

You look up to him, your face in a grimace and your breathing shallow. His face has no indication of feeling. His eyes are shrouded. “You couldn’t cure him?”

“I had to kill him.”

It means the same thing; you know it does. But it doesn’t feel the same.

“What happened after,” you look for the right words. “You know, after I–”

“Almost bled to death?”

He is angry. Not the screaming and yelling one. The silent one. 

“Peter, look,” you try to move up, but the pain arises. “I’m sorry, alright? I know what you said, and I know what I did, and I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again–”

“No, it won’t.”

His tone is curt, and so are his eyes.

You put the water glass away. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. 

“Nothing, really,” he shrugs. “It just won't happen again.”

You don't like how that sounds.

“Peter–”

“You should lay down,” he cuts you off. “Don't tire yourself out.”

This is not right. This is not how you left things. You are too weak to play games.

“What the hell is wrong with you? If you're mad at me, just say so–”

“If I'm mad at you,” his eyebrows shoot up as he scoffs. “If I'm mad at you?”

“That's what I said, yes.”

Your eyes watch him pace around, his face changing with every thought his mind produces.

“You could've died,” he says, mostly to himself.

“I–”

“You could've died there. In my arms, from a wound that I caused,” he turns to you. 

You finally see it.

The anger. Fear. Desperation and exhaustion. All have painted his countenance into something unrecognisable to you. Something strange. Distant.

“You didn't cause anything,” you decide to reason.

“Oh, I did. I did, and I won't ever again because this,” he gestures the distance between you two. “Is not happening again.”

Your heart drops. You don't try to hide the feeling. 

“What are you even saying?”

“What I'm saying is after I make sure you are okay, that you can walk and talk without groaning from pain, I'm not seeing you again.”

No. 

You shake your head, albeit it makes you dizzy. You want to reach out to him, but you are not sure you can stretch your arm without hurting.

“That's not fair,” is all you can say between the pain and hurt. “That's not fair, you can't punish me like this–”

“I'm not punishing you, I'm protecting you because clearly, you can't do that yourself when I'm around.”

You abhor the way he composes himself.

“No, you're punishing me, you're punishing me with your absence, you know damn well it was an accident–”

“Accident or not!” he raises his voice this time. “Accident or not, you could’ve died, alright?! I’m not betting on that again.”

“It is not up to you, Peter! I can die walking on the sidewalk, too!” you match your tone to his regardless of how much it’s agonising. “You can’t protect me all the time!”

“I can try.”

He is not thinking properly. This is not right. You need to make him understand that this is not right. 

“Peter, please, listen to me–”

He shakes his head and takes the glass you’ve put aside. “No, don’t. Don’t, okay? You need to rest. Rest and heal, exhausting yourself won’t do any good.”

Maybe it is not so nice for you to start healing. To start not needing Peter as much as you used to do. 

He can see it. He can see that you are getting back on your feet, and it absolutely terrifies you that he will leave.

You don’t think he’s changed his mind. 

Otherwise, he would talk to you. Not talk to you as if you are a civilian he is responsible for taking care of, but as if you are his friend. Yet, he refuses to. 

“How are you feeling?” He enters the room with bags in his hands. The flex of his biceps under the shirt distracts you, and you wonder if he chose the shirt on purpose, as the weather is far from welcoming this kind of attire.

It’s late; you figure he must’ve come back from nightly patrols, which means he’ll leave to sleep in an hour or so.

That makes one visit a day.

You avert your eyes from him to the laptop screen. “Is that pizza?”

You hope it is; you’ve been too lazy to prepare yourself a proper meal.

“Have you eaten today?” 

He knows you haven’t; he knows you too well after caring for you all this time.

“Coffee?”

He nods with an ‘ah’ to your sheepiness. “No wonder you have a headache.”

You do not want to miss this, him worrying over you in a teasing way. You don’t want to miss him.

“And I’m–”

“And you’re cold, yes, I know,” he puts the pizzas next to you. “Plates?”

“Nah, we can eat without.”

“All right, loafer,” he nods but still heads towards the kitchen.

“I’m sure I said no plates.”

“How many glasses of water have you had today?” his voice echoes from the kitchen, and you start to count in your head.

“Two?”

“So, two glasses of water and coffee, am I right?” he returns with a bottle of water, aiming it at you. 

Your eyes widen at the ominous possibility, your hands already in the air to shield yourself. “Yes, but– hey, DON’T THROW IT!”

He does and you fail at catching it.

“Yeah, you’re a hopeless case,” he nods before taking a slice of the pizza. 

“You need to stop throwing things at me,” you take the bottle from the ground, noticing the absence of pain. You are indeed healing.

“Someone has to train those reflexes, you can’t catch a ball to save your life,” you watch him pick the mushrooms on the pizza and eat them separately.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Not always.”

“I don’t understand!” no matter how hard you’ve tried not to raise your tone, there you are, getting irritated by your own voice.

“What is there to not understand? We’ve been over this for a hundred times by now,” he says calmly. 

He is not wrong. 

No other words have been heard in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s bullshit. Leaving me for my own good. If you don’t want to see me anymore–”

“Nope. No, absolutely not,” he abruptly stands up from the chair, shaking his head. “I’m not playing that game.”

“You can’t make a decision on my behalf!”

Your name leaves his lips in a whisper. 

“I’m tired of this, trouble,” he leans to the counter with a disappointed look on his face. “You know why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

You know. You do know, and yet knowing does not make it any less painful.

“You are a selfish jerk, Parker.”

Your heart beats in your ears as you try not to make it obvious that Peter’s every touch sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ll ever feel his touch again after this, ponder what to say, how to behave to not break the already strained thin string between you.

“It’s healed,” he reclines, dropping his hand to his knees.

It takes all the vigour in you to keep your face still, to not let him know how much you are devastated to hear the words. 

“Thanks to you,” is all you can say, and he leaves it unanswered.

Peter doesn’t think he deserves thanks for anything he has ever done. He watches your dismal eyes and knows he doesn’t even deserve a smile anymore. Especially not from you.

He’s been acting distant to the best of his abilities, breaking your heart into a million pieces, readying you for his decision. 

He hates himself for that.

He absolutely abhors himself for being the reason for your gloomy countenance, broken laugh, and moments spent ruminating on the things he renders no control from you. 

They falter him, placing doubts in his mind, pushing his mind against its limits and his heart down its cliffs. He often finds himself contemplating if this is the right choice. If cutting ties with you will indeed save you from future disasters. If speaking how he actually feels towards you will put you in further danger.

Sometimes, the words push against his lips. They threaten to spill over, to relinquish every hold he has over his heart to you, to divulge all his soul’s secrets to yours.

Then, he remembers.

He remembers the red in his hands. He remembers the echo of your whines in his ears. He remembers the unconscious moans haunting him all night long.

“I better get going,” he stands up, dusting himself off, attempting to remove the image from his mind. 

“Where?” you ask, eyes following him around. 

He doesn’t know how to answer. He can lie and tell that he has things to do. He can avoid any reply.

“Home.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches your smile waver, sees your exertions to hold everything together. 

“This soon?”

“Yeah.” he nods, not noticing his tone lower to match yours.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There it is.

There goes the hope you’ve been holding onto, and he is about to strip you off from it. 

Peter whispers your name and the light in your eyes ebbs. The sofa you’ve been sitting on shrinks, suddenly unable to hold you. You rise from your seat, hoping to be close to him as if it would help.

“Peter, come on, you know this is ridiculous,” you try to reason once more. “Don’t toss this away just because you’re afraid.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” he stares into your eyes. “This has put you into danger so many times that I’ve lost count.”

“Peter–”

“Sweetheart,” he takes a big step towards you, holding you by the arms. “Don't make this any harder than it already is.”

Peter feels a lump in his throat as you shake your head and squirm away from his hold. 

“You have no right, no right to do this,” you say, this time firmer than before. “You can’t decorate your own decision as ‘protecting me’, Peter.”

“My decision is to protect you!” He steps forward, hovering his hands close to your body. 

“I don’t want that!”

Peter tries to calm himself. He knows exploding won’t do any good. He reminds himself that this is a lot more agonising for you than it is for him– he is the one making the decision while you are not allowed any control over it.

“It is not about what you want–”

“Peter, do you even hear yourself?!” your tone raises, and he can feel the anger burning in your veins. Anger from being desperate, from failing to change things, from not being able to have a say in this. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?!”

He knows this is his cue to leave. He can not stay any longer. 

“That’s it, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he looks around to find his jacket. He doesn’t see you run a hand through your hair or hear you mutter curses under your nose. 

You don’t try to persuade him any longer. He is not sure if he is grateful or resentful for that, but he knows you won’t lose further dignity to get a boy to stay.

He takes his jacket, throwing it around his shoulders, and striding to the door. The door creaks open, and he, despite all the protests of his mind, spares you one last look. 

“Take care, trouble.”

“You are a coward, Peter Parker,” you shake your head and dash to your own room, shutting its door. 

He knows you are right.

x

You’ve become bitter. Easily irritated and grumpy. Tired most of the time from overthinking.

You brush your teeth and think this is taking too long. You’ve never noticed how much time you've been putting aside for this.

You sit to study and find your thoughts fled to him. You believe your attention span has declined since the last time you studied. Either that or he has become the only thing you can think of.

You walk to campus and expect to run into him. You never do, and yet, you wait for it. 

In the class, you notice you don’t take notes any more. Instead, you doodle so you don’t stare his way. 

You return home with him in your mind, leave the room with him in your mind, and eat and drink with him in your mind.

And when you get in bed, that’s when the real nightmare begins.

That’s when not only your mind but your heart wreaks havoc as well. 

Your feelings stain the sober thoughts, fogging your brain, deeming you unable to probe the facts. 

Most of the time, it’s rage.

It’s the rage of being deprived of a say. It’s the rage of having all the ropes clutched off your palm. It’s the rage of being tossed aside in the name of love. 

It burns in you. 

It consumes you whole, blinds your senses. Its poison reigns in your veins, conquering your heart over his image. You rally no longer, welcoming the safety it provides.

Sometimes, however, it’s the heartbreak simmering under it. 

It’s whys and ifs haunting your nights. The questions you want to ask him meddle in your mind no matter how well you know their answers will make no change.

You detest the sorrow of it– of losing someone you loved. Someone you love.

You struggle to tolerate it. The moment the tears prickle your eyes, you remind yourself of the rage, sheltering under its wings.

You run, and run, and run to escape the heartbreak’s crushing heft. Some days, you prevail. Some nights, the tears do.

You miss him. 

You miss the evenings that dimmed into nights with him by your side. You miss his weight on your bed when you’ve just washed your sheets. You miss the light things around your home being thrown at you because he wants to train your reflexes. You miss the food he makes you eat.

You miss his laugh echoing around your heart.

You hate him for that. 

You want to slap him across the face for keeping your favourite person away from you. You want to kick him in the stomach for marking every inch of your room with his memory. You want to hit him in the chest for rendering your body yearn for his touch.

You want to make him regret your absence, and you want to drive him crazy while doing it.

You simply don’t know how.

It’s midnight, and he’s not swinging in your room any more. He hasn’t been for a week. You shouldn’t wait.

Just close the damn window.

In the end, Peter is not visiting, and your room is cold.

x

Dusks turn into dawns, each hour a torment inflicted upon you. A day becomes one of the many others, yet he doesn’t become one of the others. 

He is still there, alive and well. 

And away.

Stolen glances are each a sharp knife in your heart. Clandestine yearning pulls you down, drowning you in his memory. 

Nothing happens, but your heart beats as if it intends to abandon your ribcage.

You don’t talk, you don’t banter, you don’t even acknowledge each other.

He passes through you like the wind when you encounter. You don’t look him in the eye when you have a professor putting you two through a painful exercise together. He hides his wounds from you, and you don’t ask about them when you catch a glimpse of the bruises.

People pick on quickly. 

They feel the loss of dynamic between you two in the class. Whispers arise behind your back, as well as the questions before your face. All of them get left without a reply.

“Please drop it, Ash,” you shake your head, sighing in annoyance. Not only in annoyance, but you can’t dwell on the other feelings in public. “Or ask him, not me. I’m tired today.”

“Okay, sorry, honey,” the redhead smiles, helping you with your drinks as you carry the meal to your table. “It’s just he also acts a bit off, you know?”

“He does?” you can’t help but ask as you two sit. 

“Yep, it’s as if he’s not there. It’s not really productive for the project.”

“He must have a lot on his mind,” you say, playing with your food. You should eat it before it gets cold, as the weather is not forgiving these days. Or you simply shouldn't have chosen to sit outside. “Anyways, how’s the project going? We’re struggling a bit.”

“We can do better if Parker gets his shit together,” Ashley frowns, taking a bite from his burger. “Other than that, just the same old–”

A scream soars in the distance. Not a long time passes before it gets accompanied by the gunshot, wicked echoes of instructions. You see the silhouette of the people running around in the hopes of hiding.

You definitely shouldn’t have chosen to sit outside.

You don’t think; holding hands with Ashley, the first thing you do is to leave the table and flee to the inside, and if you are lucky, hide inside the bathroom.

Inside of the building is crowded to its limits, but there’s no turning back. You have to hide; that’s the only thing your mind instructs you to do.

“Ash, quick,” you drag her to the left, running the length of the corridor. If you remember correctly, which hopefully you do, there needs to be stairs.

Your heart beats in your ear, silencing every scream and yell echoing around the building. You don’t feel the push and pull of each person bumping into you, all of them rushing into some other place their mind decided. 

Apparently, most of them indeed trust the building’s bathrooms enough to run there, blocking the stairs. 

“Holy shit!” 

“It’s okay, we can–” You look around to find something and fail to see anything. 

“What about the classrooms?” Ashley asks, and you shake your head frantically.

“Too out in the open.”

“We are out in the open here too!” 

You feel your body shaking in terror, mind operating too swiftly to regulate your breathing. “The other stairs! If we can circle the building–”

“You go,” she lets go of your hand. When you see what she’s doing, you find her boyfriend stretching out his hand towards her. It turns out he has a place for one next to him. “You go and, and, and text me when you get to safety, alright?”

When she leaves, you feel the sheer panic run down your spine. You waver between the two decisions. You wouldn’t think of leaving if only…

If only you weren’t the last person in the crowd pushing each other at the stairs. If they make it to this point, you’ll be the first one to get hurt.

Maybe it’s better if you run and circle the building. You turn around to take off, charge to the other side. 

Instead, a taller figure crashes onto you, holding you by the arms as firmly as possible.

“Stay here! Don’t you dare move!” Peter orders with a stern expression. “You hear me? Stay here!”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance before taking off. Next thing you know, while you try to make your place between the frenzied crowd, a loud crash before the building hurts your ears.

You see Spiderman swinging around, and that is the only thing you see.

He blocked the main entrance by wrecking the billboard against the door.

Which gained you enough time to hide.

Your mind reflects his image only while your body runs for safety. If you look back to those moments, you wouldn’t remember a thing–how you pushed through the crowd in enough time to hide, how the shooting blarings got only closer and closer, how Spiderman’s fight only echoed in the place as descriptions from the girl close to the door.

You hoped he wouldn’t get injured in the process. You wondered if he’d visit in case of an injury or if he already had someone to ask for help. You scolded yourself for creating jealousy in your head in vain when he can be in pain out there.

You don’t know how the time passed.

All you remember is the shake in your legs as you followed the crowd outside after the announcement, according to whom criminals have been disarmed and neutralised. Only then you notice your phone being gone, left forgotten on the table you were dining at an hour ago.

You need your phone back.

If the announcement is true, there shouldn’t be any problem with you going back to the yard.

Checking your surroundings, you decide to make a turn and head in the opposite direction once you’re sure no one has their eyes on you.

You hope no one has touched your purse. Not only your phone but also your wallet and ID card are in there. It would be a big headache if you were to lose them all at once for a bunch of criminals–

“Where you going? Everyone is going that way.”

Your heart skips a beat at first, thinking one of the professors caught you, and then takes the pace after recognising the voice.

You don’t turn back.

“My purse is out there, I’m not letting it get stolen,” you continue walking, hearing Peter’s footsteps following you. “That is if it’s not already stolen.”

His hand grabs your arm and turns you around. “I’ll go get it, you get back to the others.”

“I can get my own purse, Parker, it’s not like there are any other bad guys running around–”

“There is one I haven’t caught yet, they just didn’t mention it in the announcement. Now, will you please get back to the others?”

You frown, forgetting the history with the guy before you. 

“Then why the hell would they want us to expose ourselves? Are they crazy?”

Peter scoffs, letting you go. “They didn’t expose you, they asked for you to gather in the Hall, did you even listen?”

“I must’ve missed that part,” you murmur. “Anyhow, I need my purse. Take care, Parker.”

“No, absolutely not,” he grabs you by the arm once more when you turn around. “You go to the Hall, I’ll find it and bring it to you.”

“Such a gentleman,” you pull your arm from his hold, and walk to catch up to the crowd. 

As you enter the Hall, your eyes look for Ashley or her boyfriend, and it doesn’t take much as there are only a handful of redheads around.

“I thought I told you to text!” she hugs you for a short moment, and you smile at her.

“You had the chance to take your phone?”

“Oh, honey, my phone is always with me.”

Looking around, you focus on people’s faces–distraught, confused, worried, and angry ones. For some, it still doesn’t feel real, for others it was shaking to the core. You still don’t know how you feel; you’ve been through worse. 

Still, it doesn’t mean the worse doesn’t show up in your dreams. It does. It wakes you up in a cold sweat and obliges you to turn the lights on for a few moments. It gets better with time, but again, you’d wish there was nothing to get better in time.

“There you go,” Peter interrupts your thoughts, your belongings in his hand. “Nothing was stolen.”

You take them from him, relief washing over you. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes wandering around your body, checking for an injury. You miss the feeling of his hands on you. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I’m fine.”

He averts his eyes up to yours, and at last, the feeling hits you in the gut. 

Who would’ve thought a pair of brown eyes could drown you to your death? You would laugh at yourself once if I told you your heart would cripple under his brown eyes, your breath would hitch, and your core burns in yearning for him.

And yet, now, there you stand.

Ready to ignite under his touch.

“Right,” he drops his hands. “Nice.”

He nods, like he always does, biting his lips. “Just follow the crowd, alright? Don’t- don’t change the route or something.”

With that, he turns around to leave. 

The feeling sinks back.

He finally acknowledged you when he thought you were in danger. This was the first time after that day that he actually held a conversation with you. 

Suddenly, a lamp lights in your brain. 

You know how to drive him crazy.

x

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to decipher your intention. This is the third time this week– not to mention it’s been ten days he’s been babysitting you from the air– yet you are determined to die.

At least, that’s how it looks from the roof of a skyscraper.

Yes, he is following you. No, he is not stalking you. 

In his defence, you are proving to be more of a challenge than any other criminal he has ever fought; he needs to keep an eye on you.

It was rather confusing at first; how all the bad luck seemed to greet you only. However, later on, the realisation has hit him like  lightning, shedding light on your clandestine intentions.

In the beginning, it started with small clumsiness.

Peter felt the ache hammer his temples as if thorns were prickling against his eyes. He needed to sleep. Three hours were simply not enough for every day of the week.

He would sleep if only the haughty professor giving the lecture would stop scrutinising him the moment his head hit the desk. Thus, there he is, attempting at his best to force his eyes open. 

He stares at the board. Takes in the numbers and denoted letters, notices how none of them mean anything to him. He must’ve stopped listening a long while ago.

He glares at the lecturer. Notes how he glares back and that the green of his eye is extremely vibrant. Wonders if he is indeed human.

He focuses on the lecturer’s lips. Thinks the professor might not be the cleanest person on earth because of the beards surrounding his lips. Decides he is too sleep-deprived for this. 

He looks around. Doesn’t understand how and why his eyes land on you. You look bored as well. And dismal. He’d know; he has looked at you more than anyone else. 

He wonders if you are upset because of him or if something happened in your life that he is not allowed to know any longer. He’d hate to drag you back into the same hell of a place as he did before everything went south. To have your sleep poisoned, your smile broken, and your heart shattered.

He wishes he never agreed to your help; it ended the same way regardless– him without you on his side.

He wonders whether your hair still smells like heaven, whether your phone screen is still cracked, and whether you bought a new kettle for your home. 

He doesn't see the yearning in the brown of his eyes, but he can feel it in his heart. The crave to reach out and touch you. Feel your skin aflame under his touch. He has always, always, felt it, felt you melting under him. It filled his heart with something greater than he was willing to admit.

Losing it– losing you– was the hardest decision he has ever had to make.

He averts his eyes before yours can find them. 

He closes them for a moment– just for a moment– and lays his head on his arms. He will raise it back in a few minutes. He will.

When he does, he realises the lecture has ended, everyone has left, and his spider senses are tingling. 

Almost everyone except you. 

You are on your tiptoes, reaching for a globe almost your own size, dragging it by your fingertips. The black plastic base makes a low screeching sound, and Peter grimaces.

“Stop that, what are you doing?” he asks, standing up and shoving his backpack to his shoulders. 

“I need that,” is all you murmur as you drag the base closer, not minding the fact that the heavier part of the globe is facing you. 

“Let me,” he says as he advances, but before he can approach you, you shoot a nasty glare in his way. 

“I can do it myself,” you say and drag the base swiftly.

The globe falls with your force, aiming at your pretty head, threatening to break it in two. You are too late to protect your skull from it. Peter is not.

A silver web of Spiderman sticks to the sphere and pulls it away from you, right beside your feet. 

You flinch at the sound of the impact, and Peter frowns. “Where’s your head at? Did you really think you could carry that around?”

“I hoped. Is it broken?”

Peter scoffs, almost laughing genuinely, but stops. “Would be surprised if it wasn’t.”

He doesn’t wait for any reply, moving past you to the door. 

Peter didn’t denote any meaning to it. It was an unlucky accident and a lucky coincidence that he was there. He had to admit, he did panic when he saw your frightened face, trying to cover yourself from the blow, but that is how he always felt when something happened to you.

Thus, by the next day, he had forgotten about it. That is until he took notice of the bandage around your dominant hand.

His eyes were narrowed, trying to figure out how you’d managed to harm yourself. There was no way for it to be broken, and yet it was a mystery to him how you managed a gash that deep to be bandaged. 

It was none of his business.

Yes, of course. None of his business. He shouldn’t wonder, as there is absolutely no reason for him to worry. He shouldn’t give in to the urge to walk up to you and question you. Or get mad at you for not being careful like he used to do.

He put distance between you for a reason. 

Albeit you are indeed with an injury, it could have been worse with him around. Or he could have prevented it. You could have been captured, or tormented, or gotten into another accident trying to save him, and even though your hand must have bled again, you are better off, right? You could’ve been—

“What happened to your hand?”

You look up, eyes nonchalant grey and countenance indifferent towards him. He glances at the papers before you, deducing that he must have intervened with your studies. You shouldn’t have studied in the canteen anyway.

“Nothing serious,” you wave off your bandaged hand, which only makes Peter more uneasy. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you injured– no matter how small and insignificant it is.

“You cut it?” his brown eyes never leave yours, and he feels heartburn inside his chest at the sight of you. This might not be the best idea. 

“Yeah.”

You are cold. Distant and indifferent. Unlike the first days, when he’d drown in your sorrow, cursing himself for your every shed tear, and burn to ashes at the sight of you, you now have a nonchalance painting your visage shadowed with a confidence he is not sure where you’re getting from.

“Knife?” he nods. 

Your eyebrows raise, and Peter feels strange in his own skin. What is he doing? He has no right to this.

“Worried much, Parker?”

“Just want to make sure it’s nothing–”

“Nothing serious, that was the first thing I said,” you cut him off. 

Peter feels himself falter. “Alright, that’s-that’s good.”

You nod, lowering your gaze back to the letters and numbers before you.  Peter takes the cue and turns around to leave.

He looks back and sees you smile to yourself.

Going back, all of many things made sense, except that one. He didn’t think you’d be crazy enough to inflict pain upon yourself. 

Peter shakes his head, jumping to another roof to have you in his vision. You are walking out of a coffee shop with a boiling hot one in your hand. He wonders if you’ll somehow manage to spill it and burn yourself again. 

He watches your hair get wet in the rain and knows you deliberately didn’t take an umbrella with you. It is absolutely frustrating.

You are absolutely frustrating.

The birds that are chirping at this time of the year must be a simulation, Peter thinks. Or robots. He remembers the game that had android birds. Although he never understood their purpose, he supposed it was one of the ways to signal the player that twenty years later, androids will–

“Parker!”

Ashley’s call startles him and he turns around. Oh, she has dyed her hair purple. And you are there with her.

“Hey, Ash, what’s up?” he cracks a subtle smile after failing to catch your gaze. You are staring at the hot coffee before you. He thinks it is hot– who would want an iced coffee in winter? Maybe you, he’s not sure.

“Wanna sit with us?”

No, he doesn’t. Not with Ashley around. “Uh, actually, I was just about to leave.”

He wasn’t. He was going to think of the game and its complicated flowchart. Maybe guess how other choices may lead to totally different endings.

“Didn’t you just come?” She raises a brow.

Five minutes doesn’t count as just. “Yeah, for a change of air.”

Peter smiles and gets up from his seat to approach yours. “You ladies need me to bring you something?”

You don’t cast him a glance, toying with your coffee cup. He’d tell you to stop doing that unless you want to burn yourself, but he bites his tongue. It’s not his business.

“You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“No, I won’t. Thanks for the warning, though, Parker,” you continue to do it nonetheless.

Ashley is talking, and yet Peter can’t hear; his eyes are on the cup and the steam that hovers over it. Another blow that is a bit stronger than the one before, you’ll spill it and burn yourself–

Peter sees you hit the cup harder, and in a swift moment, he pushes the cup towards himself in the hope of not burning you. The dark liquid spills over, its steams soaring slowly.

“You alright?” his eyes check for anything wrong like they always do and rest on you when they don’t find any.

“Did you just spill her drink?” Ashley laughs. 

“No–”

“He totally did,” you nod, determinant in your movements.

Peter scowls in confusion, staring into your eyes. You tilt your head in response. You still are so pretty, he realises. He thinks it is not the right time to miss the taste of your lips against his. He never got to kiss you the second time, did he? If the first one even counted as a kiss.

“You owe me a cup of coffee, Parker.”

He watches you leave in perplexity.

As he follows you from the air, the irritating regret fills him for not kissing you the second time, but he shuns the thoughts away. He doesn’t know what this game will result in, how hard the limits will get pushed into the verge of the break, and he certainly doesn't want any new ideas to get to his head now that he sees you frequently.

What goes through your head with your each escapade is still a mystery that he has yet to solve. How you dare to face the most ridiculous circumstances without even a tremble in your hands is a wonder to him. 

How much more any of you is willing to go…that’s another story that Peter can complain about for hours.

His shoulders sulk with his idle steps. Gray stains the weather and his heart. He thinks of Mark. How he had to kill him. How the rage had blinded him, numbing his senses. What worries him sometimes is the fact that he does not regret Mark’s death, unlike all the other criminals who had to die in the battle against him. 

All he could think was you when he was face to face with that man.

He wonders if that makes him a bad one as well. 

He only wants to get back home and sleep. 

He looks around the campus, finding the best route out of all the busy chatterbox students and couples who are about to have sex out in public. 

He recognises your frame a few steps ahead from your backpack. He notices your limping state, frowns, and, without a second, thought approaches you. 

“Why are you limping?”

“I sprained my ankle,” you don’t seem surprised to see him as the reply flows smoothly from your lips. 

“Where?”

“The stairs.”

Peter’s heart stings with every one of your winces as you step on your feet. “Don’t you have a ride home?”

“I sprained my ankle after I turned down the ride.”

He checks his surroundings. “Let me take you to a doctor.”

You shake your head while Peter practically drags your backpack from your shoulders and carries it on his own. “It’s just a sprain.”

“Maybe, but you are walking on it, at least let me swing you home,” he keeps his tone as reserved as possible, not wanting to give away how this situation annoys him.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

How would he know? He is not a doctor. “I don’t know, but I do know it’s not good to walk on it. Don’t insist, come on–”

“Peter,” this is the first time you’re calling him by his first name after everything. “If you weren’t around, I would still walk on my sprained ankle.”

“Yeah, but now that I’m around, let me help you,” his tone changes to irritation, and surprisingly, he knows you enjoy it.

“Oh, no,” you frantically shake your head before wincing again. And yet, a smile climbs up to your lips. Not a happy or a genuine one. One that resembles a smirk. “See, you being around has a big possibility that I’ll end up hurt.”

Peter’s frown deepens as his heart skips a beat. His mind runs amok with many interpretations of your words. “Is this what this is about?”

When you don’t answer, time fills in the gaps. He finally makes sense of every little bad luck. Pieces merge together like a puzzle. 

You’ve been putting yourself in trouble on purpose. 

He doesn’t plan to confront you about it yet. He has some thinking to do. 

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“Don’t torture yourself, let me carry you home,” he ignores the question altogether. 

“I said no.”

He could not change your mind that day, just like you could not change his once. Yet, he did not have the heart to leave you alone unattended. 

Thus, he followed you home from a distance.

From that day on, he's made sure to keep an eye on you. 

Of course, there was no way of always being around you, and yet when he was, he’d have to prevent a disaster, whether from happening or from hurting you.

It was flattering, truly. To know you have placed enough trust in him to put yourself in ridiculous situations. It even drives him to actually not help you once, but his heart just won’t let him.

His night was mostly done; all he needed and wanted to do was idly check around the neighbourhood and make sure everyone was safe. He had a nice night– no big fights, just a few pickpockets and drunk potential dangers. 

On his way home, he decides to pass through your street for the last time just to make sure you are indeed safe.

To his luck, you are not.

At first, he struggles to recognize you from the tiny silhouette and almost passes through you swinging in the air. Something, however, stops him in mid-air. 

His eyes squint under the white cloth of the mask, and he jumps to the ground.

“It’s three in the morning, trouble,” his tone is indifferent, but what he feels is far from indifferent. 

“Didn’t ask for time, Spider,” you don’t cast him a glance, shrinking to your coat instead. He turns around, walking backwards. 

“Only homeless people and criminals wander around alone at this time. Which are you?” 

“Just a girl,” you disregard. “You should leave me alone.”

“It’s not safe,” he shakes his head. “You gotta stop this, sweetheart.”

He can feel the shift in the air around you. Your confident walk wavers only for a second, and yet he notices. 

“Stop what?” you ask, pretending that the name had no effect on you.

“Whatever game it is that you are playing,” Peter stops in his tracks; so do you. “Cut it out. It’s not safe.”

You look at him and shrug. “I can’t take you seriously with that mask.”

He takes it off with a quick movement, tousling his hair in the process. He would pay a heavy sum to know what you were feeling in the moment. He catches the change in your gaze and the quick glimpse at his lips. 

He murmurs your name, “I know why you are doing this.”

“Pray tell.”

“You are trying to prove that you can get hurt without having a Spiderman in your life–”

“You said it, not me.”

“By jumping at every damned opportunity to get hurt,” he finishes the sentence ignoring your interruption. 

When you don’t say anything more, Peter feels the frustration slowly climb up his core. He is tired from worrying about you every day. For a few days, he exhausted his own mind for a glimpse at yours to understand the logic behind all this. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

“How long do you plan on keeping this up?”

To his surprise, you finally look him in the eye. His heart skips a beat. He forces himself not to dwell on how much he misses you. 

“Until you stop the ‘for your own good’ bullshit.”

“Trouble, it was for your own good,” his tone has changed, growing tender now that your eyes rest on him. 

They remind him of the glow he's been admiring for the past months. The laughter echoing in his heart, the light shining in his soul. The heat and desire and lust burning to ashes in his veins.

Maybe it is late. Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Parker,” you stride forward, and Peter hurries after you. He can’t leave this conversation like this.

He has to show you how insane it is to hurt yourself deliberately for his attention.

“Are you seriously that mad? That crazy enough to cut your own hand?” he demands when he catches up to you. 

“When the hell did I cut my own hand?”

You sound truly confused, and he is only a step left to madness. 

“The bandage!”

“Oh, no, it had nothing under it. But it did work, didn’t it?” you laugh, and Peter’s body ignites in so many colours. “Did you really think I would hurt myself for someone?”

“You burned yourself and dropped a globe!”

“No, I didn’t,” you laugh again, and not only Peter feels the desperation mingle with anger, but he also feels the self control slowly slipping between his palms. Ah, that laugh.

“You did–”

“You prevented any of that happening, remember?”

“And you bet on that chance?!”

When you giggle again, Peter’s eyes fall to your lips. He drowns the urge. It is neither the time nor the place. 

“Yeah, I did. You should try the same thing sometimes instead of running like a coward.”

He has no idea what you said. The only thing he can hear is the dulcet tone and the lips singing the tune. Would you slap him if he slammed his lips to yours?

You’d have a right to.

“Trouble–”

“Stop calling me that, Parker,” you beckon with your hand. “And goodnight.”

Peter does not think he is a coward. Not when it comes to being the hero. When it comes to his heart, however, he is not so sure.

All he knows is that the obligation to keep you safe is growing heavy on him. 

Its stress is straining his nerves thin, his feelings elevating the unease further. He can’t handle this any longer, and yet here he is, wanting to make sure you cross the road safely.

Watching you from afar proves to be more difficult than he had guessed initially. 

To have you in sight all the time and yet not be able to hear you, talk to you, or touch you is pushing him to the verge of madness. Your memories start to haunt him, your smile before his eyes, your touch on his skin, and, oh sweet Lord, your lips hovering over his lips.

He curses every interruption ever hindering your lips away. 

The feelings he has buried deep dig their way up to the surface with every strand of your hair wavering in the wind. Every laugh that is not presented to his ears taunts him. Every touch lingers on a skin that isn’t his burdens his chest. 

He feels like he’s going crazy.

Lost in thought, he misses how you don’t check the road before walking. How the cars won’t stop for your sake.

He was afraid that you’d spill your hot coffee and burn yourself. No, you’re going to kill yourself in a car crash.

His heartbeat picks up as he stands up in a second, sticking a web to the roof after jumping off it. The cold breeze would not usually hurt him; thus, he is sure it is the adrenaline that spills cold water down his spine. 

When you enter his vision, so close to a car that’s speeding as if it’s going to fly, he opens his arms and grabs you by the waist.

Your coffee spills on him, burning his skin, yet he clenches his jaw at the pain. 

Swinging over the cars, his ears sting from your screech. He carries himself up by the web and lands on the rooftop.

Leaving your waist empty, he takes off his mask in rage.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he yells. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Your nose is red from the bone-shattering weather, but your smile radiates sunlight enough to warm hearts. “Oh, hey, Parker.”

“No! Don’t ‘hey, Parker’ me, you hear me?! Just-just stop this madness!”

Peter is frantic, which amuses you more. His face is red, and you are certain it is not from the weather. The vein in his neck bulges, but it does nothing to scare you.

“What madness?”

“Stop trying to kill yourself to prove a point, trouble, or you’ll actually die one of these days!”

Your smile widens. Your plan worked. It took a terrifying amount of fear to implement it and much more trust in him to act on it, but in the end, it worked, and you are so close to what you want now.

“I can die any time of any day.”

“Yes, but no,– fuck!” Peter curses roughly. 

You know you just have to push him a little bit more. Make him face his fears. Just a little bit more, and he’ll break. 

“I can jump from this roof, you know, you are practically encouraging me.”

He lets out a frustrated groan. "Alright! Alright! Fine, fine! Stop this! You win," he screams, hands in the air, eyes wide with fear and defeat. "Hell, you're gonna be the death of me!"

“I win?” you ask, eyebrows raised. "So, you’ll stop the 'for your own good' bullshit?"

Peter stays silent for a moment, the only indicator of his distress being his swiftly heaving chest.

Your shoulders sulk at his hesitation. 

If you’ve gone through all the trouble and still failed to change his mind, then maybe it is not worth it. Maybe it was easier for him to endure your absence than it was for you to endure his. Maybe he has already accepted the situation, unlike you, who was simply tolerating it for a change to betide.

Defeat and desperation grow heavy on your shoulders. It carries to your eyes as well. 

You shake your head and turn to leave.

Peter’s hand grabs your wrist before pulling you into his chest. His thumb raises your chin, and before you can react, his lips crash with yours.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. The last breath leaves your lungs as Peter’s hand travels to your waist and lower. This time, you don’t hesitate; you don’t let the shock confuse you.

You kiss him back. 

You welcome his lips over yours, letting your hand touch his soft skin. 

God, you’ve missed it.

It is soft and tender. The reminder of the affection you once had, of the tension you never lost.

It is not enough, and yet, nothing ever made you feel this at peace. 

You draw a sharp breath when he slowly breaks the kiss.

"You owed me one,” he whispers against your lips. You flutter your eyes open, gazing at the brown you’ve missed. 

He parts his lips to talk, "And yes, I will... stop the- the thi–”

You don’t let him. You know what he’s going to say anyway.

You don’t want to hear it. Why would you wish to hear it when you can feel it, taste it?

This time, the kiss is sloppy, hungry, filled with a yearn radiating from your lips to your hearts. It is rough and firm, just like his hands around your waist. You didn’t know there was any distance left between you two, and yet he managed to pull you closer by his hand on your lower back. 

His other hand climbs up your neck, cupping your cheek. 

It was cold outside, and now you are sweating under your coat.

You play with the hair behind his neck and let his tongue between your lips. The deepening kiss feels wrong out in the air, but his body against yours numbs any morals.

You forget frost, the traffic, the spilled coffee.

He forgets the mask, the roof, rain falling onto you.

There is nothing and everything, and both of them are you.

x

“How about you tidy up your place from time to time?”

You step on Peter’s shirt on your way to his bed. 

“This is the tidied-up version,” he lays next to you, a cookie plate in his bed.

“You sure you’re okay with the crumbs?” you involuntarily smile and take one, but instead of biting it, you divide it in half.

“Yeah, it’s seen worse,” Peter watches the crumbs fall to his bed and averts his eye back to you. You look disgusted.

Instead of denying it, he smirks.

“Ew, Peter!”

“Ew yourself, missy. My bed is cleaner than your room.”

“There is a sock,” you point to the corner of his bed. 

“Does it smell?”

“No, but it has a gap,” you laugh and don’t notice Peter staring at your lips. “Can you wear it?”

“Later,” he murmurs before moving you by the chin to face him. You smile against his lips as he kisses you.

Your days have turned into soft touches with him by your side and your nights into lustful kisses with you on his bed. 

You don’t complain. He still drives you mad, pushes your limits with every study you two ever have to do, but he also encourages you, loves you, and on nights like this where it is only you, the serene darkness and him, kisses you like it’s the first time every time.

A slow, almost non-existent moan escapes from you, and he smiles his mocking smile. You let him guide you to your back as he props himself up by his elbow over you. His hand roams your body and reaches the hem of your shirt to travel under it–

“You guys want anything else?” the door cracks open.

“Oh, come on, May!”

okay, this is the final! i'm so so so sorry that it took almost three months, and thank you to every one of you who patiently waited for me &lt;33

i loved writing dulcet, and i hope you loved reading it with me, please let me know what you think of the series and the final.

if you want, buy me a coffee

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