#tasm peter smut

[parkerpeter24]

quiet temptations

pairing ➳ tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

word count ➳ 2.3k

warnings ➳ SMUT. characters are 18+ and MINORS DNI. this contains depictions of fingering, oral (m recieving). fluff, peter being sweet but also horny-

summary ➳ you’re awfully quiet but peter can’t seem to take that.

“is everything alright?” peter mumbled as he laid beside you. your back was to him, his arm wrapped around you, “you’re not talking.”

the bed you were laying on was warm, a thin blanket over the sheets because you got extra cold during the winters and a quilt that covered you and peter both. your fingers danced against the wall adjacent to the bed, feeling the cold plaster contrasting peter’s own fingertips that danced on your waist, under your sweatshirt.

“you gonna talk?” he placed a kiss on your hair that was loosely tucked behind your ear, making it fall over your eyes. chuckling when he heard you groan and push the lock of hair back in its original place, “so.. no?”

you sighed softly.

“that’s alright.” peter responded, feeling as if he was just talking to himself now, “we don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

the sound of your hum was accompanied by peter’s hand gliding under your sweatshirt and caressing your stomach. he was careful, as if you were made up of glass, watching out for any signs of refusal on your face but your features looked solemn, unchanging.

he sighed, not being able to hold in his concern, “alright, just nod if everything is okay…”

he waited for you and surely you did nod after a few seconds, making peter’s worries dissipate.

“what’s gotten you so quiet?” he tried to get you to talk, his fingers taking a detour from trailing upwards, making contact with the elastic hem of your sweatpants– which originally belonged to him, “‘cause one way or another, i’m gonna hear that pretty voice.”

you felt your face heat up but peter still didn’t notice any change in your expression. if he couldn’t see the blinking of your eyes and sense changing breathing pattern, he’d have assumed you were asleep.

“at least tell me you want this.” he mumbled into your neck, pressing his lips against your exposed skin.

“yeah.” you mumbled and peter wasted no time in sliding his hand under the fabric of your lower, arm holding your body against him. you let out a soft breath as his fingers travelled lower. his middle finger slid your panties to the side before making contact with the skin. he pressed soft kisses to your neck before his nimble finger delved into your folds.

a leg pressed between both of yours, parting your thighs as he nestled a warm hand against your sex.

you let out a soft sound, clutching onto the quilt. his finger sank deeper until he found the earliest bit of your arousal and pulled it out, wanting to spread the wetness everywhere.

his finger travelled up to your clit, circling around it and you bit your lip when he fucked it back into you, knuckle deep. he groaned softly, loving the way your muscles almost clenched his finger.

he repeated his actions a few more times until you couldn’t hold back the soft needy moans that he beyond waited to hear. you felt his teeth sink into the skin of your neck before he sucked that spot, soothing the sting from the bite.

you moaned when he curled his finger, trying to search for a spot that would make your sounds louder. his finger dipped into you inch by inch every time, showing he was in no hurry.

peter’s arm was strongly keeping you pressed against himself as you started to arch your back. he could tell you were getting needy but he wished to hear something from you– even though he was loving the musical moans you were letting out.

he pressed his ring finger into the mix, adding it when he pumped them into you the next time. his face pressed further into your hair when you tried to get away. he could tell you needed more– you were writhing, trying to grind your hips into his already hard cock– but he kept going at the slowest pace he could. one brush of his fingers against your most intimate spot and your lips parted in a loud gasp.

you tried to arch your back which only led to peter’s arm pressing harder against your abdomen. his lips were pressed together, letting out soft hums which accompanied each one of your moans as if encouraging you.

he pulled out both his fingers, fucking in again and then back out and in again until it became a faster rhythm. squelching sounds filled the mostly silent room as his leg parted yours even further.

peter rolled his fingers into you continuously, the heel of his palm nudging against your clit which had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, “pete-” you gasped, “m-more.”

the desperation in your voice made peter grind into your ass. his fingers fucked you faster, holding your legs apart, curling them into you just right until you were jutting your hips, chasing your high.

“good girl.” peter mumbled, “keep it up, baby.”

his fingers moved continuously in and out of you. he could tell you were close with the way you clenched his fingers, however before the coil in your abdomen burst, his fingers pulled out of you, a soft wet sound following it– completely opposite to the loud whine that left your mouth.

“oh my god- why’d you stop?!”

“now you wanna talk?” he mumbled into your hair.

you felt your cheeks heating up further than they were. you hid your face into the pillow, but peter wasn’t letting that happen. he tugged at your chin with his free hand, “oh, baby. trust me, i want you to cum.”

you whined, biting your lip softly at his dirty words. you wondered if peter came prepared for this because no other day would you have expected such filthy words escaping his lips. he’d never done so before in all the times you two were intimate.

he turned you around gently, slowly pressing his forehead against yours as he brought up his fingers to his own lips, sucking them clean. he moaned at the taste as his tongue swirled around the digits, sending a wave of shivers up your spine and arousal to your core.

the second his fingers were released from between his soft, warm lips, your own pair replaced them, tasting remnants of yourself on his lips. you moaned softly, pressing your chest up against his.

“want you.” you breathed out heavily.

peter only shook his head, “not until you tell me what’s with the silence.”

“huh-” your brows pulled together in confusion, “you’re really not gonna-”

“first you tell me what happened.” he pecked your lips once, twice, and a few more times.

you sighed, pursing your lips as you tried to formulate what to say to him– or rather how.

when peter saw you struggle, opening your mouth and then closing it, he brushed a thumb against your cheek, “it’s okay, you should take your time.”

you nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand transfer to your cheek as your eyes met. his chocolate brown eyes swam with what you could identify as pure adoration.

“until then…” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss you.

soft at first, it escalated when he brushed his tongue past your lips, quickly finding yours in a slow yet passionate dance. peter pressed you against the mattress, handling the covers to stay over your bodies.

he wasted no time in moving his lips to your neck, hands going to hold your thighs apart as his thumb now brushed against your clothed thigh, kneading gently as his teeth nipped at your collarbone.

you gasped softly, letting him do as he pleased with you. as you held the back of his head with one hand, the soft, brunette sea of hair engulfed your fingers.

peter moved his hands to the hem of your sweatshirt, wasting no time in sliding it up past your chest, careful enough that you weren’t exposed to the coldness of the room. he dived under the quilt, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, the other being knead in the palm of his fingers.

you gasped as peter’s tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, your stomach flush against his torso.

you could feel his lips curl into a smirk before he switched, rolling your sensitive left nipple between his slender fingers as he licked and pulled the right one in his mouth.

you were getting fidgety, squirming under peter as he felt your grip tighten on his locks, not enough to hurt. he moaned against your skin, placing a few kisses right under your breast, moving lower, now seeming in a hurry.

“pete-” you almost pleaded, finding your voice breathy.

his hands travelled under the pair of sweatpants, making quick work of sliding them down as he traced your thighs, down to your knees before you felt the material slide off you.

you lifted the quilt slightly, just wanting to get a glimpse of peter. the few rays of light that touched him weren’t fast enough to warn you as his lips pressed to the wet patch over your panties. you gasped and threw your head back.

you felt peter’s hot breath and the muffled sound of his moan from under the blanket. he pushed your thighs apart, diving deeper as his nose pressed against your clit, the fabric thick enough to make you grit your teeth, wanting his lips and tongue on you.

maybe peter heard the clenching of your teeth or the way that your hand found home in the tufts of his hair again but he was eagerly pushing down the material past your legs throwing it down to the floor.

you felt peter’s forearms lift your thighs as he shuffled closer to your core, licking up a bold stripe across your folds. your back arched but peter’s grip was keeping you against him.

for a moment you heard him groan as he retracted, “what’s wrong?” you breathed out, supporting yourself up on your elbows.

you almost laughed when his hand creeped out from under the quilt, holding his fogged up glasses out for you to take. with a chuckle, you held the frame between your fingers, quickly placing them to the bedside table.

as you laid your back against the bed, peter was quick to wrap his lips around your clit. you let out a moan as he licked and sucked on the bundle of nerves.

he held onto your thighs, keeping you firm against his lips as he explored the very intimate part of you. his tongue darted out, poking at your entrance, but not giving you enough time to notice that as he slid the muscle deeper against your walls.

you moaned, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the lewdest sound you’ve ever made. the bridge of his nose poked against your clit and peter only pressed deeper as his tongue delved in and out of you. it seemed as if he would see no tomorrow if he stopped making out with your dripping hole.

you arched your back, “pete- oh god-”

you felt him hum against you, sending your jaw drop open as you finally felt the pleasure crash all over your body. your toes curled and eyes rolled to the back of your head. you could swear this was the hardest you’d ever come before as goosebumps covered your arms.

you let out a sigh as peter helped you ride out your high, keeping up his ministrations. finally stopping, he placed a soft kiss over your clit, sending your body flinching at the action.

when peter climbed out from under the blanket, surely he looked like he needed to clean up. his chin dripping with your arousal and forehead all sweaty from being so long under the warm quilt.

“you need to wash your face.” you chuckled, brushing back a few locks of hair that were sticking to his forehead.

“and you need to tell me what’s wrong.” he mumbled and you sat up, adjusting your sweatshirt back down.

“it’s nothing-”

“and don’t you dare say it’s nothing.” he sat up as well, beside you, wiping mouth with the sleeve of his shirt– that thing was going in the washing machine the second this conversation was over.

“it’s… just… exams and stuff. you know how anxious i get.” you sighed.

“i know… but you don’t have to! there’s still a week left before-”

“okay, that may seem like a long time but trust me, it’s not.” you looked up at him, meeting the brown eyes that held concern, “i’m sorry, i… i was just overwhelmed. didn’t feel like talking.” you almost pouted, making peter pull you against his chest as he hugged you. you in turn wrapped your arms around his waist.

“trust me, i know how stressful exams can be. but it’s nothing you haven’t been through before.” he placed a soft kiss against your hair, making you hug him even tighter, “you got this, beautiful.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah. easy for you to say.”

he chuckled, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re like, i don’t know, the smartest guy of our whole generation.” you mumbled against his shoulder.

peter shrugged at that comment, “hey, even i watch youtube videos for help sometimes.”

“yeah, but you grasp every concept so quickly, like you don’t even have to try.” you looked up at him, blinking when you realised how that must have sounded, “...that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“you’re adorable.” peter chuckled, “how about we study together? i’ll make a time table; and don’t worry, it’s not going to be super chaotic, just a simple time table; and we can figure it out together. how’s that sound?”

you smiled at him, feeling your heart swell at the amount of his care, “sounds perfect.”

his smile mirrored yours, “thanks for telling me.”

you gave him a grin.

“now since i told you, can we fuc-”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

masterlist

[phantomlifes]

tasm who got sprayed with an aphrodisiac, so he goes to his roommate and fucks her well into the morning 🤭🤭🤭

A/N this deviated a bit but i needed to spread the munch agenda…hope you can forgive me friend…..

peter enters the apartment like a hurricane, his shaking body and heaving breaths impossible to ignore.

“peter?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. “what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t answer at first as he looks at you. of course you’d be wearing tiny pajama shorts right now, when he has no control of where his eyes land. he’s trying hard to catch his breath, his hands clenching into fists. he brushes the hair curled with sweat off his forehead and forces himself to look you in the eyes, raising his head higher. he anchors himself on your kitchen counter behind him. “aphrodisiac.” he breathed. “came home for my research.” he gulped, pushing himself to his bedroom, still evidently woozy. “gotta be an antidote.” he started to sway to the side, and you moved on instinct for him to fall in your arms.

“easy.” you drawled, arms shaking with his weight. you’ve never seen him in this state before. “where’s the antidote? do we have it?” you try to keep your voice level, but the urgency escapes your tongue in droves.

he shakes his head, looking up at you. his brown eyes have been blown even darker, the pupil completely swallowing his irises. “lab. somewhere. gotta go.” he pushes off of you, but you grab his shaking hand.

“there is no way in hell i’m letting you leave here like this.” you took a deep breath, knowing the ethics of this are dubious at best, since you’ve been attracted to him since the day he moved in and he is technically drugged. he’s obviously in pain, and you can’t let him go out alone all the way to the lab to get the antidote. you don’t even know if he’d survive. “look. it’s an aphrodisiac. i….” you closed your eyes before you continued. “if it will take the pain away, you could….take it out on me.” you swallowed, trying to put it gently.

peter looks at you in shock, managing to push himself off the ground all the way. “you mean it?” he asks, looking straight at your lips. “because it would…” his voice trails off, cracking.

“yes.” you grab his shoulders. “i mean it”

peter immediately grabs your face with his large hands and pulls you into him, his lips sliding against yours in an anxious release. you didn’t imagine your first kiss going like this, but it doesn’t count, right? as soon as he gets a bit of control of himself, though, he slows down a little, capturing you in a breath-sucking kiss, both of you breaking away for air twice. “are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low rasp this time. you nod and he urges you to jump, carrying you with a kiss into his bedroom.

he lays you on the bed as gently as he can, and you immediately make work of sliding off your shorts and underwear. he’s so obvious with his staring, it’s adorable. “can i?” his eyes wander down and he asks again in that low rasp. “please?”

the way he said please sent a shiver down your spine. “yeah.” you answered breathlessly. “what do you want?”

“my face buried in your thighs.” he responds instantly, with the cadence of a casual conversation for something so brazen. you stifle a gasp and nod. he wastes no time gripping your thighs and hooking them on his shoulders. “you’re fucking dripping, baby.” he remarks as he starts to explore with his fingers. “this for me? you like seeing me worked up?” he almost whispers.

“i think so.” you manage to get out in between gasps from his fingers brushing against your clit. “do…do that more.”

“this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb in circles. “you like that, baby?” you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back with a stifled moan as your answer, and he grins. he takes this opportunity to start putting his mouth to work, his tongue lapping crudely as his thumb resumes pressing all of your nerves. the way he’s sucking and licking is filthy, the wet noises, his hums of delight and your cries of pleasure create a cacophony of pornography. you buck your hips against his face, pulling him closer lightly by his hair and when he groans you feel it inside of you. you whine, arching your back and he has to pin your hips down with a hand. he pulls his face away for a second, his mouth glistening with a smirk. “now who can’t control themselves?”

“shut up.” you whined in embarrassment, grabbing his hair and pulling him back down. he breathed a laugh against your clit, and you squirmed as much as you could in his hold. you’re not gonna last. he hummed and spoke into you, “yes ma’am.” and you knew you were done for.

“peter?” you whimper in between heavy breaths. “gonna cum.”

“yeah, baby?” he pulls his face away a bit, still keeping his thumb in position, only switching it to take your clit between his lips. “go on. cum for me.”

that’s all it took for you to release all over his chin with a weak little cry, your voice hoarse and breathless. you try to catch your breath, laying your head back on his pillow. “alright…” you breathed. “just give me a second…and you could…we could-“

“-about that.” he interrupted you. “i….i already did?” he says in a question, almost like he’s embarrassed, stark contrast to what his tone was minutes ago. “the effects wore off. let’s just leave it at that…” he trailed off, coughing. you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“did…did you…” you look down. “cum in your suit just from eating me out?”

he takes a deep breath, looking at you up and down. “maybe.”

you fall back with a giggle, and he immediately gets defensive. “what?”

“nothing.” you shake your head, the blood rushing to your face. “just so fucking hot.”

[blooming-violets]

private #5 bent over a table while somethings baking in the oven. is it too much to ask for tasm peter parker bending reader over?

[location based smut prompts]

The To-Do List

[tasm peter x fem!reader]

(reader is described as having a ponytail that is long enough for Peter to wrap around his hand and use as leverage)

His birthday cake was nestled happily inside the heated oven. 

She got up early to make it for his special day. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep out of her face while she had prepped and she was still in her pajamas from this morning. She had planned to have the cake in the oven, get her shower done, and place out his presents on the table all before he woke up. 

Peter, of course, had other ideas. 

He leaned against the kitchen doorway with a lopsided grin as he sleepily took in the sight of her. She paused when she saw him there, silent as ever, and crossed her arms. 

“You are not supposed to be awake for another hour,” she chastised. 

Thirty-five looked good on him. Every year he seemed to get more and more handsome. 

His eye wrinkles grew as his smile widened. A strand of dark hair fell down his forehead and he absentmindedly brushed it away. He was shirtless with nothing but a pair of dark boxers to keep him decent. 

She admired how defined his chest was. A hinting of his six pack was peeking out from just under the surface of his lean body. 

“I smelled cake.” His voice was thick and scratchy with lingering sleep. Peter’s morning voice was one the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard. 

She smiled as she rolled her eyes. It had hardly been in the oven for more than five minutes and it was already enough to get him out of bed. 

“The kitchen is a mess. I was going to clean it all up and have your presents out and I was going to be all dressed up and looking extra cute. You ruined it all with your stupid nose.” 

Peter laughed as he strode across the room to slip his arms around her waist. She looked up to admire him and wiped at a staining of toothpaste still clinging to the side of his lips. She caught it with her thumb and shoved it back into his mouth while he licked it off. 

“You already look extra cute,” he mumbled around her thumb. 

“I’m literally wearing your old, hole filled shirt and bright pink fluffy pants. This is not how I wanted you to see me this morning. It’s your birthday. I wanted it to be special.” She tugged her thumb back with a huff. 

Peter stepped back to appreciate her outfit in the morning light. She had already been in bed by the time he crawled through their window last night.

“I like it,” he stated. “It’s hipster.” 

She let out a laugh in response, “I don’t think you know what hipster means, babe.” 

Peter shrugged, “It means you dress like a bum, right?” 

“Oh my god, why don’t you go back to bed and try this again in an hour when everything is all set up, okay?” 

“No,” he whined. He latched himself onto her back, snaking his arms tightly around her stomach to press her against him. “I’m up. It’s my birthday. Say happy birthday to me and tell me you love me.” 

She grinned, snuggling back against his bare chest, “Happy birthday and I love you.” 

“That sounded insincere but I will take it.” His hand slipped up under her loose shirt to cup a warm hand over her breast, lazily palming it while he nibbled at the edge of her ear. He always liked the feeling of her nipple coming to life and growing harder against his hand. He held onto her chest like one might cling to the safety of a favorite stuffed animal. 

She groaned, “Your presents were supposed to be all set out nicely on the table. Instead you’re just greeted with a kitchen disaster of my cake baking. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep for another hour? I know you’re tired from last night. You were out late.” 

Peter began to slowly waddle them back and forth towards the kitchen table, refusing to release his grip from around her waist or remove his hand from her breast, “I know of a present I can unwrap right here…” 

She gasped under her breath, “Peter. This is no time. I’ve got a list of things to do.”

She felt him laugh quietly against her ear.

“Yeah and I’ve got a list of things to do, too. A whole list. Let’s see what the first thing to do is…” he pretended like he was reading off an imaginary piece of paper as he checked it over. “Ah, yes!” 

He slipped his hands out from her shirt and placed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades to bend her over the kitchen table. With a quick swoop, he tugged down both her pants and underwear, leaving them hanging around her ankles. She let out a shocked cry.

“Unwrap presents…check!” He chuckled to himself, giving her bare ass a soft slap. “And what a beautiful present it is. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Wow, you really know me, baby, I’m super impressed.” 

“Peter,” she whined, pushing herself back up. “Not fair. I haven’t showered. I’ve got to get ready. I’ve-”

He cut her off with a kiss. His lips crashed against her and his tongue forced its way into her mouth to stop her from trying to protest further. She could taste the mint from his toothpaste still clinging to his tongue and she moaned as he pressed his hips into hers. He was growing harder by the second. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled against her lips with a smile. “My birthday. My rules.” 

“Okay,” she said with a dreamy sigh. It wasn’t hard to convince her. Her complaints were more for show than anything else. If Peter wanted her, he had her. “I love you, Pete.” 

“If you love me so much then why don’t you take off that shirt so I can see my second present.”

She did as she was told, stripping it from her body, until she was standing naked before him. The bulge in his boxers twitched which made her smile. She loved the fact that she could make him so hard from sight alone. 

Peter’s hand reached out to brush a calloused thumb across her hardened nipple, “Beautiful.”

He lifted her up onto the table so she was sitting closer to him and he moved between her legs. They wrapped around him so she could feel the heat of him soaking through his boxers and against her pussy. His eyes traveled down to her chest, taking in the sight, and sighing happily. His head dipped down so he could capture the waiting bud between his wet lips. 

She let out a satisfied moan and ran her fingers through the back of his hair while suckled on her. His tongue bathed her breast, teeth nipping at her nipple, and soothing it over with quick kisses and light sucking motions. His mouth was magic. He didn’t even need to touch her pussy for her to already be soaking through his boxers as she ground against him. 

“Feel that?” He groaned, bucking his hips. “Feel how hard I am?” 

She whimpered.

“All for you,” he whispered, finding her lips once more to kiss her deeply. 

All for her. 

It was his birthday. She should probably be getting down on his knees for him and sucking him off or tending to him in some way but she was nothing but putty in his hands. Lost in the feeling of seduction he was casting over her. 

Peter dragged her down off the table, smirking at the wet spot she had left behind, and spun her around. He folded her back in half over the table, scraping his nails down the length of her spine and over the swell of her ass. 

“The next thing on my to-do list,” he breathed, his voice low and deep. “Is you.”

She heard him discarding his boxers and suddenly felt the wet, hot tip of cock slide up her open folds. She was more than ready for him. He never had to do much to have her begging for more. Her hips grinded against the air as if trying to draw him in closer but he only continued to tease her with the tip.

“Someone’s eager,” he commended, giving her ass another slap. 

“Peter, please,” she gasped. 

He kept up his tantalizing torture. Every time his cock bumped over her aching clit, her hips would jerk backwards, and she’d let out a quiet cry.

“Please what?” He asked with an air of innocence. 

She groaned at his teasing, “Please fuck me! I want you to fuck me.”

“Aww,” he cooed. “Does my poor baby need my cock?” 

She whined and nodded. 

“You got up so early, didn’t you?” His nails dragged along her hips, making her squirm, as she humped frantically in an attempt to get at his cock. “You got up early to make my birthday so special. You baked me a cake. It smells amazing, doesn’t it? Smell it, baby.”

Her eyes widened in frustration, “Peter! Fuck me! Please, stop it.”

He ignored her pleas, getting off of them, as his cock twitched between her thighs, “Did you slip that cake into the oven just for me?”

She was nearly sobbing from her own arousal, ready to attack him if he didn’t shut up and fuck her soon. She arched her back to better entice him, wagging her ass and rubbing it against his hips. She pushed herself up with her arms so he could get a peeking view of her tits swaying in wait for him. 

That seemed to do the trick because he had gone silent as he stared.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Happy birthday to me.” 

“I want it hard, Peter. Use me,” she whispered in an effort to finally push him over the edge. “I’m yours.”

He lined up his cock to her entrance and eased himself inside. She nearly doubled over against the table at the delicious feeling that flooded through her body. 

“Yes, yes, thank you, baby, thank you,” she cried. 

“You really love this cock, don’t you?” He breathed. “Do you love this cock more than me?” 

“No, baby, never. I could never-”

He pulled out and rammed the full, thick length back into her with a loud slap. 

She shrieked, falling forward into a flurry of mumbled moans, “I do, I do, I do. I love it more than you. I love it more than anything.” Tears pricked in her eyes from the overwhelming sensations taking over. 

Peter chuckled to himself, “That’s my girl.”

Her ass slapped against his body with each plunging drive of his cock as he took her. Fast and hard, just like she asked. Every thrust felt like it was reverberating through her, waking up all her senses, making her feel more alive than ever before. It was sheer bliss. Anticipation already began to build. He knew exactly how hard to take her. Peter could be rough but he never went past her limits. He knew her inside and out. He knew just where to push her before retreating back to safety. The sounds of her tumbling moans and each inhale of breath was all he needed to direct his path. 

He was filling her body, stretching her, taking her, building her up to that beautiful place of divinity. Her nails clawed at the table, scratching at the wood, trying to find some kind of purchase to steady herself with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!” She cried. 

“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “I got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and jerked her head upwards. She arched her back to accommodate the move as he held her against him. She could feel his ragged breaths against her cheek and listened to his erotic panting in her ear. The sound was enough to almost send her flying straight into an orgasm. 

The hand not keeping a tight hold of her ponytail wrapped around her to grab at her chest. He molded her breast between strong hands. 

She loved taking his cock. Loved it so deep. Thrusting. Hard. Stretching her. Forcing her to take him. Peter was thick. Thickest man she had ever been with. He pushed her walls to their max. His beautiful body and the sounds he made when he fucked her where like heaven to her ears. 

That familiar, sensual pressure began to grow inside of her with shallow waves lapping at the edges of her mind. Soon they would turn into giant swells. Taking her over until it was all she could feel. 

His hand slipped from her ponytail to wrap around her neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. Nothing too forceful but enough to send her flying even faster towards that tsunami of pleasure. She was so close. So ready. 

“Harder, Peter,” she sobbed. “Hard. Please. I’m-I’m…close…need it hard. Take me.” 

Peter was never to deny a request like that. He shoved her back over the table and tumbled on top of her, humping frantically with long, heavy strokes into her cunt. He could feel her walls tightening. He could feel her body changing. 

“Come on, baby,” he urged her. “Cum on my cock. Cum for me. Let me feel you.”

The universe exploded into blinding light. 

She didn’t care how loud she was. Didn’t care if the neighbors would hear. In fact, she wanted them to. She wanted them to know exactly how well Peter Parker could fuck his woman. 

Her toes curled and her legs kicked up as the sensory overload rocketed through her with golden waves of pure dopamine. 

Peter took her straight to the edge and held her there, spasming and sobbing, as he continued to fuck her through the orgasm. Even as the waves slowly receded, they still lingered in tiny aftershocks, due to his relentless pounding. He had gotten her where she needed to be and now it was his turn. 

He reangled himself into her, getting a better grip as he held onto her hips, and switched up his rhythm to slow. Peter liked to feel everything. He wanted to drag it out and feel her body wrapped around him. From fast and hard to slow and steady. His change of pace caused a low, drawn out moan to escape from her throat. 

“You like that, baby?” He panted. “You like feeling every inch of me?”

All she could do was whimper in response as her sex spasmed again around him. This was a man who knew how to lengthen an orgasm. She was completely helpless to him. Her body was his play thing. 

“Let me hear how much you love me, baby,” he whispered down in her ear as his cock buried straight to the hilt inside of her. “Let me hear you.”

She struggled to make any noise besides sobbing whimpers and broken cries. 

He moaned in response, “That’s it. Those are those sounds that I love so much. My poor baby, all ravaged on my cock. Can’t even speak.” 

He gave a small shudder and she knew he was close. She did her best to work her hips to meet his thrusts, squeezing him with her walls, sucking him in, clenching down. 

“That’s good, baby, that’s good.” He moaned, his voice slowly losing itself as he got closer to the edge. “Ooh, fuck, keep that up. ‘M gon’na cum inside ya’kay?” 

She loved it when he filled her. She loved feeling him drip down her leg as she carried him around with her. She would bathe in his semen if he wished it. It was his birthday, after all. The birthday boy could come wherever he pleased. 

His long, slow strokes worked her up as another, tiny orgasm rippled through her. That seemed to be all he needed to follow. 

Peter let out a low groan, his thrusts become more unrestrained with each passing second, and she took him. All of him. 

With the sweetest of cries, he emptied himself inside of her. She could feel him swell and pulse until she was impossibly full. That tiny orgasm grew into something much bigger, taking over her body along with him, as she felt him collapse on top of her, both shaking, as he bit at her shoulders with soft, love bites until he finally calmed down. 

He stayed like that, laid against her back and squishing her into the table, until he cock began to soften and he sadly slid back out. She tumbled back into his arms as they both fell to the spooning position against the kitchen floor. Naked, wet, and breathing heavily. 

Peter’s hand found the comfort of her breast once more. 

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Best present I could ask for. Thank you, baby. You’re too good to me.” 

She grunted in response, still finding words to fail her. Instead, she rolled over in his arms, hooking her leg through his, and leaving a trail of kisses across his face to show much she adored him.  

His eyes closed as he smiled happily at the feeling. 

Eventually she would have to get up. Eventually she would have to shower and get dressed and clean the kitchen and set up his presents and frost the cake…but for now…

For now she was happy to just lay here on the floor in his arms.

[reidslovely]

taking frat!peter’s favorite hoodie and wearing to your morning lecture and he tears apart his room and the rest of the house trying to look for it (maybe even accuses some of his brothers lmao) and then you come to see him later that day and he’s just like ohh *heart eyes*

while his brothers are just like 🧍🥲 “why isn’t she getting shit for this?”

and he’s just like “she’s my girl” then tells you don’t have to ask but to let him know whenever you take a sweater so he knows it’s gone and he didn’t lose

PLUS he’s loves it cause he can smell your perfume linger on his clothes 🥰

stop because i've thought of similar ideas for pete/bashful and have been dying to talk about it.

you didn't even plan on taking the hoodie. you'd had your clothes for lecture laid out that night, but you did not anticipate on it raining at all!! like where did that even come from?? so you get your shorts or and your t-shirt but you need something with a hood. the dark blue hoodie is hung nicely on the back of pete's computer chair and you throw it on in a rush not thinking he'd care. besides it smells like him!!

yet peter misses his one lecture of the day tearing his room apart looking for this hoodie. he's torn his room apart I mean clothes from the closet strung onto the bed and floor, his dresser drawers thrown open and the clothes hanging out of it. its gone. he's convinced himself that he left it on the campus bus and it's gone forever. then he remembers.

"where is it nate?"

nate tilted his head like a dog. shrugging

"my blue nike hoodie. where is it? you've got the red one just like it you're always trying to take my blue one."

"it was one time and it got mixed up with mine. I don't know Harry did laundry last night ask him.

Harry was a bust and so was Miles. After Miles he interrogated every other dude in the house no one had seen the hoodie.

"hey boys!" your voice carried through the doors of the house. "has anyone seen pet..Pete!" you smiled so big at him, arms out wide. then he saw it. the blue hoodie snug around you, slightly damp from the rain.

"I borrowed your hoodie this morning I hope that was okay. it was so cold and rainy."

"it is totally fine. just ask okay, next time baby? it's my lucky hoodie."

your face drops and you go to take it off. "I'm sorry you can have it back."

"no no keep it on for a little bit longer." he says walking towards you, hands rubbing your shoulders. "get it to smell like you then give it back okay?" he smiles wrapping you in a hug kissing you. both of you giggling into the kiss.

harry, miles, and nate all stand on the staircase. "he literally threatened to kill me 20 minutes ago over this." harry says. "why is It okay for her huh?"

"cause she's my girl. look at how cute she looks in it! you don't look cute in my clothes Harry." Peter teases walking up the steps behind you, smiling at his friends.

[withahappyrefrain]

The Heat is On

Summary: When the AC goes out in your apartment, your roommate Peter reveals he knows more about you than you think. 18+

For @blooming-violets, who asked for "AC is out" trope with blonde asshole roommate Peter Parker for my 3K celebration

Moving to New York, you hoped you would finally get to experience more mild summers.

What a joke.

"When did Frank say it would be fixed?" You asked your roommate after removing your head from the fridge.

Without looking up from his phone, Peter remarked, "Hopefully tomorrow."

"Hopefully?!" You gawked. There was no way you could live like this for more than twenty- four hours.

"What? You're not enjoying the view?" Peter motioned to his bare chest. Lying on the couch, he was clad only in boxers.

You rolled your eyes, "You're right, I forgot what a show all six of your chest hairs are."

He put a hand over his heart, throwing his head back as if he had just been struck by an arrow shot by you, "Ouch. You know, people usually have to jump through a lot of hoops to see this."

"Oh, like go to frat parties and pretend your jokes are funny?" You opened the freezer to find several ice cubes. You grabbed them, the coolness feeling delightful in your hand.

"You should be a comedian," Peter remarked, rolling his eyes before he returned to his phone.

You made your way over to the chair that was across from your roommate. You pressed an ice cube against your neck, relishing in the small relief from the heat.

"It's inhumane to let people go more than three hours with no AC," you muttered.

"I'm not complaining about the view I'm getting," His brown eyes motioned to your figure that was clad in only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

You rolled your eyes and chose to ignore his comment.

Living with a frat guy was not on your bingo college card. But your original housing plan had fallen through, the place was well within your budget and you were desperate.

Despite looking like a walking stereotype, Peter was actually a decent roommate. He paid all his bills on time, did his dishes, and kept the parties at his brothers' places.

The only thing Peter would not shake, despite the countless people you both had brought home, was his comments about how attracted he found you. Sometimes you just shut it down, sometimes you ignored it, sometimes you came back with a snarky remark that silenced him.

Peter was attractive, there was no denying that. All your friends wondered how you two hadn't fucked yet.

"Easy. I don't fuck frat bros nor do I fuck my roommates," you would tell them.

But sometimes, it was hard. Especially when he looked at you with a gleam in those honeyed eyes. Or when he just woke up in the morning and his dyed hair was sticking up in every direction and his voice was even deeper.

Thankfully, an alert from your phone saved you from having to make any kind of comment.

"Who's texting you?" Peter asked without even looking up from his phone.

"Chris, telling him about our lack of AC." The name briefly brought a scowl to Peter's face. One that he quickly hid as soon as he felt it.

"The Econ major who can't find a shirt that fits to save his life?"

You looked up from your phone, a smirk forming, "I'm not complaining about his too tight shirts. They show off his pecs quite well."

Peter muttered something about increased gym time when you had an easy major.

You chose to ignore his comment, instead reading the text you've received.

Peter noticed how a small smile appeared on your face as your eyes scanned the message. He also noticed how quickly you got up to head back to your room.

And he definitely noticed the sundress you were wearing when you came out of your room twenty minutes later. Along with the fact you had combed your hair and put on some makeup.

"Where are you headed?" He asked, knowing the answer. Jealousy twisted through his stomach, bubbling up to his throat.

"Chris invited me over to hang out, said I could use his AC," you remarked as you slipped on your shoes.

Peter scoffed, "You do realize he's not wanting to hang out, right? Or that he's not offering you AC out of the goodness of his heart?"

You looked up, trying to read his face. The most annoying thing about Peter Parker was that he was impossible to read. Was he jealous? Or simply judging you?

"Peter, I'm not an idiot. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't know what he wanted," You leaned forward, "I also wouldn't have gone without a bra."

His amber eyes darted to your chest, the tops of your breasts now exposed thanks to the sundress you had on, combined with you leaning forward.

He chewed his bottom lip, "So you're aware he's just trying to fuck you?"

"Maybe I want to fuck him," You retorted with as much confidence as you could muster.

The truth was that you weren't crazy about the dude. He wasn't bad. Chris was just fine.

But the heat was awful and you needed an out. And maybe this time, you could enjoy it.

Peter turned his attention back to his phone, shaking his head. It wasn't the heat that was making the air thick.

Normally he didn't comment on who you brought home. It was an unspoken rule you two had. You wouldn't judge him for who he brought home and vice versa. So long as they weren't a dick, didn't overstay their welcome, and you weren't super loud.

So why was this time any different?

"Let me know if the AC gets fixed," You said as you grabbed your purse. His eyes remained on his phone. Whatever had put him in a foul mood, you wanted no part of it and were glad to be leaving.

It wasn't until you headed towards the door that you heard his voice.

"Have fun faking another orgasm."

You stopped dead in your tracks, a flash of heat coursing through your body.

"Excuse me?" Was all you could get out as you turned around.

Peter was now standing, his arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk now on his face.

"I said, have fun faking another orgasm," he repeated.

"I don't know what-"

Peter scoffed, "What, you're still trying to hide it? I thought it was one of those unspoken roommate things where we both knew what was going on. Like that spider bite I got back in high school."

Your fingers curled into a fist, "Parker, I don't know where the fuck you get the audacity but-"

"The walls here are thin. I know what you sound like when you touch yourself versus when you're with someone. There's a huge difference," He walked towards you.

"Though, I will say that you have gotten a lot better since we moved in. Last week, when you brought Chris over?" He brought his long fingers up to his lips, kissing them, "Probably your best performance to date."

"What I do in bed is none of your concern. Also are you listening to me?" You deflected. If you could pin it back to him, you could get out of this.

Sure, you could just leave. But then that would make it seem like he was right.

Peter was right. But you couldn't let him know that.

He was now inches away from you, his arms still crossed as he looked down. Every mark, mole, and scar were visible.

"Again, the walls are thin. Should probably keep your voice down when you use your vibrator," He bent his knees, now at your eye level, "Or don't. You sound really pretty when you moan."

The grip you had on your keys was so tight, the metal was digging into your skin. You didn't care. All you cared about was trying to put on a brave face in front of Peter.

"Has anyone actually made you come while they fucked you?" He asked.

"Why the fuck do you care?" You gritted between your teeth.

Peter leaned in, which made you realize you had never been this close to him before. He didn’t smell like cheap body wash and bleach. Instead, the scent of spicy cinnamon flooded your nostrils.

It was the only pleasant thing about this whole ordeal.

“Well, based on what I’ve heard when you touch yourself, I think you’d sound even prettier coming apart with an actual cock inside you, rather than that dildo you use.”

The way he said it so casually with that smirk and a gleam in those amber eyes was infuriating. At least, it should have been.

You felt heat all over your body and it wasn't from the lack of cool air.

"What do you want Peter? You want me to admit it? Fine," you spat, "No, I've never come while actually getting fucked. You happy?"

He shook his head, "Actually I think it's a shame."

You rolled your eyes, "and what? You want to fix it?"

His lips were now inches away from yours, "If you want me to."

Peter's fingers ghosted over your bare arm, the tips of his calloused fingers brushing over your soft skin. They trailed upwards to your shoulder, moving to your neck.

"And what if you can't make me?"

"Then I'll cover utilities for the next three months." His eyes were on your body, his fingers now brushing over the pulse on your neck.

"With what money?" You stammered. The longer you could draw it out, the more time you had to avoid thinking about what your bleached blonde roommate was offering.

"New York's favorite friendly neighborhood Spider has some new pictures out." He explained, the smirk remaining on his face, his hand now firmly on the back of your neck.

Your eyes trailed down his bare chest to his hips. A smattering of dark hair trailed down his stomach, going below the waistband of his grey boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight of a now prominent bulge that was creating a clear outline in his boxers.

He was getting turned on by this. That fucker.

Before you could say anything, pressure was applied to your throat, forcing you to look up into Peter's eyes.

"So you do like being choked," He muttered.

"Don't lie. I can smell you," Peter said in response to your attempt to shake your head.

"So what do you say? Want to see if I can make you come with my cock?"

You heard the men and women he brought home. The walls were thin. You didn't hate how loud they would get because it kept you awake.

You hated it because they were enjoying it immensely. They always came. You wanted that, wanted to know what it felt like.

Plus, your lease would be up in a few months anyways.

"Fine, let's see if all the folks you brought home are better actors than me," You spat.

Peter chuckled, "You're so cute when you act tough."

He brought his other hand up to cup your face before sealing his lips onto yours.

It was gentle at first, which surprised you. His lips were soft, probably from the chapstick of yours that he keeps stealing.

The kiss was sweet. Something you knew was possible for Peter, but didn't expect to see it in the way his lips moved against yours.

Peter used his hands to tilt your head up, deepening the kiss. His tongue darted out, your lips parting without even thinking.

He was a good kisser, you could admit that to yourself.

Not to his face though. Peter Parker didn't deserve that satisfaction. He didn't deserve to know that he wasn't the only one who listened through that thin wall, picking up on how the other sounded when they moaned.

Be it due to pride or fear, he couldn't know.

"Thought you were going to fuck me," You said, taking a step back to lean against the wall.

"Do none of the guys you fuck do foreplay?" He's walking towards you with such focus, it makes your thighs clench.

"Foreplay would be like you going down on me, I thought you knew that."

"If you want me to go down on you, just say it." He's leaning forward, his lips brushing over the exposed skin of your collarbone.

"I already told you that you could fuck me," You mumbled. He looks up, his eyes on you. They're soft now, gone is the mischievous glint.

"I only want to do what you're comfortable with. But I'm not a fucking mind reader, you need to actually say it."

"You just want to hear it." You looked down, avoiding Peter's gaze.

"I want to make you feel good. Just say the word." You looked back up at him. His whole expression had softened, which you hated.

You were familiar with the smirks, the quippy one liners. Those were easy to deflect with an eye roll or snarky comment.

"Why are you doing this Parker?" Your voice was now barely a whisper.

"Have I not made it obvious that I like you?"

He looked genuinely confused, as if it was as clear as the sun rising and setting every day.

"Y-you're just flirting, like you do with everyone-"

"That's a fucking lie and you know it. You're the only person I've introduced to my Aunt and I tell you shit I haven't told anyone else. You're the one who keeps brushing it off like it's nothing." Peter sunk down until he was on his knees, both his hands gripping your thighs.

"So why don't you be a big girl and tell me whether or not you want me to eat you out? It's the least you could do." His admission was so casual, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Because it was. Peter hadn't brought anyone back to the apartment in over a month. He would find ways to spend time with you, whether it was while you were folding laundry or cooking dinner.

You saw the look in his eyes when you helped him patch up after a rough night. It was so intense that you found ways to avoid eye contact.

He kept those overly flirty comments because he knew that was what you were comfortable with.

You stared down at Peter, whose fingers were gripping the hem of your sundress.

He wasn't going to budge. You had to make the choice.

"You can eat me, but you can't make me come with your mouth. Defeats the whole purpose of seeing if you can make me come with your cock," you finally said after what felt like an eternity, the heat making you almost dizzy.

The hem of your dress was pushed up to your waist, a low groan escaping Peter's mouth from upon seeing that you had opted to forgo underwear.

A snarky remark formed on your tongue, but it died as soon as Peter buried his head between your thighs.

His tongue lapped greedily at your folds, your arousal mixing with his saliva. A gasp fell from your lips as you felt Peter's nose brush against your clit.

Your hands found themselves in his bleached hair, tugging on the surprisingly soft locks.

His mouth was good, which your body loved but your brain hated. You had bitten your bottom lip so hard in an attempt to hold back any pleasurable sounds that the taste of copper filled your mouth.

"Just let go. Probably why you haven't ever come," He muttered into your thigh before latching his mouth to your clit.

The grip you had on his fake blonde locks tightened as a strangled cry fell from your lips.

You could feel Peter moan against your cunt, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body.

"J-just get on with it Parker."

He took his mouth off of you, it taking everything in you not to whine from the loss.

Peter stood up, which was when you saw that his chin was glistening. His fingers gripped your chin, his other hand on the back of your neck. With his broad chest, he guided your body until it was fully against the wall, one of his thighs in-between your legs.

"Why don't you ask nicely, princess?" You could feel your slick against your skin as his lips ghosted over your cheek.

"T-thought you liked me," you stammered as his thigh pushed against your core.

"Doesn't mean you get to be a brat. That's no way to treat the one guy who actually wants to make you come on his cock."

He was right. He was the only one to realize you had been faking it, that you weren't satisfied. The only one to offer to try, to express not just interest but want in making you feel good.

"P-please, Peter," you whimpered.

"Good girl," he praised before gripping onto your thighs and picking you up. His words caused you to clench around nothing, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

When exactly you ended up in Peter's room, you were unsure. But as the back of your head made contact with his pillow, his fingers gripped your sundress, pulling the fabric up and over your head.

Peter muttered a curse at the sight of your bare body. Of course you didn't wear a bra either.

His lips found themselves on your chest, his teeth grazing your skin. Your nails dug into Peter's back as his fingers slipped through your folds, into your entrance.

"T-Thought- you said you would f-fuck me," you whined, your pitch increasing as you felt Peter's teeth against one of your nipples. The air was hot from the lack of AC, his cracked window doing very little to cool you down.

You could hear him laugh against your chest, "Put up such a fight only to beg for me to fuck you."

Peter flicked his wrist, his fingers hitting a spot that left you breathless. He saw how your eyes widened, your lips parted yet no sound came out.

That all too familiar smirk, the one you wanted to wipe off his face, the one that made him look almost boyish despite his stubble, the one you adored, returned.

He pulls his fingers out of you, pushing down his boxers to free his cock. His fingers are glistening with your slick.

You're staring, unable to look away as he uses those same fingers to pump his cock.

"Like what you see?" Peter grins.

You roll your eyes, "I thought you were supposed to stop being an asshole after you admit you like me."

Peter shakes his head, leaning down so his body is hovering over your's, "Don't you know it's bad to change yourself for the person you like?"

You lift your head up to capture his lips, your teeth tugging on his bottom lip. You clench at the deep groan that comes from Peter.

His free hand wraps itself around your throat, pushing your upper body back down to the bed.

A choked scream escapes your lips as you feel him enter you. You feel full, the sensation of Peter inside of you almost overwhelming.

"Just tell me when you're ready for me to move," He whispered softly before pressing his lips against your cheek.

"Move, please," you whimper.

"You wanna come so bad, don't you?" You nod your head at Peter's question, whining as you feel his cock pull almost all the way out of you, leaving on the tip.

"Don't worry princess," his accent shown through as he thrusted back into you, your back arching off the mattress.

It actually feels good, the way his cock fills you up and brushes against your walls with every thrust. Peter's lips are all over your neck, alternating between giving you bruising marks and soothing kisses.

You can feel sweat rolling down your chest, but for once you don't care. A coil is tightening in your stomach, a sensation that until now, you had only experienced when touching yourself.

"Feels good?" Peter asks, his face not even inches away from yours. You can feel the ends of his blonde hair brushing against your forehead.

You nod, but that isn't good enough for Peter, "Use ya words. Wanna hear ya."

A scowl forms on your face because of course he'd still be an asshole when he's getting you close to coming.

As if he could sense it, a large hand grips your chin, his fingers squeezing the sides of your lips.

"What did I fucking say about being a brat? I know you're close, can feel your cunt squeezing my cock."

His words only push you further and he can tell by how the near vice grip your cunt has on him somehow gets even tighter.

Peter grins, his eyes lightening up as realization sweeps over him, "You put up this tough girl act but you want someone to put you in your place, don't ya?"

It's all too much. His words, his cock, the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

How he figured you out in record timing. How despite the fact you both tried your best at the beginning of this lease to keep each other out, you were more comfortable around one another than anyone else.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya." Peter shifts so he's on his knees, his hands grabbing your thighs and pinning them to his hips.

The new position allows him to not only thrust deeper, but also gives him access to your clit.

Inhibitions now gone, you throw your head back as you feel his calloused fingers draw circles on your bundle of nerves.

Your hands find themselves practically clawing at Peter's thighs, desperate for him to keep going. You loved how good it felt. That he was actually fucking you, rather than treating you like a life-size fleshlight.

"Please don't stop," You manage to get out in-between the whimpers and moans.

"Not a chance. Wanna hear how loud you get when you fall apart on my cock."

You opened your mouth to call him an asshole, but then his fingers brushed against your clit again, pushing you over the edge.

Your nails dug deep into his back as you fell apart around him. Your whole body tightened and unwind over and over again. The neighbors next door were sure to draft up a noise complaint, given the way you were practically screaming.

Peter continued to fuck you through it, prolonging your orgasm. You never wanted it to end. Your eyes couldn't help but close, all you could focus on, all you could feel, was how your walls tightened around his cock.

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you come," Peter grunted, his eyes never leaving your withering body.

You opened your eyes again, unsure of how long you had them closed for. Holy shit, he was still fucking you. You could still feel your body spasming in pleasure.

"D-don't….don't stop," you begged, jolts of pleasure still running through your body.

"I won't baby. I'll make ya feel this good every night if ya let me." Peter's words combined with his fingers still drawing circles on your sensitive clit, pushed you back towards the edge of pleasure, further away from coherent thoughts.

"F-fuck, you feel incredible," Peter stammered as he watched you fall apart again.

His hips snapped against yours, the feeling of your tight cunt practically milking his cock becoming too much. The sounds of your wetness were loud and lewd, spurring him further.

Peter collapsed onto you, a deep groan falling from his lips as he slammed his hips against yours one last time before coming inside of you.

The two of you laid there, the only sounds in the room were of the small fan Peter had on and you two trying to catch your breath.

"So what do you get?"

Peter lifted his head up from your chest, his brows knitted in confusion at your question.

"You said if you couldn't make me come, you'd pay utilities for the next three months. You never said what would happen if you did make me come," You explained as you run a hand through his dyed hair.

A soft smile appeared on Peter's face, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"I get to take you out to dinner," He revealed.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Y'know, most people take folks they like to dinner first, then fuck them."

Peter shrugged, "Figured you needed to relax first."

You playfully swatted his shoulder, "Asshole."

"This asshole just made you come so hard, you blacked out for several minutes," he reminded you before pressing a kiss to your jawline.

"Yes and I'm sure this won't be the last time you remind me," You shook your head, though a small smile remained on your face.

"I'll stop once I get you to squirt. Then I'll make sure you never forget about that," Peter whispered, sending heat all over your body.

Perhaps you could renew your lease with him.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

PAPARAZZI- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Dark! Perv! Peter x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: as the outgoing, spontaneous cheerleader of the school, you arent too familiar with quieter people, such as peter parker. he sure is familiar with you though. soon, the photos and obsessions give him the courage to talk to you, which leads into his darker desires coming true.

WARNING. THIS CONTAINS DARKER CONTENT, SUCH AS STALKING AND MANIUPLATION. READ WITH CAUTION. 

Warnings: SMUT, stalking, public masturbation, stealing of panties, masturbation with panties, booze and drugs mentioned, swearing, maniplation/ slight gaslighting, pet names, heavy praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, corruption/ innocent kink, teasing/ playing with reader through panties, panties used as gag, mocking, taking pictures of reader while asleep, mentions of diff sex postitions, spanking, plugs and collars, mirror sex etc

“i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me- papa-paparazzi baby, there's no other superstar, you know that i'll be... your papa-paparazzi” - paparazzi, lady gaga

One of the first words you had ever said to Peter Parker had been a lie. 

A white one, something small and one that you had believed. 

But not him.

 He knew it was a lie that had slipped from your lips, clear as day as he snapped the photo with his Nikon. I’m not very photogenic. 

Those were the words of warning you gave him as he asked for a photo of you for the yearbook, a shy smile blooming across your face as he insisted. 

No one is ever un-photogenic. It's the photographer that can make it that way. he had reassured, flexing his bicep as he ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

 Those weren't the words he wanted to say, but they’d have to do. What he really wanted to say, the truthful answer was probably not something your innocent, soft persona was ready to hear yet. 

You are the most captivating person I’ve ever seen, and I look at your beautiful body any chance I can get without seeming like a full-on weirdo, imagining what you look like under those clothes. So yes, you are photogenic. Very, very photogenic. 

That would have to wait until a much later date, when you knew him better. When you would understand how photogenic you were, because he’d make you understand.

 “Peter?” you asked shyly, drawing his attention back to the present moment, breaking him from his trance about how your legs would look slung across his shoulders as he pounded into you. 

You knew his name. God, wait until you were moaning it. 

“Yea, yea sorry, just got distracted.” he smiled, making you giggle as he brought the camera up to face, eyes staring you down through the viewfinder as he snapped the picture of you smiling by the football field. 

A cheerleader in her natural element. 

“Thanks Y/N.” he nodded, turning to walk off, to stalk you from the bleachers- as he always did. But you stopped him, your gentle voice captivating him as you asked the most mindboggling question he had ever heard. 

“You, you know my name?” you asked shyly, and he fought the urge to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor, to have his eyes boggle out of his head like a cartoon character. 

Of course, he knew your name. Every person in Queens knew your name, the shining star.

 “Course.” he shrugged, watching as you fidgeted with the hem of your short little cheer skirt, the one he imagined flipping up so many times as he’d pound into you from behind in the changeroom, holding your head up by your hair so you could see how beautiful you looked drunk on his cock in the mirror. 

“Oh! Hey, you're in my chemistry arent you? Mr. Johnson's class?” 

He died. He had died, and gone to heaven. 

“Y-yeah. I sit-”

 “At the back of the class. Back right corner.” you smiled, head whipping back as you heard your friends from the squad call your name, waving you over to the center field. You laughed at his reaction, the pure look of amazement in his eyes as he stared at you, his face in shock. 

“I’ll see you around, ‘k Parker? Let me know if you need more pictures.” you waved, your hair flipping behind your shoulder as you trotted off to their beck and calls. 

He somehow urged his legs to move, although he wanted nothing more than to remain frozen to the spot, the sweet smell of your perfume and shampoo lingering in the air from your close proximity making him hazy and irrational. 

Let me know if you need more photos. 

He bit his lip, knawing on it with his teeth as he made his way back over behind the bleachers, a spot he often occupied. It was perfect for a photographer, a spot where he could see everything and anyone, but no one could see him. 

You were a sweetheart to offer that up to him, but there was one thing you didn't fully know. 

He already took advantage of that offer, much before you said anything about it. 

Peter had photos of you everywhere. 

And by everywhere, he meant everywhere. 

Photos of you pinned up on the walls in his room. Photos of you he taped in his physics notebook, his math binders, even a photo of you in his wallet. 

They were all candids of course, as he’d often spend his time taking pictures of you when you were clueless. Those were always the best ones though, where you'd look so innocent and carefree in those little skirts and knee-high socks, a soft smile always on your face. 

You were a sweet, innocent little ray of sunshine. One he wanted to corrupt.

 And he knew, deep down it was wrong, oh so very wrong. But how could he not think of you that way? It was impossible to keep those thoughts at bay, thoughts of all the ways he would ruin you, making you beg on your knees for him.

 For any part of him, for him to do anything to you. You would be so easy that way, so moldable in his hands. 

Obedient. 

The sound of your gentle laughter sent his gaze towards your body once more, a lion stalking a lamb as he took in your legs hungrily, currently spread into the splits as you stretched. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, the way he would ruin you. You’d look so pretty with his cum dripping put your quivering cunt, his fingers smearing it across your thighs. He’d cum on your stomach and feed it to you, or he’d finish across your face- and you’d take it like a good girl. 

He groaned softly, palming himself through his jeans, the fabric suddenly tight and uncomfortable as he watched you. 

Pictures weren't enough today. Pictures weren't nearly enough, with the way your skin gleaned in the afternoon sun, your pink little cotton panties peaking at him as you bent down to finish your stretching, still talking to one of your friends about helping out at the animal shelter later this week. 

God, you were so perfect. So sweet, and gentle.. and well, his. 

At least in Peter's mind. 

Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, need took over as he quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock, throbbing and gleaming with precum. He moaned as he pumped himself tp the sight of you, imagining all the places he would take you- whether you liked it or not. 

In his bed. Over the counters. On his desk. In the chemistry labs. Hell, even here, under the bleachers where he stood, currently jerking himself off like you were a live playboy magazine. 

Head thrown back in pleasure, he bit his lip down hard enough to taste the coppery, sweet tang of blood. It was only when he heard the whistle and the sound of the coach's voice he realized exactly what he was doing.

 This was wrong. This was very wrong. Fuck Parker, you’re acting like a fucking virgin. Can't even keep it in your pants until you get home? 

Not with you, he couldn't. But he really had no option, knowing so many people would be with you. Didn’t mean he couldn't snap a few more pictures though. 

One or two wouldn't hurt, right? 

After zipping his jeans back up, he quickly grabbed his camera, positioning it so he could see you perfectly. Your hair shimmered in the sun, a little halo placed around your frame as you looked to your friend. 

He didn’t know if he wanted to braid it for you after a long, hot shower, or if he wanted to tug on it so hard you cried. After a few pictures, many including your thighs in that short little skirt he adored, he hurried out from his hiding spot, back onto the gravel path. 

He was in a rush not because he was worried he’d run into you again. 

Oh, that’d be the dream. 

He was rushing because there was an entire corkboard that waited for him in his room, filled to the brim with pictures of you. And it was either he came in his pants to the sound of your voice, or too many, many photos of you. 

Peter would take the safe option. 

For now- at least.

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“Peter?” 

Your mellow voice rang out, clear as windchimes on a breezy summer's day- snapping him up from his thoughts. Of you, again. 

He looked up from his notes, ones that he hadn't really been reading, but ones he had been mindlessly glancing at so Mr. Johnson wouldn't demand to know why he’d be staring off into space.

 He couldn't really say “Sorry Mr. Johnson, I was just daydreaming about using a vibrator on Y/N until she started crying, begging and drooling because I made her into an incoherent mess!” 

That would not slide with him. The bell was about to ring, and he wasn't expecting you to show up as a pre-class gift. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn't happy about it. 

Very, very happy. 

“Y/N hey! What's up?”

 He wanted to smack himself in the face. What's up?! You really just said what's up?! 

“Nothing much... Um- I was just wondering something.” 

Your fingers were wrapped around your arm, rubbing it up and down as you fidgeted in lace with your feet. You were nervous. 

“What were you wondering?” he murmured, and he’d be damned if he said he didnt find your shyness towards him adorable. Everything you did was adorable. 

“You can totally say no if you want, I don't want you to feel like you have to or anything-” 

“Hey. Breathe. Just tell me.” he smiled softly, urging you to take a deep breath, and start from the beginning. The heat rising to your cheeks was making you fidget even more, feeling as if he could sense it from miles away. 

But you had to spit it out. If you didnt, you’d never hear the end of it from your nagging thoughts that liked to plague you wherever you went. 

“I overheard Mr. Johnson telling Mrs. Marly that we’re doing a lab later this week. He’ll probably go over it today, I just wanted to ask.. would you be my partner? You’re really, really smart. And I wanted to get to know you better.” you gushed, words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

Peter wanted to pinch himself. He wanted to slap himself silly, because there is no way in hell you just asked him that. 

Was he dreaming? He was definitely dreaming. 

“Peter?” His shock kept him from saying exactly what he wanted to say right away. “Like I said, you don't have too, I can ask someon-”

 “Yes. Of course I’ll be your partner.” he nodded, cheeks turning pink as the skirt you had on today, the soft, pastel pink just aching for his fingers to run across the seams, to flip it up to expose yourself to him. 

You rubbed your lips together, lipgloss shimmering as the morning sun shown through the windows, the bell ringing profusely like an alarm for the sun to break from the clouds.

 It was strawberry lipgloss. He watched you put it on at your locker this morning, and he wanted nothing more than to taste it. 

“Oh, thank you so much! If you brainstorm anything in class today, slip it in my gym locker. I have cheer practice after school, but all the girls are normally out of the change room by 2:45. If no one sees you go in there, you should be fine.” you giggled, watching as students began to sit down in their seats, Mr. Johnson finalizing his notes for the class as he started to write out the date at the top of the whiteboard. 

“May I?” you asked, pointing at his pen that was scattered with his papers across his desk. Peter nodded, and you picked up the pen, leaning over towards him as you scribbled your locker number and combination across the blank sheet of paper he had pulled out before you had showed up. 

He tried so hard not to look, he really did. But when you were leaned over, your shirt exposing the tops of your breasts so close to him- it was impossible not to peek. They looked so pretty and perky, your little gold necklace swinging in front of him, tempting him.

 He wanted nothing more than to mark them up, to suck on your nipples until you were so flustered you couldn't do anything but moan his name, and tug at his hair. 

The honeyed smell of your perfume was gripping him by the throat, clouding his senses and making his head go fuzzy. 

He wanted you so bad it hurt. 

“ See ya round.” you whispered, setting his pen down as you gave him a little wink, scurrying back to your seat on the other side of the room. 

Oh, he’d be seeing you alright. He’d be seeing you a whole lot. 

Mr. Johnson's voice was tuned out as his brain turned the sound off like a radio dial, as he was only focused on you. Peter looked down at the little heart you had left next to your elegant scribbles of writing, the numbers slightly tilted on an angle, loopy numbers filling the left hand corner of his page. 

He had never seen anyone write like that, and he adored it. What he adored even more though, was that you had left an extra set of numbers for him.

 Your phone number. 

He couldn't help but glance over at you, head down in your notes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, listening to the teacher as if he were a preacher in a cult. 

You were so pretty when you were focused.

 Peter knew he probably shouldn't be on his phone, especially because he knew Mr. Johnson was about to start talking about the labs you had overheard earlier that day, but he didn't care. He already spent all his classes daydreaming about you, especially this class- so what would it hurt? 

His thumbs flew across the keyboard under the desk, hitting send before he could re-think his decision. 

Unknown Number: So… you come here often? 

You looked down at your phone, fidgeting with the pink, sparkly case with a smile. It was Peter. Your heart pounded in your chest at the text, the sheer dorkiness of it making you want to giggle. 

He was charming, a little shy and quiet. But that's what made you gravitate towards him, his mellow aura inviting, yet mysterious. 

You liked it. You liked it a whole lot. 

You: Sadly… yes. You? 

Peter: I tend to show up when the girl I want to show up does. I have nothing to look at when she's not. 

You smiled, cheeks heating (as they typically did) when he was involved. You had a school girl crush on him, and he’d be blind as a bat if he didnt see it from miles away. Kilometers. Especially with those glasses he always wore, which he always adjusted on his pretty nose. 

You: What's this mystery girls name?

Peter:.... 

Peter: Bunny. And Bunny is now going to be good and pay attention to the lecture, cause she has a thesis she needs to think about. 

Bunny. 

You tugged on your lower, glossy lip with your teeth, the slight pain a delicious distraction from what was happening between your leg as you clenched them together tightly. 

The sound of your foot lightly tapping the tile was nearly as fast as the professor's words as he spewed them out at lightning speed, causing your notes to be frantic and rushed.

 The last thing you wanted was to not have any material to give back to Peter during this project. You had your fair share of partners who did nothing in group assignments, and it made your blood boil. 

The fact Peter was nice enough to even let you work with him was beyond kind already- the last thing you wanted to be was unprepared. Before you knew it, the bell had rang, its shrill noise breaking the silence and tension so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife. 

It made you jump, heartbeat racing as you quickly packed up your things, his rambling no longer making sense in your mind as he yelled out the homework for this weekend to the kids already scurrying down the hall.

 “Have fun at cheer tonight bunny.” the soft voice called, words tickling the shell of your ear as Peter's hand touched your lower back, his skin brushing yours as he scooted by you to head towards the door. 

“Thanks.” was all you could squeak out, watching as he sent a little smile and wave your way, long stride carrying him down the halls as he propped his earbuds in to tune out the rest of the world. 

Something you think you wanted to do with him sometime.

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Peter felt like a pervert. An absolute, full-on pervert. 

There is a system set in place for perverted things, one that he had created in his head. Level one was taking pictures of you, level two being jerking off to those said pictures. Level three was jerking off to you, in person- without your awareness. 

But this, this broke the scale. At least in his books. 

This was something typical movie perverts would do, something the audience would watch, perhaps maybe cover their children's eyes while they gawked. He stood at the entrance to the girls change room, the only sound preoccupying the space the humming of the janitor out of view down the hall, and the buzz of the fluorescences. 

No one lingered among the lockers, he had made sure of that. It was 2:50pm, and he was still chicken shit. 

Peter Parker was scared. 

Not scared of you walking in, or anyone else really for that matter. You had granted him permission after all, and it's not like anyone was stripping down currently. 

He was scared of himself. Of his own urges. 

Finally, he’d be in your personal space. Your personal, personal space. He knew it was wrong to rummage through your stuff, but the thought of your undergarments being so close to him, and quite literally his for the taking made him horny. 

Hornier than he had been all damn day, which was saying a lot. 

Horny enough to have yet again, irrational decisions cloud his judgement, making him storm into the locker room like a man on a mission. Skimming over the numbers, he finally found yours, lighting up like he had won the jackpot. 

Memorizing the combination you had written down for him, he unlocked your locker, the metal creaking slightly as he pried it open.

 It was so… you. So, so very you. 

Innocent and soft, little pictures of you and your friends put up with pink washi tape, your cheer schedule scribbled with dates and hearts. He smiled at the Hello Kitty stickers you placed near the back as he slid the papers in your bag, making a mental note to bring that up in a conversation later. 

It was when the papers were fully tucked away did he realize what he was touching. 

Lace. 

His mouth went dry, palms beginning to sweat as his fingers wrapped around the flimsy fabric, tugging it out into view. 

Bingo. 

The scrap of the pink lace thong was enough to have him keening, and he brought his nose to it, inhaling deeply. It smelt sweet, the wet patch you had left still staining the undergarment. 

The fact you had worn this all day, when you had talked to him in class, when you had rubbed your thighs together eagerly… 

“Fuck.” he murmured gently, bringing the pink fabric down to the very prominent bulge in his jeans, rubbing it against his oner with a sigh. His party was soon crashed though, the sound of voices growing louder as they entered the changeroom. 

Shutting the locker as quickly (and as quietly) as he possibly could, he darted out of sight behind another row, praying to every god in the universe no one would come this way. 

“Yea, Y/N told me she was going to Daryl's party tomorrow night. She’s supposed to help me pick out what to wear.” a light, cheery voice called from in front of him, the sound of the locker opening make his heart drop as another set of footsteps followed behind the mystery person. 

Daryl? As in Daryl Whites? This was a very, very bad idea for you. 

Peter had noticed the way Daryl had been eyeing you up lately, like you were a piece of fresh meat at the butcher's. He’d be dammed if he let you anywhere near that scumbag. 

“What do think she’ll wear though?” another voice replied, the sound of a water bottle being squeezed filling the air as the locker clanged shut again. 

“Hopefully something slutty. I can't be the only whore at this party! I swear sometimes-” The voices muddled out as they exited the changeroom, the door swinging shut behind them as the coach's whistle blew. 

Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the soft whoosh of air a sigh of relief. Slipping the panties in his back pocket, he made his way out of the changeroom, to go mentally prepare himself. 

It now appeared he had a party to go to tomorrow night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh goddd-” he gritted out between clenched teeth, the lacey thong rubbing across his hardened cock making it harder and harder to keep a grip of sanity in the present moment. 

Jerking himself off with your underwear was his new favorite thing, the dozens of photos of you looking over at him a sweet touch. He couldn't stop thinking of you, when he was making dinner, when he was in the shower, when he was doing laundry. 

It was always, always you.

 It was only in these sweet moments, in the haven of his bedroom could act on these sinful thoughts, when everyone was asleep. 

Because he was loud. But how was he supposed to stay quiet, when all he could think about was fucking you senseless? 

You’d be so good for him. So eager to please. He had never heard you say no to anything or anyone a day in your life. Maybe it was wrong of him, but he wanted to use that to his advantage. 

You were such a quiet, innocent thing and Peter wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to ruin you. Until all you could think about was his cock, his touch, his taste. The taste of his lips, the taste of his cum down your throat mixed with your tears and salvia as he used you like the pretty little fleshlight you were. 

He’d have to train you first of course, using his fingers so slowly coax you open- get you used to him. Peter wasn't that cruel. But he couldn't wait to be cruel when you’d tease him, and he’d have to teach you a lesson. When he’d happily listen to the sound of your bell jingle from the collar he’d put on you as he’d drap you acros his knee, your body jolting with each spank.  

Your cries would sound so pretty as he’d play with the tail in your ass between the spakings. 

The thought of you sprawled out across his lap and crying sent him over the edge, head lolling back as he finished with a moan. His cum coated your panties, already stained from the previous night. 

He knew the logical thing was to wash it and slip it back into your locker when you weren't present, but at the same time- he didn't want to. 

Yes, he’d give them back, but he wanted you to wear them with the gentle reminder of him. Slipping those panties up over those beautiful legs of yours, just to have his dried cum used as a pillow for your cunt drove him insane. 

So did the thought of seeing you tomorrow night, in a little party outfit. He felt like those girls in the changeroom wondering what you'd be wearing to the get-together, except he was thinking about it for a totally different reason. 

How easy it’d be to get you out of it. 

With a sigh, he stared out the window from his room to the city sprawled outside, at the twinkling lights and people milling on the avenue. This city never slept, and neither did he. 

Daryl's house was only a few blocks down from his apartment, his family lucky enough to snag a townhouse in the bustling streets of Queens. 

Peter hated parties, he was much more content to stay in his room and work on new inventions, or to smoke a blunt and read a book on the fire escape that so happened to conveniently be outside his window. 

But if you were going, he needed to be there. To make sure you would be okay, or at least that's what he kept telling himself. 

Not because he was borderline obsessed with you and needed to be in your presence nearly all the time because you were a drug he was addicted to, a feeling he could never shake from his bones. When you were too drunk to function, or high out of your mind he’d take you home. 

Home- to his apartment, because you’d be in no condition to go back to your place, your father would throw a fit once he found out what his perfect little angel had really done. 

He’d take care of you, keeping you warm and safe as you’d fight a stupid hangover.

 Everything would go according to plan. He was sure of it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything did not go according to plan.

 You would go to the party with Macey and Jessica, have an amazing time, drink to the point you were a little drunk, and go home. 

That was the plan. 

You would play games like beer pong with Daryl, despite not really liking him, but you'd have to be a good guest. But instead, you were very, very sober. In someones bedroom, on the verge of crying. 

You didn’t really want to come here. 

You knew you would regret it the second you stepped foot in the door, but you came anyways for your friends sake. 

It will be so much fun! they had insisted as they fixed up your mascara in the vanity mirror an hour prior. Yeah. So much fun my ASS. 

You didn't know whose room you were in, but it surely couldn't be Daryls. It was much to clean for that, too prim and proper. A guest bedroom then. A perfect bedroom for you- his guest, to sit in and hold back tears, being too overstimulated and anxious to actually enjoy yourself.  

Picking at your dress, the skin-tight baby blue fabric making you feel claustrophobic, you listened to the muffled sound of some shitty pop song, the bass loud enough to rattle the floorboards under your feet. 

You thought of Peter as you peered over into the full body mirror, taking in your body as you watched the tears fall. You wondered what he was doing, if he was having a better time than you were. 

God you hoped so. 

Peter would be able to brighten your mood, as he often did without even realizing it. You wished he were here. But this place, this “party” wasn't a scene for the man you had taken interest in over these past few weeks. He seemed like the type to hate this environment, as much as you secretly did. 

So why the hell was he standing in the doorway, his messy hair poking out at you as he creaked it open slowly?

 “Peter?” was all you could let out, in a state of shock that your prayers had been answered. Wiping the stray tears away with a sniffle, you stood as he made his way in the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 “What are you doing here?” 

“Are you okay?” he asked, ignoring your curiosity as he walked over to you slowly, worry etched on his face as clear as day. You swallowed, fighting the urge not to break out in a sobbing fit. 

No, I’m not okay. I want to go home. So badly. 

“I’m fine. Just.. needed a break from the crowds I guess.” you murmured, watching as he sat down next to you on the bed, patting the spot where you previously sat, bedsheets ruffled. “This not really your scene?” he asked, in which you only responded with a nod, your teeth seeming stuck to your lower lip as you bit down. 

“Yea me either. I don't really know how it's anyone scene to be honest. It's just a lot of loud guys sloshing beer over everyone and terrible music that makes my ears bleed.” 

You laughed at this, warmth blooming in yur chest as he smiled. “Like seriously. I’m not a medical professional, but something is definitely wrong with my ears after hearing that shitty ass song that's been looped like- three times already. You can probably see blood.” he joked, hand snaking over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, your gaze meeting his pitiful one as he smiled gently. 

He looked so pretty tonight, in that blue shirt you always adored. It brought out the colour of his eyes, which looked so pretty with the glasses he wore. 

He always looked so pretty. Pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty muscles that seemed to strain behind the fabric. Pretty fingers and arm veins that you could see so clearly as he slid your hair out of your face, so he could see you better. 

“No blood... yet. I can't promise that later on though.” you teased, fighting the urge not to fall into this man's lap and curl up like a kitten, bawling your eyes out because of how overstimulated you were from the party down below. 

Peter must have sensed this, this tidal wave of anxiety that was desperately trying to be freed from the dam you had built up. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he sighed. 

As if he were tired of this too. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured tenderly, making your heart race. You had heard those words from many guys before, drunk and trying to get in your pants. You had always politely declined, having no interest in “getting out of there”. 

But with Peter, it was gentle. 

He was worried for you, and wanted to make sure you were safe. Comfortable. He wanted to get you out of this place he knew you hated, to sweep in and be your prince charming. 

And you gladly let him. 

“Please. I’ll text my friends I’ve headed out when we can somehow find a way out of that maze of people.” 

“Let's get out of this jungle, Indiana Jones.”

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You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once you and Peter managed to find yourselves on the empty sidewalks, the music now just a dull hum under the fluorescent street lights. 

It was like swimming against the tide filtering through the lingering bodies of the crowd, everyone too drunk to understand you were trying to leave the party, not stay in it. 

The smell of beer and cheap booze was now gone, the air clear enough you didn't see smoke floating in it as you walked with Peter. 

You didn’t really know where you were going. You just wanted out. 

You couldn't go home, as you told your parents you were staying over at Mindy's house for the night. They were too lost in arguing or drinking to really bother calling her parents to make sure you stayed there. 

So you mindlessly walked the streets of Queens with Peter, listening to nothing but the pounds of sirens wail and traffic speed by, and your heels clicking on the pavement below. They didn’t seem to do much next to Peter, as he continued to tower over you. 

You felt like a kid next to him with how.. well- large he was. He wasn't “jacked” by any means, but he had muscles. A solid weight to him, and height too.

 It was this observation that got you asking a question you had always secretly wanted to ask, the emptiness of the streets giving you the confidence to speak it. 

“Why don't you play basketball Peter? You have a really nice build for it. Like.. really nice. You’d be amazing on the team.” He looked over at you, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Are you flirting with me bunny?” 

You looked away, wanting nothing more than to hide in an alleyway, and spend the rest of your days there. You got so flustered around Peter.

 “N-no. I mean yes! I don't know.” you stuttered, making matters worse for yourself. He seemed to think it was cute though, laughing as he nudged your arm with his own. 

“You have a really nice build too bunny. Especially tonight. I was meaning to tell you earlier, but ya know- timing. You look really pretty.”

 Well if that didn’t make your heart flutter like a hummingbird.  

“And to answer your question, I don't play basketball because it's not interesting to me. I have other things to occupy my time with.” 

“Like photography?” you asked eagerly, genuinely curious. He smiled. “Like photography. And science, I like building things in my spare time.” 

And I like thinking of you. All the time. And taking pictures of you, and admiring those photos as hobby, because I am so in love with you, and you don't even realize it. But no, just photography and science. Of course. 

“That's so cool! I’ve always wanted to make a robot or something interesting.” you gushed, more and more drawn to this man by the minute. 

You felt his hand slip down to rest on your lower back, touch comforting as the chill night's breeze slithered through the air, coiling around the hairs on your arms like snakes. 

He was warm, his body smelling like cinnamon and fresh coffee grounds. You liked it. You liked it so much you barely realized as he guided you up the steps, leading to double doors to an apartment complex, one you knew he had been in so many times before. 

He punched in a keycode like it was second nature, never breaking eye contact as he watched your lips move, not really hearing the words that came out of them. 

You couldn't care less where he was taking you, too entranced with Peter to pay any mind. He could be leading you down to the seventh pit of hell for all you knew, and you wouldn't give a shit. 

As long as he was there, doing that little nose scrunch he did when he was concentrated, or running his fingers through his hair, just to have it fall in his face a meer seconds later, you'd stay. 

You'd do anything he asked of you. 

And he knew this, and he’d be damned if he didn’t pull the strings a little bit. You were so easy, a glass puppet he could use, and play with. 

His puppet. His toy.

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“My aunts gone for the weekend, so I figured you’d be okay with staying here for a bit.” he said, shutting the door behind him, watching as you surveyed the quant space. 

The sound of the deadbolt clicking into place made you flinch, breaking the pattern of your steady breathing. You looked over at him, a sly grin on his face as he let the chain slide into place, flicking on more light to illuminate the space. 

It was adorable here. 

Little knick-knacks scattered across the bookshelves filled to the brim with old hardcovers, houseplants and vines overspilling the space. It looked like Peter and his family actually lived here.

 They had made it a home, and had made it their own, unlike the other people you knew- who looked like they lived in an IKEA showroom. 

You smiled as you slid off your shoes, little frilly socks a soft cushion against the old hardwood as you padded over to a framed photo of a woman no later than her late thirties with a younger, smiling Peter. 

“That's my aunt.” he nodded at the frame, making his way over to the kitchen, tossing the keys up on the island, watching you intently.

 “She's beautiful.” you exclaimed setting the frame back down as you followed Peter over to the couch. His arm slung around the back cushions, resting there almost as if it were an invitation. He drummed his fingers to the silent song that played through the speakers of his mind, brushing against your shoulder softly as you sat down beside him. 

You made no move to shy away from him, despite your inner monologue screaming at you to run under his bed and hide like a frightened little child because you felt your brain turning to mush the closer you sat to him, the more you inhaled his comforting scent that had you seeing double. 

“What.. um what should we do?” you squeaked out, his gaze cool and collected, despite the reply that ran through his head like a script. 

We should fuck. And I mean fuck. Doggy, but in a mirror so I can see your pretty face when you cum, and you can see how well we go together, how well you take me despite being a tight lil thing. Maybe I can stuff your- now my panties in your mouth for good measure.

“Whatever you want to do, bunny.” he raised his eyebrows, making you strum your fingers against your lower lip in thought. 

“Hmm. That's a lot of responsibility, I don't think I can handle that.” you giggled, hand coming down to adjust your dress as your legs tucked neatly underneath you. To prevent him from seeing what he really wanted to see, but little did you know he’d already seen it. 

Many times. 

“Too much responsibility for your lil brain hm? Need me to make decisions?” he teased, making you gulp, his words affected you more then they should have. 

He was teasing, a little joke about how indecisive you were. You were extremely, and everyone knew it.

 So why did you feel a wetness pool into your panties at the words that slipped out as smooth and sweet as honey, your thighs clenching as he smirked at you?

 A nod was all you could muster, fueling the fire behind his eyes even more, adding wood to the embers. “Not really good at making decisions.” you confessed, shuffling in your seat. 

It was hot in here. Like really, really hot. Unnessicalarly hot. 

Sweat clung to you like dew drops as your breath quickened, his presence so near it made you feel sick. In the best way possible. Peter made you feel like a frightened little lamb, grazing in a little meadow filled with little wildflowers and butterflies- leading you into a slaughterhouse. 

That slaughterhouse was filled with your desires, your wants and needs that you had suppressed and pushed down for so long because you were scared.

 Despite what some people thought you were inexperienced. 

You barely ever touched yourself, and had never let anyone else touch you like that. So yes, you were frightened. You were vulnerable, because Peter had opened up these urges again. Had sprung the cap free from the bottle, your innocence leaking free.

 “Wha- what are you doing?” you whispered, voice as quiet as a mouse's footsteps as you felt his hand creep down to rush against your bare thigh, goosebumps rising in his wake.

 “Making the decision for you.” he smiled softly, though his eyes were nothing but soft. They were hungry. 

“What decision?” you gulped, tempted to close your thighs around his fingers that gripped your flesh, soft and delicate. 

It felt good. It felt so, so good and he had barely even touched you. But this was your first time actually hanging out, and this was wrong. 

This was my first time hanging out with her and I was taking advantage of her. Because she was so easy to manipulate. Because she was just so, so sweet and good.

His hand pried your legs apart ever so slightly, a little whimper escaping your lips that you prayed would get past him. 

It didn’t though, of course. Nothing ever did. 

A soft, gentle noise spurred him on, his knuckles running up and down the eighth of your thigh, his touch warm against your skin. 

“The one you were too scared to make. The one you want, deep down, that your baby brain can't comprehend.” 

Your eyes widened, hand grabbing his wrist as he adjusted his posture to suddenly tower over you, pushing you back against the cushions. Your head hit the armrest with a little oof, a moan getting caught in your throat at the contact. 

“Peter-”

 “Don't ‘Peter’ me.” he cooed, as if he were talking to a baby kitten, hand stroking your cheek.

 “I can smell you, bunny. So sweet, bet you taste so delicious. You can't fight it, your body wants it. I know what your body needs. I know what you need.” he urged, knowing his words had you wrapped in a chokehold. 

You were about to be KOed by him, body falling to the mat without you even realizing it. 

“You do?” you asked, naive. 

Curious. 

Because of course Peter knew more than you, of course he understood what was going on with you. He understood these funny feelings that seemed to bubble in your stomach, consuming you whole. 

“Of course I do, bunny. You have to trust me, trust is key in a relationship. In any relationship. I would never hurt you, don't you know that?” 

Except he wasn't hurting you. He was hurting your innocence. Not that you were fully aware of that, of course. 

“But, we’ve never hung out before this and I just.. I don't want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.” you murmured softy, breath quickening as his thumb neared your lips, tugging on the lower one with his thumb.

 He wanted to laugh. Oh gosh, you were really like a little fawn. 

“You’d never take advantage of me bunny, not ever. I would just be such a bad person if I didn’t help with those funny feelings I know you have right now.” he tilted his head, mock sympathy etched on his face like a carved marble statue. 

“I don't know what they really are, I’ve never really-”

 “You don't have to know. You shouldn't know, anything right now. Let me know, for you.” he insisted, dragging his thumb to smear your lipgloss, the sparkles stained on him like a brand. 

His eyes never lingered from yours as he smeared the gloss across his lower lip, his tongue darting out to taste. “Mmm strawberry.” he grinned wickedly, making you giggle softly. 

But he knew that already.

 “It’s my favorite.” you whispered as his hand hiked up your dress, chest rising and falling quickly as he unwrapped you like a present on Christmas morning. Your head lolled to the side, leather caressing your cheek as Peter traced a slightly calloused finger down your abdomen, teasing you. 

“Aren't you precious?” he murmured to himself, as if you were a test subject, and he was recording notes on how each touch, each taste affected you. He wanted to capture a picture of you in this moment, frame it and hang it perfectly center in his room. 

This one, this one would take the prize. 

The way you looked right now, so eager, yet confused spurred him on more than he thought was possible- doe eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as little gasps escaped you.

 “Feels funny-” you moaned, the feeling of electrical shocks coursing through your limbs the closer he inches to your clothed cunt. 

“Shh, shh I know. I know, but you gotta trust me bunny. Trust me. Trust daddy- yea?” he shushed, hand cupping your mound, making your hips buck up with a start. 

“Oh godd-” you cried, Peter's fingers gently tapping the wet spot that had overtaken your panties, your slick smearing on his skin as he grinned. 

“Such a messy girl aren’t you? Virgins always are. So easy to get wet.”  

You didn't know how he knew you were a virgin, and quite frankly- you didn't care. Mr. Bear would disagree with Peter, your slick across his fur the odd time a key indicator of that. 

But going against your stuffed teddy didnt nearly feel as good as this. 

Nothing did. 

His fingers began to rub little circles across your clit, the feeling of pleasure so startling and overwhelming that your hand snaked down to grab his wrist with such urgency you feared you had hurt him. Eyes wide, you whimpered. 

“I can't- we can't-” 

“Yes, we can. I know it feels funny but you gotta stay still and take it. Be a good girl.” he growled, voice husky and consumed with lust as he continued to play you like an instrument, fingers reading each cord your body demanded from the staff.

 “See, there we go bunny! Just sit there and take it like my pretty lil dolly.” he praised you softly as your hips attempted to still, your legs starting to shake from the overstimulation. 

It was too much. Too, too much.

 Before you even realized what you were doing, you felt your thumb slip into your mouth- a coping mechanism you had used when your brain was turning fuzzy and cloudy, like a mirror fogging up during a shower. 

Vulnerability. He was teasing you into submission, into regression. 

“Awh poor baby. Feels so good, doesn't it bunny? You look so pathetic for me.” he cooed, a mock pout etched on his face as he pinched your inner thigh, making you squeal as you felt the elastic in your stomach snap, gushing all over his hand. 

It was pure bliss, the way you sounded, your moans and little breathless gasps of pleasure driving him up the wall. The way you were absentmindedly grinding into his hand, the cushions of his palm bumping into your clit as he brought you down from your high had the seams of your innocent breaking, your body taking the pleasure it needed. 

The pleasure it deserved. 

“There we go, good girl. Such a good, good girl.”

 You had made a mess- everywhere.

 God, you were embarrassed.

“M’so sorry.” you gasped, in shock you had came that hard from his touch alone. “Don't apologize bunny, your body needed that. You've been denying her of it for so, so long and you need to learn your lesson.” he tsked, fingers tickling you as they wrapped around the flimsy waistband, tugging the lace down past your thighs. 

It was as if you wanted to get fucked. As if you wanted to be used. And he’d be damned if he didn’t indulge you. 

“What lesson?” you questioned, a flutter of anxiousness laced in your voice as the cool air hit your exposed cunt, your clit throbbing from the stimulation it had just received. 

Your poor cunt was all swollen and puffy. Oh well. 

“You need to give your pretty little body what it wants, what it needs. Stop denying me. But don't worry-” he smiled cruelly, the sound of his belt jangling made you shiver with anticipation, a ball of arousal mixed with flurries of anxious butterflies churning in your stomach.

 “Daddy's here now, to help you. Say ah” You obeyed, feeling as if you had no choice but to part your lips wide. The image above you was pure sin, Peter's eyes as black as the night sky as he stuffed the panties in your mouth, making you choke on a gasp. 

You sputtered as the sweet, salty taste hit your tongue, a muffled cry threatening to burst from your lips as is thoughts raced. This was all he had ever wanted, and now that he was finally getting it? 

He felt on fire. 

He felt as he would simply perish from the insides, flame charring the blood that roared in his ears as he overshadowed you. The desire that coursed through him was inhumane- animalistic as he stroked away a stray tear with his thumb, the hint of fear blending with the desire in your eyes giving all the information he needed to know. 

You were scared. You didn’t know what you wanted. He had to teach you. To train you. 

“We’d be so perfect together- ya know.” he hushed, cutting off your plea of a jumble between ‘please and his name. The dress bunched up slipped off you with ease as he guided it over your head, pinning your arms up helplessly. 

“You’d be my little doll. Mine to- Hey, hey eyes up here.” he warned, making your eyes flicker back up to meet his as he spread your legs even further. 

You whined. He just smiled. 

“Mine to dress up and play with, cause you're such a good girl bunny.” he hummed, head thrown back in pleasure as he entered you, your nails scratching his skin as you wailed making him even harder. 

You were just what he dreamed of. So tight, and wet and warm- 

Your eyes rolled back at his words, his mindless, endless rambling distracting you from the burn in your belly as he sank into you deeper. He wasn't even all the way in yet. 

Oh, you were fucked. 

“G-god dammit bunny your little cunts grippin me. Can’t- can't think when you're this pretty for me.” he moaned, his cock brushing against your walls as he slowly stretched you, despite his body telling him to ram into you so hard you passed out. 

He wasn't that cruel. Yet. 

It was hard to breathe with the gag stuffed in your mouth, your vocal cords scratching as you moaned into the soaking fabric that was now also covered in your spit. 

You were lightheaded from the stimulation, pleasure blurring from pain as you clung onto the sound of his sweet voice.

 “Shh, shh sweet girl I know, I know it's so much isn't it? But you're handling it so well. Look at me all up in your guts hmm?” You looked down, the outline of his cock in your abdomen making you hiccup as he pressed on it gently. 

All you could do was sit and squirm as he used you, slowly rocking into you with each whisper of praise that left his lips, making you feel dirty. 

This was filthy. This was dirty, and wrong. But you loved it. You loved the way he was making you feel, the way he knew what was best for you. If Peter said your body needed this, then it did. 

No room for further discussion.

 “Mghm” was all you could murmur, body shaking as you came around him, vision white with bliss. You were floating among the cosmos, feeling as if you had taken a hit from Daryl's weed at the party earlier. 

It was euphoric, the way this man had made you feel without even trying. Without making you do anything. 

No, you let him take the reins. You had seen things in the movies before, where the girls tended to give and give to make the man happy. This wasn't with Peter. 

He was the giver. 

He gave you pleasure, but the pleasure he gave you was so good he had to take some from himself as well. He couldn't explain to you how good he felt in words, so he showed you. 

Pounded into you, slow and deep. Made you feel each thrust, each kiss, each lick of his tongue against your cheeks as he cleaned the salty tears. 

“God baby bunny you made such a mess over me hm? Creamed my cock dry. Guess it's only fair I finish inside you, stuff you nice n deep for your first time…” 

A rub of your clit and the sound of his whine was the last thing you heard before the lights went out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter was still in a state of shock.

 He felt as if he was walking on air, a ghost as he floated around the apartment. 

This was real. This was very, very real. 

Any one of his hundreds of fantasies, any images that scattered across in his mind like camera flashes couldn't compare to how exquisite you were. 

How good you felt. 

He knew the second you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes, with such innocence he was done for. He couldn't contain himself anymore. 

Peter had given you every last drop of his cum, stuffing it in your sensitive cunt with his fingers. He couldn't let a single drop go to waste. He had been dreaming about it for too long. 

The rise and fall of your chest brought him back down to some form of reality, realizing what exactly had happened. He had ruined you. Taken your innocence. 

It was his now. His possession. Just like how you soon be. 

Hands running through his hair, he smiled at your passed out figure, taking the panties out of your mouth. 

He’d be keeping these, as well as your other ones. A collection, he decided. 

A new hobby. 

Peter made his way over to the bathroom, warming up a soft washcloth with warm water. He wasn't sure what kind of lotion you liked, although he often smelt vanilla on you. It was one of his favorite scents. 

He’d be sure to pick some up tomorrow, but for now- his lotion would have to do. A gentle whistle sounded from his lips as he nudged his bedroom door open, a picture of your smiling figure greeting him as he switched on the bedside light. 

The fact he didn’t even need any pictures tonight made him smile. He had you. Right where he wanted you. 

There was a pep in his step as he snagged you a sweater, a soft blanket (that smelled of him, he obviously made sure of this, he wasn't stupid) and a glass of water from the kitchen before making his way back to you. 

You were still passed out among the cushions, goosebumps rising on your skin as he neared. “Sleepy lil kitty.” he sang softly, flicking your nose gently. He was met with a soft snore, making him shake his head in amusement. 

He really did fuck you dumb, and then into sleep didn’t he? 

You were so beautiful. That's all he could think of, peering down at you. He had always thought you were beautiful, through the lens of his camera. 

But up close and personal, where he could see each little dimple, each mark and ridge, he thought you were breathtaking. 

I’m not very photogenic. Those words were utter bullshit. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he had made his way back down the hall-  stumbling back into his room. Grabbing his polaroid camera after half jumping into some boxers and pj pants- he gravitated down the darkened hall back to you. 

His angel. His bunny.

 The flash reflected across your body as he snapped the photo, the whirling of the camera not making you move an inch as you remained in slumber. 

Peter would make you feel photogenic. He would make you feel beautiful, make you feel like the most stunning model in the entire universe every day- if you let him. 

But let's be honest here, you really wouldn't have much of a choice, now would you?

[reverieblondie]

Neighbors

Chapter 3: Web-Heads

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: None....But it's starting to heat up...

Summary: After a terrible night you find that your restless, turns out your not the only one who isn't asleep at this hour. Maybe things will start looking up for you...

A/N: Finally got this done! I have so many fics in the works currently, so I am slowly trying to get them all out but I write slow and can only write when I am hyperfixating on that specific story. it all comes in waves for me unfortunately. Enjoy the chapter!

Word Count: 4,012

Your eyes fly open, meeting the darkness of your room. Nothing is working…

Four hours of tossing and turning, trying to will yourself to sleep but nothing is working. With a sigh and slowly rising from your bed, you conclude that sleep is just not going to happen for you tonight. This should all be expected though, how can you get rest when you feel your life is in knots? Unfortunately for you untying them is going to take longer than one night so sleepless nights seem to be in your future. -damn stress causing you to have insomnia…

Sitting up in your bed your mind starts going back to everything that has happened so far, what could have happened if Spider-man didn’t show up. As you think you feel the pricking ache in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. With a deep breath you will the feeling down, you have cried enough you don’t want to keep getting worked up. Scanning the room you're looking for a distraction then you find it; your hamper filled with clothes catches your eye. That will have to do. 

Pulling on your hoodie,  pocketing your phone and keys, favorite fuzzy slippers on your ready; you drag your hamper down to the complex's laundry room, well to the elevator then the laundry room. Typically you wouldn't be doing your laundry at this hour but you're hoping for no company, that must be why you didn’t even bother to brush your restless bedhead. You have already had a rough night, it can't get any rougher right? 

Finally making it down to the washroom you walk through the doorway and see none other than your neighbour the spider enthusiast. Just can’t catch a break tonight. 

Walking in you try your best not to pay him any mind but you can’t help but notice how he seems very surprised to see you. Well granted it is an untimely time for laundry but he’s down here as well so you should be giving him a look as well. As you go to give him a look you stop, you just don’t even have the energy for that right now. With a sigh, you keep your head down and just do your laundry in silence. 

Placing your clothes in the washer you sort them carefully as you go in two different machines, it's just the two of you so you can be a bit rude to get your stuff done. At this point you couldn't care either way. 

“Rough night?” His voice carries to you and all you can do is just hum, not denying but not exactly agreeing either. 

“Yeah, you look…” he thinks for a moment and you assume he is looking for some kind of insult, that would just be the cherry on top of your night, wouldn’t it? What will he poke at? Your hair? Your clothes? Your puffy face? Your fuzzy slippers? Feeling the anger build at your assumed thoughts you turn to him quickly making him look at you a bit surprised. 

“I what? Huh? Are you going to say how I look like shit? How do I look pathetic?” the pain in your chest starts to rise and you just throw your clothes in both washers no longer having the will to sit and sort. 

With a slam, you start the washers and go to leave in a huff but as you make your way to the exit in an angered rush one of your slippers comes off forcing you to have to turn back. Spinning around quickly you see Peter is standing with your slipper in hand, a concerned look on his face, already so close to you. If you were not so completely irritated you would question how he got to you so quickly. 

“I was going to say you look sad…” it's the gentlest you have heard him speak, makes you feel like an ass from your off-the-handle reaction. He holds out your slipper to you, “Want to talk about it Cinderella?” 

With a sigh you grab the slipper putting it back on your foot, “Not particularly…” 

“You're not from New York are you?” he asks somewhat suddenly

“What was your first clue?” 

“The screaming at the spider.” you look at him and can’t help the small laugh that leaves your throat, he notes this so he keeps going, “Yeah, definitely the dead giveaway. Plus there is you not knowing about this month's rainy week and believing the weatherman, another not New Yorker mistake.” 

You sigh, “I can’t even trust the weatherman…” 

“Not from channel 12 no, try channel 34, he’s the one I watch.” 

“Oh, and here I thought it was your special New York weather sense.” 

“Well that helps too,”  he says nonchalantly, causing you to laugh again. 

You look at him and see that he's watching you with a smile. As he waits for his laundry, “Why are you being nice to me? I thought I was dramatic?” 

“Eh, your dramatics are only funny when you're peeved, not sad.” 

“Oh, well I am so glad I could entertain you then.” 

“Least you can do after waking me from my sleep because of a spider.” You laugh and the room becomes silenced between you two the only sound being the whorling of the washers and the slight music coming from Peter's earbuds filling the room for a long moment. “So was work bad? Did something-” 

You are quick to cut him off.  “Ah- still don’t want to talk about it.” 

He holds his hands up in mock surrender humming in agreement. A part of you doesn't know why you don’t tell him. Maybe it is because talking to him is finally making you forget about it, making you laugh and relax a bit. For a second the thought of being in Spider-man's arms hearing his heartbeat comes back to you, how relaxed you felt in his arms, how safe you felt. 

“So what do you do? I mean we are around the same age, are you like…let me guess a waiter or something? Or a barista at some hip coffee shop?” changing the subject from you back to him. 

He furrows his brows at you in a look of playful disgust “Did you say hip?”  

Throwing your arms up you let out a confused huff “What? New Yorkers don’t say hip?” 

“No” 

“Whatever, so what do you do, judgy pants?” 

“It’s Mr. Judgy pants to you, I go to school at Empire State University and I do freelance photography for the Daily Bugle.” 

As you two talk the washers go off and you two start gathering your things placing them in the dryer as you continue the conversion. Getting to talk to Peter like this is nice and it’s nice that you two are getting to know each other. 

“What kind of photos do you take?” you as casually as you prep the dryer settings. 

“People, landscapes, but the Bugle pays me for my Spider-man pictures.” 

The mention of Spider-man makes you pause, then you look back to Peter to see that he’s already looking at you but turns his head stuffing the dryer as you notice him. 

“Isn’t he hard to get pictures of?” you ask, trying to seem casual about your prying. 

“That is the rumor, but I have my ways” 

“Oh well we don’t want you giving up your secret ways,”  Peter smirks and starts the drier, you come to his side and whisper to him “You can tell me, you know him or something don’t you? One of your buddies or something?” 

He looks at you and laughs “More like we have a coworker kind of relationship, but it's all very confidencial I can't say anymore or I will be webbed to a bridge by my feet.” 

“I don’t see the problem?” 

“Ha. ha. You're very funny” he says, rolling his eyes at you. Before his eyes go towards you while you two sit back down to wait “So, why are you asking about Spider-man?” 

Shit, do you tell him you met him? Uhhg but then he's just going to ask more questions as you don’t want to deal with all that prying, quick defect! “He’s a superhero, who wouldn't ask some questions?” -nailed it

Peter just hums with a small nod as a response. For about 40 minutes you loop through idle small talk and silence. You had the least amount of clothes to dry compared to him. Now you two are standing at the folding tables as he helps fold your laundry, you insisted that he didn't have to help you but he insisted otherwise. Peter might not be all that bad a guy, but maybe you can be friendly acquaintances and one day possibly friends. 

“Overall, how has your move for your scholarship been treating you?” Peter suddenly asks as he folds one of your towels. He must be used to having to do chores as a kid and he folds rather nicely compared to some other college students you've known.  

“Fine…” you say a bit too high pitched to be convincing, Turning to Peter you see that he has a concerned look on his face, almost one of pity…you avert your eyes feeling your chest get tangled up again. Why does he have to look at you like you like that…don’t people know that doesn't help…

“I grew up in Queens. I've been around this place all my life, I can only imagine the adjustment you're going through. If you need help or-” Peters's voice dies off as he looks at you again seeing that you're getting upset. With a sigh, he lazily reaches into the basket to grab something to fold as you watch through the corner of your eyes you see that he grabs your lacy pink underwear. Biting back a laugh you watch as Peter feels the material confused before turning bright red and shoving them back into the basket for something else. As he’s embarrassly apologizing, you break out in hysterical laughter. 

You watch as Peter's face scrunches at you, the blush of his embarrassment still on his face. He is not as amused as you are, “Oh, don’t be so embarrassed Peter it's just panties, they won’t bite you.” 

Peter rolls his eyes and mocks laughter as he makes his way to the dryer that just got down with his clothes. You finish your folding as you hear Peter suddenly cuss, looking over you see him holding what you assume used to be a white shirt that is now splotched with red and blue. 

“Oh no, do you want help fixing it? I think I have some bleach.” approaching him you see him get tense before he pulls out all his clothes in a hurry and slips past you quickly with his basket filled. 

“It’s fine I will just get a new one,” Peter starts to move to the exit. 

“Wait? You helped me fold my clothes, do you want help?”

“No!” he quickly interjects “I uh, I like to fold my clothes…it's very…relaxing to me.” 

“Uh-” 

“See you around!” with that he rushes off and all you can do is give him a very confused look at where he once was. -weird.   

Despite Peter leaving in a rather rushed and odd matter everything before that was…. nice. After your laundry and chat session, you were finally eased enough to fall asleep for a while and rested just enough to help get you through your workday. As you're getting ready for your shift you turn on the TV, you see the weatherman from channel 12 but you quickly flip it to channel 34; per Peter's advice. 

Deciding to dress warmer for today's shift you go with your favorite pants and a black short sleeve. Yesterday's attack is still inching in the back of your mind. The thought of anyone seeing your bare skin right now makes you feel ill. Better tips be damned. Once your makeup is done, a bit darker than you would usually go, you gather your hair to wear it pinned up then you can’t seem to find your tie. 

Walking out of the bathroom you scan everywhere for it till you spot it on your nightstand, swiftly grabbing it you put up your hair but you pause for a moment looking at the note…Spider-man…

Grabbing the note you reread the simple message and observe the doodle. He saved your butt, didn't he? Looking out your window you look at the cascading of colors from the setting sun. Would you ever see him again? Get to properly thank him? The city is massive and you hear the bustling of people and machinery. A whole city he has to take care of…that's got to take its toll on a person…

As you're getting swept up in your thoughts your alarm tells you it's time to go. Gathering your coat and purse you double-check your things, wallet, keys, IDs, and planner. Pursing your lips you take a mental note: you still need to buy pepper spray and an umbrella, the weatherman said there will be rain tonight so it looks like you're out of luck for today. Maybe you could order your things and have them delivered here? As you exit your door you look towards your window with the blinds that you keep open. 

Huh, you pause before stepping towards the window where your purse was returned. Looking at the window you still see the webbing residue from last night, confirming that it all happened. As your eyes scan the webbing and then go to the city outside only one thought plagues your mind, how did Spider-man know what window was yours?  

Leaning on the bar top you let out a sigh as you watch the front door of the bar, the sound of pouring rain and soft thunder is paired with the voices of the few patrons who needed to brave the weather for their drink fix. Peter was right about the weatherman from 34, the guy knows his stuff. Peter… thinking of him you think of how he mentioned he was a photographer for the Daily Bugle… and took pics for the Spider-themed hero…

Turning your head you see the few customers seemingly content and with full glasses, so with that and it being so dead tonight you decide it would be okay to pull out your phone for some internet snooping. Usually, this is something you would never do while behind the contour but Gregory had given you the okay, he felt bad that you had to come in during this storm. The bar tonight was only being managed by three people tonight because of the rain, Gregory and his wife Melissa and you. Melissa was a delight at the bar, plus you couldn't help but smile as she severed drinks while rubbing her growing belly. 

Getting comfortable you type Daily Bugle - Spider-man in your search engine and wait for the results. Turns out that the Bugle was not the biggest Spider fan, calling him a menace and blaming him for most things. Though the articles left a sour taste in your mouth the pictures with the articles were amazing. You have seen pictures before, but those were either blurry or from a super long distance. Peter had some talent, you would have to bring that up next time you saw him in the laundry room. 

You continue looking at the pictures, Spider-man was something else. His athletic build swinging in the sky, something you did just last night; you can feel your cheeks warm at the memory, if only it wasn't raining you could have looked as you swung with him. A stray thought of the possibility of ever doing it again crossed your mind, though you doubt you would ever see him again or if you did he probably wouldn't recall you. Your eyes focus on every curve of him, the tight spandex makes your mind race with what could be underneath. And those hands…so large…

“Oh, looks like we got ourselves a web-head.” Gregory says with a chuckle as he catches a glimpse of your phone. 

“A web-head?” you had never even heard of that before what was he talking about? 

Gregory points to your phone with a deep chuckle, “Spiders fangirls, we call them web-heads.” 

Fangirl?! Your face goes red and you press your phone to your chest looking terrified which only makes him laugh, Melissa comes to swat his arm. “Don’t tease her Greg.” she turns to you with a smile “Honestly I can’t blame you, he’s just the cutest thing. Though I think he's a bit too young for me.” 

You want to deny this narrative of you having a thing for Spider-Man but her words catch you by surprise. “Wait, what do you mean? Have you met him?” 

Melissa lights up “I did, he saved my life once. It was a while back but a villain was rampaging the streets and as a car was getting flung towards me he scooped me up and swung me to safety. I tell you, my heart was racing not just from the adrenaline of the situation.” she nudges you and you both share a quick laugh while her husband huffs. 

“Why do you think he's young though?” 

“Well after he saved me he called me ma’am and I could just tell from his inflections he was still young, still figuring himself out.” -interesting, maybe you two are around the same age. 

“Then he left.” Gregory cuts in catching your attention. His face is down as he refills a glass from the tap. Turning back to Melissa she's looking at her husband with a tight-lipped gaze before turning back to you. 

“What do you mean he left?” you question

Melissa leans in almost like what she is saying is a secret “Rumor is that after a huge fight with some villains, something in him broke, like he just couldn’t handle all the pressure anymore. He was gone for months almost a full year before he returned to face the rhino. Now he’s just around again like he never left.” she shrugs “Odd right?” 

“Yeah…odd…”   

With work now over you are standing in your spot under the canopy as the rain is still coming down, though not as heavy as earlier. As the rain falls you think about the hero and his disappearing act. What would make a hero leave? Did he get hurt? Was it all too much? Shoving your hands in your pockets you sigh to yourself, maybe it's best not to dwell on it? Has nothing to do with you, though that gnawing curiosity is still in you, wanting to know more…

Not wanting a repeat of yesterday you buddle your jacket tighter to you, deciding it's best to just brave the rain and take a hot shower when you get home. Taking your first step from the safety of the canopy your skin is immediately chilling at the feeling of the rain hitting your head. Just as you go to start to run a familiar whooshing sound catches your attention making you turn back to the bar. Then right in front of you is a spider symbol. 

Looking up from his chest you see an incredibly close spider-man looking down towards you. The second thing you notice is that you no longer feel rain falling on your head looking up and seeing a red umbrella shielding you both. 

Feeling completely confused you try to form any words but all you can stammer out is a “wha-huh-what?” 

He kinda laughs. It starts naturally but you notice he deepened it a little, “Sorry to spook you, but I figured you could use this.” 

“You came here to bring me an umbrella?” you say still filled with confusion. 

“Actually I was in the area patrolling for yesterday's robber.” -oh right, “But, then I remembered you and you saying that you don’t have an umbrella, so here” 

Standing so close to him you can admire his physic better, pictures definitely didn’t fully do it justice. Maybe these web-heads are onto something….

“Thank you, but I’m a bit surprised you remembered that. I mean I know it was yesterday but don't you talk and save a bunch of people often?” 

“Yeah, to be honest I usually have a hard time remembering things or people, but you stuck out to me,” he says nonchalantly. This sudden confession makes your eyes widen as you look at him. Wait? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? 

He looks at you and seems to take in your surprised expression interpreting what you might be thinking. “I mean, it's not often I steal people's purses”

That snaps your mind back to your earlier question you had asked yourself before leaving home, “That reminds me, how did you know that was my window when you retired my purse?” 

Spider-man's eye lenses go wide for a second before he places his hand on the back of his neck, seemingly shy about it, maybe not the best time to ask him. “That I uh, I got lucky that you left your blinds open so I saw you.” 

For some reason, the thought of the masked hero being able to see you through the window makes your cheeks warm. You should close your blinds more often…or keep them open more. 

“Well, get home safe and try your best to stay dry, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.” 

You give him a confident smile and gently take the umbrella from his hand, as you do you brush your fingers with the warmth you felt yesterday.. Whoever this guy is, he is very thoughtful. But what do you expect from a hero? As you begin to walk off to hurry to your apartment you hear him call for you. Turning you see him in the rain arm reaching towards you but he quickly adjusts himself to a casual stance.  

“Do you work late every night?” 

“Most nights” you confirm

With a hum, he thinks for a moment before he nods and claps his wet hands together, “Well, I will have to make this a regular patrol area. Have a good night” 

Just like last night before you can say anything more to him he's swinging off leaving you to watch his fading figure, though you think tonight he knows you're watching by how he does a backflip in the air. Pretty impressive…

As you get into your apartment your feeling, better. Today was drastically different from yesterday's events, You still adjusting but there is a weight that seems to be lifting from your shoulders and you can't decide if it's from having a calm work day, your relationship with your obnoxious neighbor is seeming to get better, or that fact that you might be developing some kind of friendship with the infamous Spider-Man. Though you don't want to get your hopes up too much…

As you start to set your stuff down and grab a drink from your small kitchen you hear a thwap at your window. Heading over curiously you see a note stuck to your window, grabbing the note from the window you read it: 

"Glad you got home safe, you might want to close your blinds before bed.” Then there is a doodle of a spider under an umbrella, very cute. 

Looking out of the window you look around to see if you see him around one of the buildings but no luck. Grabbing your blinds you go to shut them before something makes you pause, biting your lower lip you move from the window and quickly grab a loose sheet of some pale blue stationery you bought before your move, you write a note, rereading it a few times before going to your window and placing it on the sticky web. 

A giddy feeling spreads through you as you walk away from your window to go to your room. Leaving both windows curtains open…

Tags:

@huesdreamhouse @keiva1000 @spdrwdw @betizda @lunablackcosplay @juliluvhz @avareadsthings @xxrougefangxx @briviny @llpovi @beautyb1ade

[chiapetkinnie]

Mine

Warnings- unedited, unprotected sex, creampie, possessiveness and obsession. No use of Y/N, Peter kinda forces himself into reader.

---------------

Peter couldn’t take it anymore. How all these guys in your life treated you, and how you just let them. But he loved how you would run to him and cry in his arms. He loved how vulnerable you got around him.

He hated how much he loved you. The way you would get all flustered when someone would compliment you in the slightest bit. Or when his hands would brush against yours. He knew everything about you. He always watched you. No matter what you were doing. He made sure you were okay. How you would call him in the middle of the night to rant about something, and how you would sneak into his house to cuddle because you couldn’t fall asleep.

Peter loved everything about you. He had a whole shrine , a collection of you. Photos he took from his camera. You were beautiful. So beautiful you caught the attention of many guys. And he hated that. He wanted you all to himself. But it seemed that day would never come . His so called best friend got to you first. Peter tried to confess to you countless times, but he always chickened out. So Harry took it as an opportunity to steal you from him. Harry was handsome, rich, funny, no doubt you would say yes to when he asked you out. It also helped that you have been friends since forever.

He hated your relationship with Harry, at first it was sweet, he loved hearing you rant about little things in your relationship and how happy you were. But things started to take a turn. Harry started being an ass, you would run to Peter and cry to him about all the things Harry did, all the things he would say and do that mad you angry. Peter loved it , he loved how your relationship was terrible and he would add in how terrible Harry was and how you should break up with him. But you never would, you cared too much, you always do.

But this, this was Peter’s last straw. Harry was cheating on you with some hot blonde from Italy.

Of course Peter knew, but he didn’t wanna tell you himself, he wanted you to find out and come crawling to him.

“Peter”, you cried out knocking on his window.

Peter quickly let you in and you clung to his chest and cried. “Hey , hey what’s wrong?” He asked hoping his prayers have been answered. “Harry and I broke up.” Peter wipes your tears , “Why you guys were so Happy” He silently smiled. “Apparently not happy enough for him, he cheated on me” You smiled through the tears. “I walked into his room for our Friday night movie dates like we do every week, I brought snacks and everything, and there he was and some blonde chick on top of him,” You wipe your tears look up at Peter. “Did you know about this,” You ask him. Peter shakes his head, “Of course not, I had no idea about any of this, you guys seemed so happy.” He lifts up your chin. “I’ll tell you what, we can have your movie date here okay, just me and you.” Peter smiles.

You and Peter lay on the bed in each other’s arms watching a movie. Peters sits up and calls out your name. You turn towards him. “I just, there’s something I’ve needed to say to you for a while.” You tilt your head curiously , “Okay well, spit it out ”. Peter takes a deep breath, he was finally gonna do it, “ We’ve been friends for like ever, and I need to say that , Well I love you” You smile at him, “ I love you too Peter.” Peter shakes his head, “ No not like that, you don’t love me the way I love you,” he gets closer to you. “Oh” you whisper as he grips your thigh pulling you closer to him, if any closer your lips would touch. “ I just couldn’t stand all these years of all these guys not treating you right, you know I was gonna confess to you but Harry stole you from me. I’m sick and tired of not being able to have you , not being able to love you.” You blink in shock, he leans in to kiss you but you back away.

“ Peter, I just broke up with my boyfriend, who is your best friend, and you try to make a move on me.” You spoke in disbelief. “ I know but-“ Peter tried to say, “ No Peter, I can’t do this with you, not to Harry, not today.” You shook your head. Peter furrowed his brows, “ But he cheated on you, please, I just wanna make you feel good.” He pulls you back towards him and flips himself on top. He leans down and presses soft kisses to your neck. “ Just let me show you how good I can make you feel, how much I love you” He whispers in your ear. “Peter,” you whisper. He locks his lips onto yours. He caresses your face and deepens the kiss, “Please” he pleads. You look up at him and eventually nod your head yes.

Peter smiles and places his lips onto yours, his hands gently moving around your body. He makes his way down to the waist band of your shorts and slips his hand underneath and starts circling your clit. You gasp at his touch. Peter moved his hand down to your entrance and started pumping his fingers in. You let out a soft moan as Peter starts kissing and biting your neck. “ So pretty ,” He says , picking up some speed in his fingers. You try to hold on your moans. Peter pulls his fingers away and grabs your face. “ Don’t hold back your moans baby, I wanna hear you” you nod your head as a response.

You look up at him as he takes unbuckles his pants and takes out his length. Your mouth agape and he smirks. He brushes his thumb over your lips as he pushes himself into your core. Moans escaping both of your mouths from the feeling. He looks you in the eye waiting for your approval to move and you smile. He begins to thrust in and out. Heavy breaths and grunts escape from his mouth. You don’t hold back your moans of pleasure as he lifts up your waist fucking you deeper. You moan out searching for something to grab on. “ Fuck Baby, you feel so good, My sweet girl” he praises. He drops his hands from your waist. “ Turn around” he says . And you do so. His hands roam your body and he slaps your ass. He places a hand on your ass and rubs his dick on your entrance. “ My pretty girl” he says as he slips back inside.

The sound your skin slapping together fills the room.

You grip the bed sheets as he pushes your head down into the pillow. Moans escaping from your lips and praises from his. “My gorgeous girl, your doing so good for me, taking me so well”. Tears form in your eyes from how hard he’s thrusting, “ Harry never fucked you like this, he never loved you like this.” Peter yanked your head back and gripped your chin. “ Harry never made you feel good like this huh.” You shake your head and try to get the words out but you can’t .

Peter's hand makes it’s way back to your clit as he pounds into you. You smile in pleasure and moan as he circles around one more time, releasing your orgasm.

Peter smiled. He had finally won. He was the one. Making you cum, he was the one with his dick deep inside you making you moan like crazy. He was the one watching the way your ass bounced against his dick. He leaned his head back as he came inside and pulled out. Watching his seed drip out.

And he was the one who got to fill you up. He had won.

[3vergr3en]

Earn it.

_______________________

Author’s Note: I have the biggest, most fattest crush on Andrew Garfield. LIKE LOOK AT HIM. Also, if there are any mistakes, I did not proofread this 💀

Summary: Harry is hosting a birthday party for his best friend, Peter. Everything runs smoothly until Y/N’s best friend back in high school shows up and start flirting with the female. Oblivious Y/N doesn’t think much of it, being used to such playful manner. But Peter can see through the man’s facade, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Paring: Fem!Reader x TASM!Peter Parker

Genre: Smut with little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

Additional Info: Public sex, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT), nipple play, orgasm control, Peter has an obvious breeding kink, cream pie, choking, teasing, profanity, name-calling, humiliation, dirty talk, jealousy, established marriage.

_______________________

“Thank you for coming! Please grab some champagne and the appetizers are over towards the left.” You inform with a smile, using your hands to help direct the couple towards the section. You continued on saying the same phrase for the majority, apart from times where you had thrown in a couple different sentences such as, ‘You guys look amazing tonight”, ‘Oh my, I haven’t seen you in so long!’, and ‘Oh thank you, Peter helped me pick out this dress.’

But one familiar fellow caught your attention, “Oh my god, Mark is that you?” You question as your jaw hung low in shock, your eyes widening twice in size. “I’m surprised you still remember me.” The black-haired man laughs as he walks up to you, extending his arms out as an indication for a hug, “How could I not? We spent our entire high school years together!” You exclaim, embracing the latter into your arms. You received a nice, firm hug from the male in return. “God, I missed you.” Mark chuckles, using one of his hands to caress the bare skin on your back through your long, velvet black backless dress. “I missed you as well. I tried contacting you after graduation, but—“ You pulled away.

“I got a new phone, and all of my contacts didn’t save unfortunately.” Mark explains as he held your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing in circular motions on the back of your hands. “You look gorgeous, by the way. You’ve always have been, since high school to now.” Mark compliments, leaning down to kiss your hand. “Oh stop it, Mark. You’re too much. What happened to the Mark that would tease me 24/7?” You laugh, using one of your hands to playfully slap at the man’s shoulder.

You fail to notice a presence coming up behind you, growing concerned when there was an abrupt change in Marks demeanor. “Mark? What’s wrong?” You furrowed your eyebrows as your frowned before looking over your shoulder only to see Peter glaring at Mark with a tightly-clenched jaw. “Oh hon’! Have you seen what Harry has done for your birthday? The ballroom is absolutely stunning! Also, I want you to meet Mark, he was my best friend throughout high school,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around your husband’s arm, oblivious to the tension between the two men. “And Mark, meet my husband, Peter.” You inform, feeling one of Peter’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Husband?” Mark questions, raising one of his eyebrows. “Yeah. Dated for 4 years, been married for 5.” Peter stated, holding the hand out that the wedding band around your ring finger. “Oh, well, congratulations. I’m really happy for you, Y/N. But I’m just saying, I would’ve gotten a better ring for a beautiful woman like you.” Mark examines the ring, then to look at Peter with a smug look.

“Pfft, I forgot how much of a jokester you are, Mark.” You grin. “Hey, love? Can you go grab me some water?“ Peter asks with a nonchalant tone, not breaking eye contact with the man that stood in front of him. “Hm? Oh yeah, of course.” You nod, excusing yourself before walking off.

“The fuck is your problem?” Peter mutters, stepping closer towards Mark. “Nothing. It’s just sad to hear that my girl’s married off to some other dude. She looks ravishing tonight. The way the dress perfectly hugs her waist and extenuate her curves. How is she? Is she tight? Does her tits feel soft?” Mark whispers, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. Peter balled up his fists, clenching tightly to the point where his knuckles were turning white. As he opened up his mouth to say something, a pair of heels clicking against the smooth, tiled floor pulled him out of his frenzy.

“Unfortunately, they didn’t have water at the moment. They only had champagne, if that’s okay, love?” You explained, each hand holding two glasses. “I got one for you, Peter, and one for Mark.” You smiled. “That won’t be necessary, hon’.” Peter chuckles, grabbing both glasses. Before you could get a word in to ask why, your hands flew to cover your mouth as you watched Peter pour the beverages straight onto Marks head. Peter then handed you the empty glasses, pecking your cheek before turning around to face Mark once more, only to land a hard blow right across the males face. “Oh my god, Peter!” You gawked, immediately placing the glasses on a nearby table prior to rushing over to pull the brunette away from the half insensible Mark. “What is wrong with you?” You question with wide eyes, you look around to see people judgmentally staring at you three.

“You didn’t hear the vile things he said about you.” Peter mutters, shaking the hand that is now starting to bruise up. “Security!” You call out, “Please escort this gentleman out.” As two able-bodied men in black suits walked over, you pointed your hand at Mark who could barely stand. “Thank you.” You say to the two men, smiling.

You then felt a hand gripping at your wrist, dragging you through the crowd of people and up the carpet staircase. “Peter, where are you taking me?” You whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “Shut up.” You heard Peter respond back in a churlishly manner. You were bewildered. You don’t even know what Mark could’ve said to have Peter all riled up. You didn’t know where Peter was taking you in all honestly, there was a lot of turns and all you knew was that your feet were starting to hurt. It’s not easy to walk relatively fast in 5 inch heels.

“Peter, can you please slow down? My feet are starting to hurt—“ You gasped as you were suddenly grabbed at your shoulders, turned around to have your back pushed up against a large glass window. “Peter-!” You slightly yelp, looking around frantically. You saw you two were in a short hallway, the lights were fairly dimmed. You look over your shoulder to look through the glass windows and see you were approximately 15 stories high. “Peter, what are you doing?” You whisper, looking up at the male with furrowed eyebrows.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, huh?” Peter spats out. He grabs both of your wrists with one of his hands, pinning it above your head. The other hand now clenched around your jaw. “I don’t understand—“ You whimper when you felt Peter’s thigh force your legs apart. “He was flirting with you. Maybe you’re just too fucking dumb to even notice.” Peter says through gritted teeth. “Touching you.. putting his lips on you,” He scoffs, his hand that held your jaw now making its way down to your neck. “He had the fucking nerve to ask such vulgar questions about my lovely wife,” Peter laughs, tightening his grip around your throat, “But he wont ever know. He’ll live out the rest of his life wondering how tight you feel.. how soft these wonderful tits are.. and how much of a slut you sound like when you’re getting fucked.” Peter whispers into your ear, his thigh inching closer to your aching cunt.

You felt your body becoming hotter. But you also felt yourself becoming wetter with each passing second. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please..” You gasp out, bucking your hips up, trying to grind against Peter’s thigh for some sort of friction. “Look at my pathetic little whore, trying to rub herself on me. Tell me, love, what do you want?” Peter asks, loosening his grip around your throat. “Please fuck me..” You whine, shortly gasping afterwards when Peter finally pressed his thigh up against your clothed pussy. “More. Beg for it.” Peter orders. You began moving your hips forward and backwards, grinding against the soft material of the suit. Small whimpers slipping out of your mouth as you finally gained the friction you’ve been wanting. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. You itched for more.

“Need more..” You breathed out, shaking your head when Peter had pulled his thigh away, “I want you inside of me.” You moaned when you felt Peter’s hand cupping your sex. “Do you deserve to be fucked, love?” Peter asks as he grabbed a handful of the lace material before ripping it off of you. You gasped at the sudden chill waving at your soaked cunt. He balled it up in his fists before stuffing it into his pant pocket. “Did you fucking hear me?” Peter asks, using the hand that bonded your wrists together, to now wrap around your throat once again, pinning you against the clear, cold glass surface. You nod frantically, mouth a gape, “Yes! Yes! I deserved to be fucked, oh please.. please fuck me.” You pleaded desperately when Peter’s fingers glided a long stripe in between your folds, stopping when the pad of his fingers landed perfectly on top of the clit. “Gotta quiet down, hon’.“ Peter huffs out, rubbing the small bundle of nerves in a slow, agonizing pace. “Please! Peter, faster!” You cried out, unable to take any more teasing. “What the fuck did I just say?” Peter muttered, momentarily pinching the airways on your throat. His fingers now starting to pick up the pace, rubbing in circular motions against the small knob. You moan, your hips bucking up into Peter’s hand. “Oh shit, yes!” You whimper, biting down on your bottom lip in attempt to try to lower your voice.

You whine in protest when Peter pulls his hands away from your body. He then pinched at the straps of your dress, pulling it down your arms, allowing the upper part of the dress to slip off your chest. Your breasts now full out on display, your nipples hard. “Another thing Mark will never know..” Peter breathes out as he turns you around. The front of your body now exposed to the outside world. His hands snaking around your torso till it reached your tits. He cupped them into his hands, kneading the soft, warm flesh. You hold onto Peter’s wrists, tilting your head backwards to rest onto the male’s broad shoulder. He slightly grazed his index fingers against the tip of your erected nipples, chuckling when you twitched against him. “I love how sensitive they are,” Peter whispers into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. He placed his finger pads onto your nipples, beginning to rub them circular motions. You moan out in delight, squeezing your thighs together. “P-peter,” You whimpered. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” He hums, pinching the buds in between his thumb and index fingers. Twisting it and tugging it very slightly. “Peter!” You moaned out, rubbing your ass against Peter lower half, giggling when you felt his bulge poking through his pants.

“I need to see your pretty face when I fuck my cock into you.” Peter groaned, “Would you like that, baby? Hm? You want my thick cock ramming inside of this pathetic little pussy of yours?” He smirks as he undoes his belt, pulling the pants down enough for him to pull out his erected cock, finding it entertaining watching you fold under him. “Yes! Oh god, yes please! Fuck me, Peter..” You trailed off at the end. Suddenly a wave of boldness came over you, “Unless if I just call Mark right now and have him fuck me instead—“

You cut yourself off with a cry of pure bliss when you felt Peter force himself into you with the help of your wetness as a lubricant. Your hands flew onto the glass, palms spread flat out on the surface as Peter gripped at your hips, pulling out till the tip was barely left in, only to slam himself into you with full force. “Fuck! Peter!” You moaned, your breasts pushed up against the glass window, your chest twitching due to the friction of your nipples rubbing against the surface. “Who can fuck you like this, hm? Who can fuck this pussy?” Peter grunts into your ear, repeatedly slamming his hips against your ass. “You, Peter! Oh fuck, it’s you!” You cry out, already feeling your legs buckling.

You couldn’t think of anything besides the feeling of Peter’s cock ramming into you. Filling you up perfectly. You were already on edge due to the teasing from earlier. You felt like a bucket being filled up, on the brim of tipping over. “Peter, slow down. I’m getting close.” You beg, using one of your hands to reach back and push against Peter’s pelvis. But rather than slowing down, Peter ignored the pleas from his wife and instead thrusted faster, his balls slapping against your cunt. “Oh god! P-please! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out loud, shaking your head frantically.

Peter abruptly pulls out, catching you in his arms when you’re legs collapsed on themselves. “N-no..” You whined out pathetically when you felt your orgasm was ripped away from you. Peter picks you up in his arms, carrying you to a nearby table that was placed against the wall along the hallway. He sets you down on the marble table, placing himself in between your legs. “Look at me, beautiful. Who makes you this stupid when fucking you?” Peter asks, his tone sweet ironically compared to what he’s asking. “You, Peter.” You smile, wrapping your arms around the male’s neck. “Good girl.” He praises, pecking your mascara stained cheek.

He lines himself up to your gaping hole, pushing in once more, groaning. “Fuck, my baby’s pussy is so warm and tight. Look at it pulling my cock in.” He laughs. Once he fully bottomed out, his hip began snapping against yours. Squelching sounds fills the hallway along with the obscene noises that left your mouth. “I’m going to cum soon, baby.” Peter moaned out. You tightly wrapped your legs around Peter’s hips, locking him in a tight space. “I’m gonna cum in this little pussy of yours. Gon’ fill you up to the brim, fuck!‘M gonna fuck my babies into you.” Peter groans, laughing when he felt you clench tightly around him. “Oh yeah? You like the thought of me fucking my cum so deep inside of you? Getting you pregnant, hm? Your belly round and full of my kids?” He says, “Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!” You plead, breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust Peter makes. “I’m.. gonna get you pregnant.” Peter breathes out, his thrusts beginning to get sloppy.

“I-I’m cumming!” You cried out, “Lets come together, love.” Peter moans, his thrusts quickening just for a few moments until it came to a full stop. “Fuck, Y/N!” He says as he came, his cock pulsating inside of you. Thick spurts of white, warm cum shot inside of you. Coating your insides with his seed.

“Peter!” You came straight after. Your eyes rolling back as one last moan that sounded like it came straight from a porno emitted from you. Your legs fully tightening around Peter hips, making sure to squeeze out every single drop of cum from the male. You felt yourself tipping over inside, a wave of pleasure coursing throughout your body, leaving you twitching.

Peter slowly pulls out once he felt himself go limp inside of you. He leaned over to embrace you into his arms, holding you close to him. “Happy birthday, Peter.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Thank you, love. Let’s get you fixed up before we go back downstairs, okay?” He suggests, moving a strand of hair away from your face. “But I’m pretty sure they’ve heard you. ‘Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!’” Peter playfully mocks. You gasp and punched him in the arm, “Oh shut up!” You whine, hiding your face in Peter’s shoulder. “I hate you.” You mumble, “No you don’t. You love me.” Peter laughs, helping you wear your dress correctly.

[spider-stark]

Shutter

PETER PARKER X READER

Summary - You barely even remember Peter's name, but that hasn't stopped him from forming a dangerous obsession with you.

Warnings - 18+, mature themes, stalking, some non-con acts (taking pictures), -peter being a creep

a/n - this is literally just peter being a total stalker. i didn't proof-read this and i wrote it in like thirty minutes, but i just wanted it to stop living in my brain. get a restraining order against this man please

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE LOWER half of his body laid flat against the icy rooftop, the upper half having been propped up by his elbows. Shaky hands lifted the camera a few inches, carefully bringing it to his eye so he could peer through the viewfinder. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, the sudden influx of frosty winter air stinging his lungs. With each moment that passed, his anxiety grew larger, gaze constantly flicking between his camera and his watch. 

It was already a quarter past nine, which meant that tonight you were approximately twenty minutes late getting home from your shift at the coffee shop. Nights like these were rare considering you were a creature of habit, but when they did occur, Peter often cursed you for having an apartment opposite of the entrance. 

He could never see when you were approaching the building, when you were entering the lobby; which meant his only signal that you made it in safe was when he’d finally see you through your bedroom window. 

Another glance to his watch, the thinnest hand ticking relentlessly with each passing second. He was becoming worried, beginning to consider abandoning his spot on the roof to come looking for you. This is why you need me, he thought to himself, teeth digging into his bottom lip, someone needs to look out for you. 

Yet, before his muscles could even shift the slightest bit, the sight of a light flicking on across the street caught his eye, the camera immediately rising back into his line of sight. “Welcome home,” he muttered to himself, a wave of relief washing over him as the corners of his lips twitched into a smile, watching you throw your bag onto your bed. 

A thin finger hovered above the shutter button, another deep breath as he worked to steady himself, ensuring the shot wouldn’t come out blurry. You were moving quick—too quick for him to get a good picture—kicking your dirty converse to the side of your nightstand. 

Poor thing– Peter cooed over you, snapping another few subpar shots as you pulled your top over your head–they must’ve made you work late tonight. You’re probably exhausted. 

Your boss was always overworking you, taking advantage of your good nature. A few times now Peter had considered paying him a visit, tired of sitting idly by as he ran you into the ground. Perhaps tonight would be what pushed him over the edge, having to wait impatiently for you to get home. 

New York’s a dangerous place for a woman—he would reason with himself—your boss should know that, too. He shouldn’t make you stay late, not when walking home at night is already unsafe for you. 

Peter hated that you walked home alone every night. Oftentimes, he considered asking you if he could walk you back, but always found himself stumbling over his words and deciding against it. Still, he often let himself imagine what it would be like to walk alongside you at night. 

He wanted a chance to get to know you better, a chance to hear you talk more. Peter loved talking to you, even if your conversations had been limited to nothing more than polite coffeehouse banter as he waited for his drink. 

Eventually, he figured, the two of you would get to know each other better. 

Eventually he wouldn’t have to go and threaten your boss for putting you in danger, perhaps he’d even begin to thank him for it, using it as another opportunity to be close to you. 

Eventually, he told himself, he wouldn’t need his camera and an abandoned rooftop to ensure that you were safe. 

And that’s all this was, wasn’t it? He was a hero, and that’s what heroes do. They protect the vulnerable, defend the innocent—and god, you were as innocent as it could get. You were too pure for this world, too kind to be subjected to the horrors that he witnessed on these streets everyday. 

But that’s why I’m here—he’d speak to you, as if you could actually hear him from where he hid—I’m gonna keep you safe. 

His intentions were pure, or at least that’s what he would tell himself. He didn’t often think about the more nefarious images that were stored in his memory card, not letting himself question the morality of his actions. After all, it wasn’t his fault that you never drew the curtains before getting undressed, as if beckoning him to admire your bare body. 

If anything, it served as another example of how innocent you were! You were so unsuspecting, so oblivious to the wicked nature of man. You were lucky that he watched over you, you were lucky that it was him snapping scandalous photos of you. Someone with ill-will might try to use them against you, maybe even blackmail you with them, but Peter? He would never. If anything, he would try to rationalize to himself, the pictures were your way of repaying him for protecting you. 

Nimble hands moved from the shutter to the zoom, adjusting the focal length to move closer in. “What’re you doing, silly girl?” he questioned, brown knitting together as he noticed the hasty way you shimmied out of your jeans. 

Most nights you took your time undressing, too tired from your long day to be bothered with moving quickly. Tonight, though, you seemed to be in an unusual hurry to shed the fabric covering your body. No need to rush, he mused, I’m not going anywhere. 

He snapped another picture, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of red lingerie. He had never seen this particular set before, nor had he ever known you to wear such tempting negligee under your work clothes. 

“Putting on a show tonight, are we?” 

Peter had a nasty habit of forgetting that you weren’t aware of his presence, that your actions weren’t for him. You had become such a big part of his life, such an integral component, that he often forgot that to you he was just another customer in a coffee shop. To him, his feelings were mutual, a shared sense of adoration that grew with each day. You just didn’t know it, yet—he’d try to remind himself—you just hadn’t realized much you needed him. 

His tongue darted across his lips, the sensitive skin becoming chapped by the frigid temperatures. “Where are you going?” He muttered aloud, carefully observing as you inched out of view, drifting towards your bedroom door again. 

A moment passed, then another, before you began traipsing backwards towards your bed. Your ass came into view first, just barely covered by the thin red fabric you adorned yourself with today (another click, another shot he’d put to use later), and then came the rest of you; hands reaching out in front of you, Peter’s heart lurching in his chest as he took in the sight unfolding before him.

You weren’t alone tonight, it seemed. 

Peter bit his tongue, choking back the expletives threatening to spill out and letting the sickening taste of copper overwhelm his senses. He averted his eyes, letting them fall a couple hundred feet to the street below him. The sight of you with another man was already bound to leave a mark on him, but the sight of you with him was worse. 

Harry’s a good guy—he thought to himself, roughly swallowing as he forced himself to look through the viewfinder once again. You were laid out against the mattress, gripping the duvet as his best friend's lips brushed against the crease of your thigh—but he’s not good enough for you. 

It was a problem, a simple kink in his plans to grow closer to you, but for every problem exists a solution; his mind already drifting off to the ways in which he’d deal with Harry. “It’s not your fault,” he breathed out, accepting an apology you hadn’t given, “you don’t know any better—but that’s okay. I’ll fix it for you, okay? I’ll get rid of him.” 

Not tonight, of course. He’d let you have tonight, let Harry borrow what he was so sure was rightfully his. For now, though, he’d stick around.

 Just in case—he snapped another picture, zooming a bit further as Harry’s fingers hooked around the red lace, pulling the fabric down and revealing you to not only himself, but also Peter— just to make sure you’re safe. 

a/n - GOD this was just living in my head today and i needed to get it out so i could stop thinking about it. and in case anyone was wondering, i am still 100% in my harry osborn/dane dehaan kick, and the fact that the tags are so dead will be the reason i fall into a depressive episode. so pls, for the love of all things holy, you guys need to go fall in love with dane ok cause i dont wanna be alone in this

[nexusnyx]

Lost The Game

SUMMARY: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.

The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.

The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

⚠️ Minors DNI. Smut.  Explicit depictions of sex. | 🏷️ 8.3K , fluff, established relationship, part three of three, reposting this ‘cause some people missed this one and asked for it.

• PART TWO •

In his world, there was no Avengers.

The bad thing about his inter-dimensional trip he had was this—Peter got an idea of what other worlds looked like and parts of him wished for a supernatural helping hand, sometimes, or maybe just someone who understood him. He had allies, but very few friends on this side of his life. This is why when Peter is almost killed by Kingpin, a decision that he's been dreading for months becomes easy in the snap of a finger.

Do I drop the last vail or do I not?

All of his excuses as to why not fly out of the window when Peter's bleeding to death and realizes that none of it matters. All of life is dangerous, on this or any other planet, and if he's always putting his own damn life — personal or not — at risk for the sake of saving a city, he might as well do that and let the woman he loves kiss him with the lights on while he's at it.

He swallows the metallic and thick taste of red in his mouth, reaches his trembling hand up, and knocks.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.

"Peter?"

The fright in your voice is what startles his eyes open.

"Peter!"

God, he loves your voice so much.

A lot less when it drips in worry like this, but the love is there nonetheless.

"Peter, open your eyes. What—oh my god," you choke on your words, and he feels you pulling his body inside your room.

Guiding himself by memory, Peter helps the way he can, letting his body slide down your bed.

"Gonna get your sheets dirty," he mumbles.

"Oh, for the love of god." There's the feeling of his suit being unzipped at the back, and even through the fogginess, Peter notices how your hands are cold. Shaking. "Peter, what happened?" It's a breathless whisper, and it makes his chest ache more than the bruises did because it sounds so small, and nothing about you is diminutive.

"Kin—ow—Kingpin." The ruthless man's minions might still be stuck in webs hung meters above the ground, but Wilson, Kingpin, that man needs no henchmen to do any damage. It was the point he had to prove today—more to Matt than to Peter, but because Peter had decided to help, he got mingled in the mess.

After a heartbeat, he hears. "Who's Matt?" you ask.

Wait—was Peter talking out loud?

"Oh, god," this time, it's a choked-up sob. "Peter, I think you have a concussion."

Y/n is going to be a doctor, so the probabilities of her being right are very high. He probably does have something on his head—Kingpin grabbed Peter's head in his hand, that enormous, gigantic hand that engulfed all of Peter's skull and smashed it against the nearest thing, which happened to be iron polls.

He's still unsure of what the tension and underlying secret were between that man and Matt, but there was so much anger in there tonight.

"Peter..."

He feels weak, but he still has some strength left and Peter had made up his mind before he arrived at the staircases of your apartment.

If he went to the hospital, Aunt May would have a heart attack.

If he came to you, Peter would have to let you see him.

With the taste of blood polluting every inch of his mouth, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

He ignores the strain and the pull on the sides of his body as he reaches up for the mask, and he hears you gasp when he pulls it off in a clean sweep.

"Peter."

"Hey. That's me." He can't laugh right now — or open his right eye that much — but he can smile at you. A weak, bloody thing. At least it's an honest one. "Hi. I think I might blackout."

"Peter," are you crying? Good gods, Peter would clock himself on the face if someone else hadn't beaten him to the punch. "I don't—I don't know if I can take care of all of this."

"It's just—the one on the back. I think I'm losin' lots of blood 'cause of it..."

"What's on your back?"

"Open gunshot wound closed with webs?"

"Peter!"

"I didn't sh... shoot it, baby." He knew she'd be mad the second he threw the webs at himself. "The rest will... it'll fade. Soon."

There's a moment of silence where Peter hears rapid, short breaths. He opens his left eye as much as he can as sees you breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth quickly, then feels the bed dipping when you leave it with purpose. He knows you're going for the first-aid kit, so he already does the job of turning around.

When he hears your footsteps coming back, the last thing he hears is what makes him smile against your duvet.

"I'll take care of you. It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Peter."

While he's aware you're hyping yourself up to believe it more than talking to him, the words are like anesthetic all over his body.

Peter inhales the scent that is acutely yours, and blacks out.

If he were anyone else, Peter would remember close to nothing of his hours alternating between consciousness and not.

Lucky for him, he's part spider.

At first, all he feels, sees, and hears, are small tidbits of you moving things in and around him.

There's the distinct — and nasty — feeling of a needle threading with nylon through his lower upper back.

During that moment, nothing else passes through.

He's distantly aware of your mumbling and whispering, the soft and comforting words not reaching his ears, but the sense they bring drape over his skin almost like a blanket.

Then, when he has a silver of consciousness again, he recognizes through the stinging pain and the dull, throbbing aches all over his body, that the heat he registers is not of his own blood anymore, but of your warm hands along with a warm towel washing him.

That's when he allows sleep to come for the first time.

He wakes up somewhere in the middle of the day judging by the light streaming through your window, and he's happy to access that his body's doing most of the healing by now.

The feeling of a gaping hole is gone, and so is the smell of blood.

Peter wants to look around a bit, but while the throbbing has passed, it's left a dull, sore ache in its place.

You're not there, either.

He knows that because Peter's spidey senses have almost a direct link to you, and you're not in the room.

It takes him a couple of minutes with the taste of sand at the back of his throat and that pounding on the back of his head for him to realize he can open his eyes.

There's a glass of water right next to him, and he smiles.

Of course you'd do that.

Even after he's ruined your nice duvets — after promising he'd never spill blood on your blankets again, shit — Peter still gets the kindest side of you.

And then he remembers—you saw his face.

The lights were on, he was a mess, and fuck—you saw him.

You saw him and saved his life, one more time.

How many times would you have to do it?

Why was his life so dangerous?

Peter's stomach starts to resemble something alive, something with tentacles and it's reaching up, so he swallows it back down.

After gulping the glass of water, he hears it.

Distant sounds of conversation.

Felicity's voice is what registers first. It's not as familiar to him as yours is right now, but it is the reason it brought him to you in the first place, even if Peter hates thinking about that. He ignores your roommate and the things he keeps hidden from you like most people would ignore a spider in the upper corner of their bathroom.

It hurts to try to hear the conversation.

The gun blasted too close to his ear, and Peter's not the biggest at eavesdropping, so he just lets his upper body lay down again and allows the darkness on the corners of his mind to take over the rest.

Next, there are the hours in-between.

As the sun goes down, Peter drifts between the land of dreams and this one, enjoying both of them very much.

In here, there's you with a warm, wet cloth cleaning his wounds that need tending, and in his dreams, there's you sitting next to a blond girl, smiling at him.

At some point, Peter opens his eyes and sees you sitting on your chair in front of your computer desk.

Your eyes widen and you slide the chair closer, looking at every inch of his face with furrowed eyebrows.

"Peter," it's the softest you've ever said his name. "Is there anyone you'd like me to text? About your whereabouts?"

Aunt May.

"You can go back to sleep right after, but you came without your backpack, and it's been almost a day—do you want some pain medicine? I can get it for you."

He nods.

You nod back, then get up and exit the room. Peter takes the opportunity to grab the notepad you have on your nightstand, write down Aunt May's phone number and name and a message underneath it.

I'm at Y/n's. Be back soon, aunt May. Love you <3

It's an ugly scribble, but your handwriting is far worse than anything he could dream of producing, so he sits back against your headboard and waits for you and the pills.

When you come back with them, Peter almost swallows it down without the water, but he's still so damn thirsty that another glass goes in a gulp.

He feels your eyes on him the whole time, and while he wants to talk, he prefers to wait for his body to finish using all his strength in stitching his insides up before he tries any conversation.

You grab the glass from his hand, place it on the nightstand and sit on the bed right next to him.

"Are you cold?" You ask, pressing your palm and the back of your hand to his forehead, neck, cheeks.

He's shirtless. Well—it's not anything you haven't seen before.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. The desert has left the back of his mouth, but the aftertaste of rust is still there.

"I'm sorry." He can say that, at least. "I am really sorry, Y/n. For coming to you like th—"

A hand tapes his mouth shut—your hand, and looking at your face in the bedroom light knowing you're looking back at his is not as terrifying as he made it out to be in the countless scenarios where he thought about this before.

"What's the alternative?" You ask him with a shrug. "You bleed out on the street because some drug lord had some beef with a Matt dude and you tried to help your friend?" He misses the heat of your hand as soon as it's gone. "I prefer you bleed on my death start duvets than on the streets, buddy. These ones I can wash."

Buddy.

'Don't call me buddy—I'm not your buddy. Fuck, I swear you say these things just to get a rise out of me. Do your buddies do this, huh? Touch you like this? Make you this wet? You get so wet for me, baby—'

'Peter.'

'Yeah, exactly. I taught you my name for a reason. Don't forget that.'

After a heartbeat, Peter licks his dry lips and looks away from yours. Those memories make his blood rate rise, and he's sure that's not good in the state he's still in. "I'm still not your buddy," he says. His voice comes out raspy, and he watches your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips.

Peter's in love.

The way you look at him.

The way you look at his tall and graceless body already drove him insane, but the way you look at his face?

Parted lips and that distance gaze of someone who's getting lost in memories and the present?

Peter loves it. He's been in love with you, but seeing the softness and adoration mixing with desire on your face has put the cherry on the cake.

"Good to know that," you whisper back.

I'm happy to know this doesn't change things, he hears.

He scoffs. "I would suck at being your buddy."

"Yeah? Why's that?" You're smiling now, and as a reflex, so is he.

Peter frowns. Isn't it obvious? "I've bled on your bed more times than I can count, you've put your fingers inside me in more ways than you can count, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried to stay away from you, your lips, or that pretty brain of yours for longer than two weeks, I'd have withdrawal symptoms." He's sure of it, actually. He tried staying away from you, and it sucked. "I can't be your buddy, baby." He chuckles. "We're not meant to be buddies. I already explained that to you."

Your lips quiver, moving upwards in a smile, slowly.

"Right." The way you bite on the bottom lower one tells Peter all you need to know about where your mind went.

His body leans forward as if there's a magnetic poll right on the center of you pulling you towards him.

Unfortunately for him, he's still healing from a very big pound.

He makes it only a few centimeters away from the headboard before the muscles inside him sting like a sharp hook and he stops—"Ah."

"Don't move." You're on in an instant. A comforting — and silently demanding — hand on his bicep, scooching closer to him in the bed. "You still need... I don't know how much longer you need, actually." A chuckle. "I still haven't got a clue how your healing works, Spidey. Just... lay down. Stand still until you're not moving won't rip apart the stitches I so beautifully made, 'kay?"

That brings Peter's hand and eyes to the work at hand.

He inspects the stitch-up work and—you're right. It's beautiful, neat, and professional work.

He can almost hear the praises of your teachers during class, as well as the envious looks of your colleagues who have three times less practice than you in the matter.

(Truth be told, Peter's aware you'd have gotten to this point with or without him as a guinea pig because while you may feel or say like everything around you is collapsing, studying is a ball you've yet to let it drop. You do it and do it well. 'If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do it well, huh? you had told him. Peter believed a lot of it was innate talent, but he might be biased to speak of you.)

"Grade A work, Y/l/n."

"Thanks, Spidey."

When he looks up, Peter takes a punch to the chest.

There you are, looking at him again.

Damn.

He's frozen.

Have you lied to him all this time? He's pretty sure this is the effect of actual superpowers and not just the way your eyes glint under the light of the day.

It must have something to do with the frizz in your hair that gives you almost an angelic aura—there's gold, orange, a touch of pink and lilac touching your cheeks and the soft, dopey smile you have on your face, and Peter stands there with his hand hanging halfway to his lap, as frozen in the air as he is looking at you looking at him.

You can see him, and Peter has never felt more comfortable feeling this exposed.

This vulnerable.

"Hi," he whispers.

Instead of answering, your blinks seem to slow down in time.

One of your hands reaches up to his cheek, and Peter finds himself leaning towards the hand.

Magnets.

When the soft, velvety touch of your palm meets his dry skin, Peter takes in a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

Your hand cups his cheek, and caresses his face, as slowly as you are breathing.

Then, Peter's spidey senses feel the vibrations and electricity on your skin inching closer, and he thinks the slow-motion of your delicate, almost afraid, and calculated moves are making the energy and waves that travel between your body and his twice as real.

He might get shocked.

Peter feels when your lips are mere inches away from his. He wants to dive in, but he lets you dip your fingers in the water and go as you want.

He can feel how much you're feeling right now.

Seeing him is not only affecting him, and that's perhaps why his body is rendered at your mercy.

When your lips press against his, they're as plump and tender as always.

He exhales, at last, enjoying the sensation of warmth that spreads through his body when yours connects to his in any intimate way. Usually, it takes a little bit more for the tingle to travel from head to toe like this, but something about the kiss and the way you're keeping still and yet he knows you feel it, just as he does, it makes it even better that he's all buzzing.

Peter's underwater, and it's almost a reflex when he exhales and presses harder.

Closer.

With abandon, Peter lets his body relax on yours, not wanting to push it any further than it can go, but wanting to melt against the welcoming and familiar heat of your body.

His right hand goes up to your hair, and he gets a few more soft, tender presses of your lips on his, as well as the sensual and slow drags of your mouth against his in between them before you move your head back a few inches, still keeping your hand on his face.

Peter swallows the knot in his throat.

"I... should get you food," you whisper.

He's too busy staring at how pink your lips are for a few seconds.

Eventually, he hums. "That'd be nice."

"I got soup." You lick your lips. There's a color on your cheeks, and Peter is definitely in trouble. He hasn't gotten the instinct to draw in a long time, yet here he is, trying to figure out what's the correct shade of your cheeks. "From the deli shop you like."

"Oh." He loves that place. "I love that place!" He whispers excitedly.

Your smile widens. "I know." With a quick, delicious peck of goodbye, you get up from the bed in one quick motion. "I'll be back. I'm gonna text," you pick up the paper from the nightstand and read it. "Aunt May. Wait—you want me to text her this? Will she know who I am? Aunt May knows me?"

Peter laughs. "Of course Aunt May knows you."

In your few blinks Peter sees the surprise. "Right." You turn around sharply, cheeks pulled up from the smiling. "Text. Soup. Then sleep. I gotta go run a few errands, so I'll shut the windows for you." More seriously, you add. "You should really get some rest. You look a bit... pale."

"It's the caucasian in me."

You snort. "God, it's horrible when you try to be funny."

"Yet, you're smiling."

"At you." You get up and regardless of what you say, the nose scrunch proves that Peter amused you, to say the least. "I'm gonna get your food. Stay put, Spidey boy."

"Man, Spider-Man."

He's arguing now more for the sake of your smile than because your 'boy' has gotten a rise out of him.

It used to.

The first time you said it, Peter recalled the tingling on his body and that desire to correct—not a boy, I'm a man, you'll see, I'll show you.

Did he feel silly two seconds afterward correcting you when he saw in your face that you'd be pulling his metaphorical pigtails? Maybe. Luckily for him, the mask hid it back then.

Now, it's just a skit between you two.

The teasing back and forth is almost like the sea tide.

You come back with the soup and sit back down on your desktop chair, returning to your books and papers while he eats. Peter recalls the day when he asked why you never eat when he's there and, on the occasion when you gave him food, why didn't you stay close to him while he ate.

'You're distracting when you're eating.' You had said.

'What? I'm distracting? How?'

'You make all these little noises when you're enjoying it. And your lips get super pink 'cause you keep licking them. It's distracting.'

'From what? You're not even doing anything.'

'I don't need to be doing something. It just... is.'

Later, he realized it was distracting because it made you want to kiss him. To take away the plate in his hands and replace it with your body instead.

He's content to share looks with you over the bowl of warm food and watch your profile as you read and type. The concentrated crease in your brows and your lips set in a firm line are distracting too, he thinks, but he enjoys it.

Peter finishes the food and the result of some protein, carbs and nutrients making their way inside him is instant—his eyes get heavier, and blinking is a bit harder, and all he wanted was to cuddle you. Slide under the blanket, say goodbye to the world.

It's when he lowers the bottom half of his body that Peter feels he's still wearing his suit.

"How come you haven't kicked me out of your bed yet? I'm gross," he says.

Even though his voice is softer and lower than before, you turn to him.

Smiling, you shrug. "I've been gross before. You're forgiven because of circumstances." Then, something happens—you blush. You were looking at his body before but when you look up, Peter recognizes the flash of 'oh, it's him' that passes fast as lightning in your eyes. "Also, you're pretty," you add in a whisper. Your peachy cheeks darken, looking good enough to eat. "Pretty privileges."

Peter feels it—the heat on his face. He laughs, ducking his head down. He's not used to people complimenting him like that, but coming from you it makes it three times worse. "So it is a real thing."

"Oh, it definitely is."

"Good to know." He hates to know he's making your small piece of safe haven dirty, but he'll make up for it. "As much as I'd love to stay awake and watch you study and be gorgeous for the next couple of hours, I think my brain's about to shut down in the next few minutes."

"Sleep, Spidey." If there's such thing as magic through the voice or words, Peter believes you have it. The gentle softness with which you say those two words are better than any of your blankets. "I'll be there soon."

That's even better. God, I love sleeping with you.

He hears a giggle.

"It's mutual, Peter."

He loves the sound of that, too.

If Peter believed in something, he'd have beautiful religious metaphors to use about the way you look in the mornings.

He'd maybe talk about how waking up with you next to him is the only sanctuary he needs, and for a Jewish boy who's missed so much of what one looks or sounds like, he's sure it felt something like this.

If Peter believed, he'd have more words to say about the way your tenderness makes him feel like he's holy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. I'm glad... d'you wanna take a shower? I can separate some clothes for you."

"Are you coming with me?"

Peter would have words for what it feels like to sit in your loft's bathroom in his bloodied, mended superhero suit, his feet touching the freezing cold floor and his body still running as hot as ever because he can hear you walking around the place in your fuzzy socks while you wait for the water to warm.

How can he be so at peace like this?

He's beaten himself up for much less, but the seriousness in your tone when you told him to stay put while you changed the sheets only made him warm.

It made him feel cared for and nothing more.

Peter removes the rest of his suit. It comes off with difficulty—the sweat's stuck the material to his skin, and it still hurts to move, but he manages.

He feels the fresh tissues inside of him.

His heightened senses tell him the main wound is still healing, but everything else is almost okay. Peter needs maybe a good meal and a couple more days to be brand new, which is more than he'd expected when he left the bay area with webs sticking his skin together.

When you come back and see him already naked, Peter's happy that his eyes' swelling has done down.

He'd hate to miss the lust in your gaze.

To miss the obvious way your eyes travel up and down his body.

"You could've gone inside already," you whisper.

It's barely nine in the morning, there are only you two in the place and Peter has no idea why you'd think he wants to go anywhere without you.

"Was waiting for you." He's more at ease sitting naked on your toilet than he's been in three, maybe four years. That means something, right?

You start taking off your pajamas, and Peter gets up to help.

Not that you need it. He just loves removing clothes from your body.

The steam takes over the bathroom and by the time you two are immersed underneath the water, wet as rain, Peter already feels new.

Not even the best prayers could do that.

He loves the showerhead here because the water pressure is great and it's big enough to almost give space to the two of you. Almost.

That's why he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.

He wants your warmth much more than the water's.

That's when he feels it—the shaky, interrupted way you breathe. Your arms come up around his middle so fast that he almost has to take a step back to keep himself in place, but he's rooted there.

And you're crying.

"Y/n?" Peter looks down.

You shake your head in three quick motions. Not yet.

Peter's not an idiot, and while he may be a little slow to the mysteries of his own heart, the loud and physical thumping of your heart against his ribcage is right there and doesn't lie.

He can feel every beat of it, and maybe there was something in that container that Kingpin had dropped on his head and all that mysterious blue sand inside of it, but Peter's sure he can see the black clouds exiting your head.

He sees the darkness of worry and fear leaving you.

Peter clings on tighter, letting you cry silent tears into his chest. He hopes the kisses he presses on your temple and your face make any worries left to be gone easier. Quicker.

He kisses the parts he can reach of you, and refuses to let go.

Eventually, you pull back against the hold of his arms and when you look up with those swollen, red eyes, Peter realizes what it all means.

What being so comfortable around you, laughing so easily, coming to you many more times even though he knew he shouldn't, watching you sleep, and all those minors or big things that made him stop and go—it means something, right?

It means Aunt May was right.

She was right when she said the world goes on regardless of how much we want it to stop sometimes, and right now, Peter's world is you.

When your lips, trembling just like your chin is, open and say, "I was terrified," in a whispered confession, Peter knows.

He'd give up anything for you. He'd conquer anything for you, as well, which he imagines lives on the other side of that coin.

"I am so sorry, baby," he tells you, blinking through the sting in his own eyes.

You shake your head and his heart almost falls to the ground before you pick it up. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete. I know—" you swallow a visible knot, sniffle, and then try again. "You have a responsibility. With your power, and... with what you believe."

With great power, comes great responsibility.

He nods.

"And please don't take this wrongly—don't shut down, or stop coming. God—if you stop coming I swear I'll die of worry—"

"Y/n." He interrupts because he knows when you're about to spiral as much as you know when he's about to go on a ramble. "I'd never. I—you're allowed to be scared. I'm not gonna go into martyr mode and make that decision for you. If you want me gone, I'll be gone. I know I'm a lot. I know my life, and how scary it is to be around it, but I think I also know you and if I take away your choice of being around me and all my mess—" he shakes his head. "I don't fancy that ass-whooping."

You laugh.

It untangles all the messy knots and webs inside his chest that formed when he saw your eyes puffy, and Peter breathes in what feels like clean, fresh air.

"I'm happy you're smart," you say.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's what my teachers say."

"Is it?"

With your head tilt, he notices—he's nearing territory he used to avoid before.

Peter breathes in again, reaches behind him in the shower, and grabs your shampoo.

"Can I do your hair?" he asks.

Your face remains the same as you nod, but he sees you breathing out. Accepting his silence. The change in subjects, as it usually is.

When he's got enough bubbles forming, he massages your scalp and starts. "I got a scholarship for Biophysics, so I guess I am pretty smart, but it wasn't 'till one of my teachers at ESU told me my paper was 'informative even through the minors detours it took, which funnily enough, were informative as well' that I knew I had a good head for more than just web-developing and stuff like that."

Should he tell you about the time when he traveled between Universes and met the other versions of him?

He'd love for you to know how clever Peter 1 is.

Peter knows if it weren't for that experience, exactly four years after what happened at the clock, he'd be in a much worse place now.

I wouldn't have met you, he thinks.

"What d'you wanna do with the degree?" you ask him.

"Mmm. I don't know yet. Working with genetic mutation is not too on the nose, is it?" he chuckles.

You turn around, smiling wider than ever before.

"Are you for real?" you laugh.

"I am!" He laughs too.

"Gimme that," you take the shampoo from his hand, pour some on your hand, and look up expectantly at him. Peter ducks his head in silent permission, and you start doing the same to him. "I think that while it's a bit on the nose, it also makes a lot of sense, and given your personal experience, you could make breakthroughs no one else would. Your circumstances give you a lot of room."

"My dad was a Biochemist." The information slips out, and Peter opens his eyes. When had I closed them? He gives you a sheepish smile, and closes his eyes again. "I lot of what I know came from his research."

"Did it have anything to do with spiders?" you ask with a giggle, thinking you're being funny.

Here's to hoping. "It did," he answers.

Your movements halt for a second, then start again. "Oh." You stay silent for a moment. "Big brain runs in the family, so I imagine you'll make breakthroughs he's only dreamt of. Just... make sure you pick an area 'cause it's what you want to make yourself happy, you know?"

Peter wonders how many people have the luxury of having someone care for them this way.

"I will." He smiles when you pull him under the water stream. When the shampoo is rinsed, he opens his eyes. "And you? D'you have an area you wanna work at?"

Hearing you talk about your hopes for the future while showering makes Peter notice it's the first he's been thinking about the future and what paths he could take for it.

You two laugh a lot in there, and the only moment when somberness takes over the steamy bathroom is when your fingertips graze over the black nylon that still peaks out of his lower stomach.

Peter ignores the tingle your touch brings, and kisses you instead.

He distracts you by asking you more about residency, school, tests, and anything that comes to mind.

Your voice is one of his favorite things.

In your bedroom, Peter gets dressed in the sweats that now are basically his—one of his designated clothes from when he's around.

Now though, he can wear the sweater and shake his wet hair all over you.

He can pull you to his lap on the bed and kiss you filthy with the sun shining on both of you.

Lights on, face out in the open, nothing to hide because there never was.

When he starts grinding his hips upwards, seeking the friction of your heat—and god, you're already burning on his lap, and he doesn't need to touch your panties to know that you barely put them on and he's already ruined them—but you stop him with a hand around his neck.

"You're gonna bust your stitches," you say, mouth still close to his.

He groans. "Baby, c'mon..."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. "As much as I want to, you'll have to wait a day more, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're hurting me right now," he whines, grinding on you. He hisses, not because of how hard he is from just a few minutes of making out with you and having his mind spin with how good you smell, how dizzying it makes him have you like this, no barriers whatsoever, but because he feels his insides protesting with the sharper thrust.

You give him a look that says I know what you're hiding. "Peter." While you ask him to stop, Peter's yet to feel you stop enjoying the ministrations of his hips. "Hey," you lean in closer and whisper in his ear. "You can enjoy fucking me like you've never fucked me before now... and you're gonna waste that first time of ours by not being able to do all that you wanna do?"

You are evil.

Peter moans. Hides his face in the space between your boobs, and kisses them since he's there already.

"So what you're telling me is that I should take you for a coffee and some breakfast and a few days and then we can come back here?" he asks.

"Yeah," you smile.

"And then I can take my time with you?" he confirms, his kisses going up. He loves the column of your throat. Loves the way you bear your neck for him, breathless and surrendered every time.

"Yeah..." this one comes out breathier, and Peter smiles before sucking on the skin of the space that's really sensitive.

"I can make you cum in all the ways I like?" Peter knows it's just torture at this point, but he keeps doing it. Keeps moving his hips in small little circles, and groans when he feels you meeting his movements. "On my tongue first... then on my fingers..."

"Only if you let me suck you off 'till you cum in my mouth."

Sneaky. "No." Peter hears your brain gears halting at it.

"Peter!"

"No!" He laughs. "Listen, I don't know what my—"

"—if you call your cum something weird again I'm leaving your lap right now."

"...my semen."

"Ugh. That's somehow worse," you laugh.

"I don't know what's in it! It's mutated, okay? What if you get pregnant from it? I am very fast. My sperm can be too."

Holding yourself with your arms around his neck, you stare at him with the blankest look.

The smile obviously hidden in the corners of your lips is where the truth lies, though.

"You know I'm right," he shrugs his shoulders.

You sigh. Heavily. "Ugh. I hate that I'm paranoid enough to buy your bullshit," you push him backward hard, and he falls into the bed in surprise, laughing. Leaning forward, you cage your arms around his head. "I wanna do so much to you," you whisper.

Just like that, the temperature's closer to the Sun again.

You have powers.

The power to make him religious. To make a conversation shift between the Sun and the Moon, just by laughing or speaking in a different tone.

Peter feels the tip of his cock dripping in his boxer, and he closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose. He grabs you by the neck and pulls you to a kiss, which turns messy and needy the second you moan in that pretty way he loves. Like a kitty, or like someone's squeezing you hard, just the way you like it.

He's grabbing you by the neck, squeezing and letting go, trying to gather his damn thoughts into coherent sentences and not the mess of I want you so bad I love you so much, so all that he can do is rub his forehead on yours.

Bring your body as close to his as possible.

That's what happened.

All these months culminated in this—Peter being unable to stay away, to him smiling in the corridors of his college, to the unfathomable infatuation with your legs, or the way you snort when you laugh really hard.

Into him loving you.

He's suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it:

Peter is in love with you. He loves you.

Loves you for your brain, your skilled hands, the way you hate the Giants and love music he's never heard of. Loves you for all the ways you're you and the ways you remind him of his very first love too, but more than anything, because he knows he'd love you even if nothing was similar.

He swallows the knot in his throat and pulls you to a kiss.

You feel the difference in it—he knows you do because you hold his face with gentle hands, but answer the kiss with the same devotion.

You let him take over the kiss, let him taste his tongue on yours until he's got no oxygen left in his lungs and has to pull back.

He sees it in your face that something's taken over you, too.

"You can do anything you want. Anytime," he says. He feels your legs clenching around his waist as a response, and thinks to the hell with it. "What if you did all the work, hm? I promise I'll stay still. I'll web my own wrists to the bed if you want, just—please?" he begs.

"Peter..."

"I wanna feel you, baby." It's not even about the sex, or about cumming. It's about being as close to you as possible. He needs to be as close to you as possible. "I just wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you." Peter grabs your face again, smashing his lips on yours. "D'you have any idea how fucked I'd be without you? It just—" he's barely breathing, and he knows you feel why. "I realized just how much I adore every goddamn inch of you and I wanna feel you." He kisses you again, and again. "I owe you my life, baby."

You shake your head at his words and Peter moves his hand down to your chin, holding it still.

"Yes, I do. And I love that," he smiles. "I fell in the best hands of this city... and your hands are just one of the reasons why I'm in love with you."

"Peter." This time, it's you who smashes your mouth on his.

The first time he heard his name coming out from your lips, he thought he'd cum on the spot. He remembers feeling his dick twitching inside of you just at the mention of it—his name, and you.

He loved it.

He lets you kiss him to your desire and when you pull back with those puffy lips, he smiles.

You're looking at him like one looks at something they barely believe it's true. He's seen looks like this a few weeks ago when he went to the museum with May and he saw people staring at what he assumes is their favorite art pieces—nothing but attention to detail and a shine in their eyes.

He feels naked, even though he's not.

"I've been in love with you since the day you told me you had glass shrapnel all over your body because Mrs. Levinson was gonna take the fall for Castle's collateral damage, Y/n, I couldn't have that." You shrug like it's easy, like you haven't just given him the present of a lifetime and stolen every last bit of anxiety and sadness he had hidden in the corners of his mind, then kisses him.

Softly press your lips on his, once, then twice.

When he feels your hands sliding down his body, Peter warms up.

Powerful. From Moon to Sun, there he goes again.

There his body goes.

Peter knows standing still will be a bit of torture, and everything will be heightened from how little he can move, but he's okay with that.

Whining under the ministrations of your hands might be one of his top three activities ever. Peter watches you get off from on top of him so you can take off your sweatpants, and he groans under his breath when you slide your leg over his waist again with the panties still on.

"Just slide it to the side—fuck. Yeah, like that, baby. I love it like this."

Your attention to detail is unmatched.

When you learn something he likes, you never let it go. As soon as Peter feels your hand slipping inside his boxer and getting his cock out there, he's already moaning.

"Stand still," you tell him.

He nods, eagerly. Peter watches you pull your panties to the side, guide the head of his dick to your entrance and when the tip slides in, he feels you coming back, caging him between your arms.

You slide down painfully slow, taking your time with it.

To have something to hold on to, he grabs your ass with one hand and your face with the other. Having his hands on you is a must if he's gonna be good for you.

He might've said he could web his hands to the bed, but if he did that, he'd have to web his hips as well.

"Ahhh." Peter feels the walls of your pussy clenching around him, and he closes his eyes at the feeling.

You move back up, then down again until you're fully seated on his lap and he's fully buried inside of you.

"Use me, baby," he tells you. He might be out of his mind already—has it always been this hot to be inside you? "Fuck—you're always so wet for me. How are you this wet—oh."

You slam your hips down, pulling a grunt from him.

"You make me this way and you know it," you whine to him.

Peter admires you for keeping up with a gym routine, but he admires more the benefits it reaps: the way your legs can hold the weight of bouncing up and down as slow or as fast as you like.

He pulls your head closer until he can kiss you.

"You're gonna use me, hm?" Peter asks between kisses, grunting at how tight you are. "Use those thunder thighs to drive me insane?"

"Peter you feel so fucking good," you breathe out.

The praise warms him up even further. Peter's eyes close in response, and he whines at how hard it is to keep his hips on the bed and not pistoning up to meet your delicious thrusts. "You feel better," he mutters, a bit drunk on the wetness pouring out of you. It's so damn hot in and all around him. "So tight for me, baby."

"Oh, god."

"Hhnh—fuck. Fuck, do that again," he whines.

You do it—you move all the way up until he almost slips out, then slams those hips down again. And again, and again, and again, until the room is nothing but the sound of your skins slapping on one another and your mouths breathing on each other, grunting and moaning.

Peter loves swallowing your moans almost as much as he loves swallowing the slick from your pussy.

"Fuck, if I had a little bit more strength in me I'd ask you to sit on my face after this," he says.

You moan even louder now.

Peter smiles.

He loves it when you two are alone. Loves when you let go, especially if it's to use him to your pleasure.

Peter holds your hip instead of your ass now and tries to help you. While you don't need it, the strength of even just one of his arms is appreciated, and he watches as you let go of all pretenses and just fuck yourself on his cock.

It's when you grab him by the chin and look him in the eye that Peter feels you're fucking him too.

You clench around him. Purposely.

Peter moans as loud as you, and plants his feet on the bed.

The change in angle makes you scream, and as a response, you smash your lips on his again.

He knows you're close by the way you start whining into the kiss.

Peter lets go, too. He kisses you back, all tongue, teeth, bites and moans of your name. Uncoherent sentences and babbles about your pussy and how fucking good you make him feel, and he feels the tension building up in his groins before he'd imagine.

He hates coming before you. Peter makes it a habit to make you cum before he does, but he's in heaven, he's in you, and you're staring at him.

It's that which does it.

"Baby I can't hold it—oh fuck, Y/n, don't do that," if you keep clenching around him just to get a rise of him you'll get more than just that, and he whines because of it. "I'm close. I'm so so close, you feel too good."

He moves his hand from your head in direction of your clit, but you grab him by the wrist and pin his arm above his head, holding tight onto his wrist. While he could break free easier than breathing, feeling how tightly you're gripping him makes his head spin.

He's at your mercy, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Y/n, please." Please stop bouncing so fast, please slow down, baby, please don't clench again.

Your hips slow down just a fraction, and you move until your lips are almost touching his.

Then you ask. "Who has your heart, baby?"

Peter blinks, opening his eyes. His mouth hangs open, jaw wide for a second before he answers. "You."

You move your hips in the way a dancer would, circling like you're trying to spell his damn name or something, and then slam all the way down. "You're mine, baby?"

Peter's head is somewhere too far for him to reach, but he still manages to nod. "All yours."

"I love you so fucking much," you cry on his lips, and then you start again—the merciless speed of your hips against his while your hand holds his arm up and your other is on his neck.

"I love you more," Peter cries back, reaching for a kiss that you give with all the desire in the world. He kind of wants his hand free to hold your face, and kind of wants to see how much you'd fight him to stand still, but neither one happens because you start to speed up and Peter's moans grow louder and louder.

Being as attracted as you are by his sounds, your legs start shaking and squeezing around him.

"Cum for me, Y/n, please, please, please," before I lose it and cum inside you, please.

"Cum inside me first."

"What?"

"Cum in me." You sound as out of it as he is, and Peter's only human at the end of the day. "Please. Do it. Do it, Peter. I wanna feel you. Please, Spidey, c'mon."

Peter cums with a yell, and his hips can't take it, bucking up to meet your thrusts in the last seconds, and it must be the strength with which he fucks into you, the angle, the way he's crying out your name or just everything together, but you cum right with him.

Both of your bodies shake and tremble together, in a peculiar and hard-to-achieve glorious moment.

He'll need many minutes to recover, and you'll need even more to gather the strength and will to let him come out from inside of you, but none of that matters for the time being.

Peter's content to stay inside you for now, just as you are to lay on his chest.

He lets the sound of your hearts beating like hummingbirds bring him back to Earth.

There's a smile on his face, and with minimum inspection, he feels there's a smile resting on his shoulder, too. Your lips press kisses on the exposed skin there, and he feels your grin when the kisses stop.

Peter's not a very religious man, but he might have just found his heaven on Earth.

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[blooming-violets]

For Inexperienced Smut Prompts

“I can’t believe you’re this innocent…”

With Andrew! Peter Parker x reader ❤️❤️❤️ !!!!!!

Not So Innocent || Inexperienced Smut Prompts

[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!virgin!reader]

Warnings: Alcohol use and depictions of being intoxicated, a lot of dry humping and fingering

A/N: I changed the quote just a tiny bit to “I didn’t know you were so innocent" because it fit better. Same vibes though.

You weren’t used to being dragged along to parties, especially one’s held in a large penthouse overlooking the city. The host of the party was a friend of a friend of a friend. At least, that’s what your roommate said. She desperately wanted to attend with her boyfriend but was too nervous to go without you. She promised to find you a date so you wouldn’t be third wheeling despite your claims that you’d rather not attend at all. Somehow she had managed to convince you to get dolled up in clothes that weren’t your own and make an appearance. You trailed behind her and her boyfriend as the three of you walked out onto the wrap around terrace. 

The night air was warm and the sounds of the heavy bass booming out of the speakers reverberated inside your heart. You couldn’t even make out what music was playing; it was too loud. You scrunched up your face in distaste, fidgeting with the bottom of the short skirt of your dress, and pushing your way next to your friend. 

“Is this really worth it?” You shouted over to her. 

She either couldn’t hear you over the noise or was choosing to ignore you, “Look! Over there!” 

She grabbed your hand and dragged you over to an elegant, glass table in the middle of the terrace. It was completely covered with different types of alcohol. You weren’t really educated well enough to be able to tell the difference between them all. She poured you something clear and shoved the cup into your hand. 

“Drink this!” She practically forced you to tilt the cup to your lips and held her hand under the bottom while you drained the contents. 

You were sputtering and gagging by the time it was finished, “That was horrible!”” 

“I know, it was pure vodka,” she laughed. “But it will get you loosened up.”

You felt like vomiting. She poured you something else. 

Her boyfriend leaned between the two of you to point over at someone. “Matty is over there. Why don’t you go talk to him?” 

You turned to see where he was pointing. Matt was the guy who was supposed to be your date tonight. He played college football with your roommate's boyfriend. You gave an unenthusiastic smile. That was supposed to be your cue to leave the two of them alone so they could enjoy their night as a couple. You weren’t sure what the point of your coming was. It wasn’t like your friend was planning on actually spending time with you. 

You reluctantly made your way over to Matt and gave him an awkward wave, “You’re Matt, right?” 

He nodded, “Yeah. My friend’s call me Matty, though.” 

“Great,” you replied. You weren’t a friend so you thought you’d stick with Matt. “Uhm, nice to meet you, I guess.” 

He looked you over, overtly eyeing up and down your body. You curled into yourself under his gaze and quickly started drinking whatever was in your cup. It tasted like bleach and lime. You did your very best not to make a face of disgust and keep drinking. 

“You’re supposed to be my date then?” He asked. 

“I guess,” you shuffled the toe of your foot against the ground. “Do you-”

He cut you off, “I was told you were really hot.” 

You laughed at that. It was a self deprecating, uncomfortable laugh. He was already heavily intoxicated, swaying on his feet. You wanted to go home. The forced smile faded from your face as you turned your sights to look out over the city. 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” you stated, feeling like shit. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him shrug, “Nah man. It’s cool. You’re still hot but, like, a prudish kind of hot. Like how the pastor’s daughter is always smokin’ hot but you know she’d never actually go down on you, so you don’t even try to bark up that tree, ‘cause it leads nowhere. Not really fuckable, ya feel me?” 

You didn’t feel him. You felt insulted for some reason. As if being called unfuckable by a drunk stranger was the worst thing you could ever be called. Matt was clearly looking for one thing tonight. He wanted someone easy. He took one look at you, uncomfortable in your roommates clothes, and could instantly tell you weren’t that kind of girl. She could dress you up but she couldn’t change your personality. You were self-conscious and fidgety. Even this dumb jock could see that. Before you could reply, Matt’s attention got pulled away by a group of giggling girls throwing heart eyes at him. He didn’t say a word as he stumbled away, already forgetting your entire existence. 

And, just like that, you were left alone at a party you didn’t want to be at. 

You finished the drink in your hand despite wanting to gag every time it touched your lips. You were already starting to feel the effects of the two drinks. You had never drank in your life so it didn’t take much to make you feel funny. Your skin sort of felt tingly and your thoughts were slow and lazy. Even though you were left on your own, you felt a sudden rush of happiness pushing away the shame. The music was starting to sound less terrible, too. It made you want to dance. You were beginning to feel invincible. Confident. Matty could go fuck himself. You were totally fuckable. You were hot. This dress was super sexy and slutty and short and you were an absolute babe with it on. You could do anything you wanted. You felt like if you stood up on these rooftop railings and jumped, you would simply sore away into the sky like a bird. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

A vaguely familiar voice popped up behind you before you had time to test your theory of flight. 

You turned around to come face to face with Peter Parker. He was your lab partner for biology. You two usually only ever spoke about class related topics but it was still nice to see a familiar face. You always found him to be very sweet. 

“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, either,” you responded with a big smile. 

Peter laughed, “I guess us nerds don’t usually get invited to rich people’s rooftop parties.” Once the words left his mouth, his eyes widened, afraid that he offended you. He quickly added, “Not that I think you don’t belong here! Or that you’re a nerd. You’re very pretty. Not that nerds can’t be attractive. That’s just a dumb stereotype. I think you’re really smart and you have a nice smile and you look really pretty tonight. Not that you don’t look pretty other days. And not that it matters what you look like. Or…well…I mean…I don’t remember what I was originally talking about…I think I’m drunk.”

The crimson blushing over his cheeks was incredibly endearing. You found yourself leaning in closer. You knew he was always handsome but, tonight, he looked beautiful. Radiant. Mesmerizing. 

You think you might be a little drunk, too. That first cup your friend made you chug was causing your thoughts to swim. The second cup only sealed the deal. 

“Thank you!” It was all that needed to be said. Also, because you sort of forgot what he was saying, too. You got distracted by the way his lips formed each word. They were lovely lips to look at. “I think…” 

His blush deepened and he hid behind the beer bottle in his hand as finished off the contents, “Do, uh, do you want to dance? With me, I mean. Or by yourself is fine too but I’d hope it was with me. That’s why I’m asking. For your hand. Not in marriage! To dance with.” 

You weren’t a dancer but you didn’t think Peter was either. That made you feel more confident in accepting his offer. 

“Okay,” you nodded, laughing at how he managed to out awkward you. 

He took the cup from your hands and put it onto the first table he saw along with his own empty beer. Then, he took your hand and pulled you inside, onto the dance floor that had been set up in the living room cleared of furniture. The feeling of your hand in his, the way he easily maneuvered you through the crowd, sent an excited, pulsating electricity shooting up your spine. Peter found a nice spot off to the edge of the crowd. There, you two could still enjoy the energy without being trampled on by all the sweaty bodies. 

An unspoken tension settled in the air between you and Peter. You were drawn to him. Captivated by him. You’d often spend the two hours of your lab huddled up close to his face while sharing a microscope but this felt different. Stronger. You couldn’t stop staring at the way his body moved. It might be the alcohol talking but he seemed to have a natural flow to his movements. You felt in sync with him. Your eyes shamelessly traveled down his body, much like Matt had done to you earlier. Only instead of feeling nervous like you had, Peter merely smirked, the smile flashing over his lips. Without his usual oversized sweatshirt, you could easily make out the strong muscles of his biceps as they pulled the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his arms. You would have never guessed he was hiding those under there. 

You got lost in the music, loving it a million times more than when you first entered the party. You were moving, swaying, and bouncing along to the beat. Peter was right there with you like he was reading your mind, or reading your body, able to anticipate which way you were swaying and following your lead. The rest of the party faded around you as your eyes locked with Peter’s. It was just the two of you and the unfamiliar sensual tension clouding the air, growing thicker with each passing second. 

You were not a prude. You were not the preacher’s daughter. Matt could go fuck himself. He had no idea what you were like. All he did was take one look at you and thrust his own narrative on your shoulders. Yeah, maybe you were still a virgin, but you gave a guy a blow job. Once. In your senior year of high school. That qualifies you to be a part of a Non-Prude Club. Fucking Matty, that piece of shit. A big giant turd. That’s what he was. His brain had probably been hit one too many times during football anyway. You didn’t even think he was that attractive. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t fuckable? You bet he never thought of that!

Peter didn’t think you were a prude. He thought you were pretty and he wanted to dance with you. That means…well, it doesn’t mean much, but your vodka fueled brain was trying to connect some kind of dots together. Peter wanted to fuck you. That was probably it. Or maybe that was Matt who wanted to do that. Not Peter. You were getting them confused. 

No, no, Matt didn’t want to fuck you. Or he did but he didn’t think you would let him. 

And he was right. You wouldn’t have let him. He was kind of gross. 

But, Peter…

“Am I fuckable?”

His eyes widened, “Excuse me?”

“What?” Did you say that out loud? Shit. “I didn’t say anything!” 

His smile grew. He leaned down to speak directly into your ear, “Yes. You are.” 

Heat flooded your face. Holy shit. A nervous, intoxicated laugh tumbled from your lips. The song changed to a new track and your eyes lit up. 

“I know this one!” You excitedly bounced on the balls of your feet. 

“Everyone knows Britney Spears,” Peter laughed at your enthusiasm as I’m a Slave 4 U blasted out the speakers. 

Someone bumped into you from behind and sent you tumbling into Peter’s chest. He steadied you back onto your feet. Instead of moving away, you embraced the closeness, feeling bold, and wrapping your arms around his neck. His eyebrows raised, slightly taken off guard, but he quickly settled his hands comfortably around your waist. The electricity in the air heightened. You wanted Peter to touch you forever. There was not a single other person in this party except for him. You smiled up at him through hazy eyes. 

“I never drank alcohol before tonight,” you confessed. Something in his eyes felt safe, like you could tell him all your secrets and he wouldn’t tell another soul. He would keep you safe. A protector. “I don’t think I’m too drunk, though. I think I’m just happy. I could still totally drive a car.” 

That was a lie. You didn’t even have your license. It felt pointless when you grew up in the city. 

Peter chuckled. It was a nice sound. 

“I didn’t know you were so innocent,” he teased. “Never had a drop of anything before?”

You feigned a gasp at his comment, “I am not innocent! Why are people always assuming that about me tonight? What vibes am I giving off? My roommate told me these were some of her favorite slut clothes. Apparently they’re doing nothing to help my image.” 

“Oh, trust me, they are,” He nodded with appreciation for her tight fitting outfit. Then added, “You’re at a happy drunk level. Me too…but that might just be because you’re here with me.”

Your stomach tumbled with excited butterflies. With Britney Spears cheering you on, you pushed your body closer, brushing against his. As you swayed to her hypnotic beat, you purposely rubbed your hips into his. The moment you made contact, you felt his arousal. Solid and hard against you. 

You let out a tiny gasp, eyes widening in shock. You hadn’t been expecting that. That was because of you. You had given him that. You. Peter’s eyes had closed and his lips parted when you pushed against him. For a split second, it looked like he was going to let out a moan right there in front of everyone. His eyes shot open when he realized what was happening and a slew of slurred, bashful apologies tumbled out of him. Before he could get too embarrassed, you silenced him by repeating the movement. This time, locking eyes with him with a defiant stare, as you rubbed your pelvis over his erection as if you were daring him to stop you. 

You would show him you weren’t innocent. You would prove him wrong.

He licked his steadily drying lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was completely speechless, utterly in awe. This was a new side of you, one you hadn’t even known existed before tonight. A horny, needy side. It only took him until the chorus to snap out of his stunned daze. His hands traveled up your sides, curving around your waist, then traveling back down. He hovered over your butt, watching your reaction to see if you’d object. When all he got a quiet smirk urging him on, his large hands cupped your cheeks. You could feel your dress riding up your thighs as he squeezed you, bunching up the fabric. He pressed you closer, holding you tightly against his erection. You tightented your grip around his neck, smooshing your breasts against his chest, and feeling the flood of wetness rush to your core. 

I’m a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I’m a slave for you. I won’t deny it, I’m not tryna hide it.

Britney was always right. You really were trying to have him dance up on you. You could not control it and you won’t deny it. Truer words had never been spoken. 

You felt weak. A good kind of weak. Like your knees might give out at any moment and your head was spinning but everything felt wonderful. A happy drunk. That’s what Peter had called it. Or a horny drunk. Maybe both. 

The more you held his gaze, the more attractive he became. You didn’t think that was possible but here you are. The flecks of sparkling light reflected off those beautiful hickory colored eyes. You were lost in them. Lost in his magnetic pull. His lips were centimeters from yours. He wanted to kiss you but he was letting you close the gap, giving you the choice. You took a shuddered breath and smashed your lips together. It might have been a little too eager and aggressive but Peter easily remedied your attack. He softened his lips and gently eased open your mouth with his tongue. The butterflies in your stomach turned to a frenzy at the feeling of his warm tongue gliding across yours. It reminded you of a dance. Much like your bodies were still pressed together and swaying to the music, your tongues were having their own party. 

When your breath became short, you carefully pulled yourself back with a dazed smile. 

Peter’s smile matched your own. The alcohol swam in vision, giving him adorable bleary eyes. He looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him. 

“Have you had your fill of dancing?” He asked once the song ended. 

You had forgotten you were even in a room full of people. You glanced around you, noticing Matt eyeing you from the other side of the room. He looked impressed, wondering if he had gotten the completely wrong impression of you. He raised his drink and winked in your direction as if to apologize for his own mistake. It made you giggle. You flipped him off with a smile. 

You turned back to Peter, the smile still lingering on your face. You were enjoying the tension between the two of you. You liked the dangerous excitement of rubbing up on Peter in the midst of a crowd. You were afraid of the moment ending if you left but your head was spinning and you needed some fresh air. 

“Let’s go back outside,” you offered. “The music is just as loud out there.”

Peter nodded in agreement. You had the feeling he would have gone anywhere you asked him to. He took your hand and tugged you towards the terrace. The entire glass wall opened up to make a seamless transition from the inside of the penthouse to the out. The night air felt cool in your throat. It helped soothe the pounding heartbeat in your chest. A coiled up excitement resided in the pit of your stomach from your adventures on the dancefloor. You wanted more. 

Peter pushed his way to the corner. It was the one place the lights failed to reach. It felt like a very purposeful spot to bring you. He turned around, leaning against the railing, and studying you with burning, passion filled eyes. His gazed forced your own downward, like he was a blazing fire, too bright and hot to stare at for too long. Except now you were now looking directly at what had been pressed against you. 

His dark, skinny jeans left little to the imagination. While the stiff material kept him from achieving his full potential, the bulging outline over his inner thigh was more than enough to get the idea of what he was working with. Truthfully, you had no idea what was considered large or small when it came to dicks. Like with alcohol, your knowledge was limited. But Peter looked quite big to you. He was clearly very excited to be in your presence. That was the nice thing about men. You could always tell when they were attracted to you. You were enjoying the power it made you feel. You felt sexy. Fuckable. 

You had been staring at it for too long. You needed to avert your eyes back to his face. 

When you finally forced your gaze back where it belonged, Peter was smirking at you. He had enjoyed watching you get lost in the sight. He liked knowing that his body was showing you how attractive he found you. He wanted you to know. It wasn’t a secret. Before you could allow yourself to be embarrassed, you twirled around, letting your skirt flare up around your thighs and started dancing again to the music. The perfect distraction. He caught you in his grasp, spinning you away from him, and then pulling you close. He was more suave than you gave him credit for. He might actually have some decent moves. 

You turned around in his hold, leaning your back against his chest. Peter’s arms naturally snaked around your waist to hold you to him. He tightened the hold so your bottom was rubbing once more against his bulge as you lazily swayed back and forth. Your dancing was more of a  gentle rubbing at this point but you didn’t mind. Whatever kept you locked to Peter was okay in your eyes. You wanted to keep him excited. 

His face leaned down, his cheek brushing against your hair, and you heard him inhale the scent of light, floral perfume. You could have sworn you felt his bulge twitch. You had to refrain from squeezing your own thighs together at the thought. Tingly, hot sensations were flooding your core. The need to thrust your hips or rub yourself on something was becoming stronger. 

You swore Peter could sense the subtle change in your breath because, as if he knew how aroused you were getting, his hands started to travel. They slid down your thighs until they reached the bottom of your dress, gliding the material through his fingers. 

“I’ve never seen you wear a dress like this before,” he breathed, voice ragged, in your ear. “I like it.” 

Your ears felt like they were burning, your chest was tight, your toes wanted to curl in your flats. All from the sound of his voice. Of course he had never seen you wear a dress like this. The only other time he saw you was in your early morning lab. He was used to your oversized cardigans, comfy leggings, and a permanent sleepy expression. 

His hand slipped under the loose hem of the dress. He hesitated, testing the waters to see if you’d say something, when no objects came he glided over your underwear to rest on your bare hips. The back of your skirt lifted with his wrists to expose the bottom cheeks of your butt. You could feel him lean back enough to get a quick look. He seemed to like what he saw because he almost immediately ground his hips against you. 

You couldn’t stop the gasping moan that fell from your lips. Your body felt alive. You could feel the jolt of electricity shoot from your nipples down to your clit. You pushed back, grinding your bottom into his erection. You had no idea what had gotten into you but you couldn’t stop. His obvious arousal only fueled your own spreading fire. 

Even your nipples were painfully erect. Your friend had assured you that this dress had a built in bra and you wouldn’t need to wear one. That was a load of bullshit because it was obvious how hard your nipples were poking out. Your breath was becoming labored. You were in the middle of a rooftop party, actively grinding on your lab partner, and drunk on whatever the hell energy Peter was giving off. It wasn’t even the alcohol that was making you act like this. It was all Peter Parker. 

You turned in his grasp, throwing your arms around his neck, and finding his lips. He fell back against the railing with your sudden enthusiasm. He managed to keep himself from falling and slid his leg between yours. Without even thinking about it, you rested your core against his thigh. The wetness seeping into your underwear was now blatantly evident to you. Give it a minute and Peter would surely become aware of it, too. 

His hands roved hungrily over your body without any more hesitation. You opened your mouth, letting in his tongue, as he fervently attacked your lips. You angled your hips downward and thrust them against his jeans. Your aching clit screamed in pleasure at the delicious friction. Peter was back under your skirt and cupping your bottom. He helped push you along, easing the aid of you grinding against his thigh. 

His mouth left yours to leave sloppy, wet kisses along your cheek and down your neck until he found a spot he liked. He suctioned his lips to a pulse point and began sucking and nipping at your soft skin. Your eyes rolled back, mouth parted, at how wonderful it felt. A mix of pain and pleasure. He was bruising your neck, claiming you as his own with a visible mark. You let him dominate you, manipulate you however he pleases. You were his. A slave for Peter Parker. 

When he slowly pulled back from your neck, a trail of saliva connected your skin to his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the corner of his lips tugging into a satisfied smile as he admired his work. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your entire life. 

“Do you need a break?” He whispered, his voice hardly heard above the obnoxious techno music now playing. 

You swallowed. You probably should stop. You should probably slow down. You were getting too lost in your own feelings. But you shook your head “no”. You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to have to pull yourself away from him. 

“I told you,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his. “I’m not innocent.” 

“Are you sure about that?” He asked, the amusement coating his voice. “If I dragged you into the nearest coat closet right now, what would you do?” 

You didn’t hesitate in your reply, lust dripping with every syllable, “I would let you touch me however you wanted.” 

That was it.

Peter shoved his way past any person who stood in his way. He lead you through the crowd, swerving and weaving between sweaty bodies. The penthouse was huge. The first door he opened was the bathroom but it left too much probability of someone potentially needing to use it. The next was a guest bedroom. That one was already taken. The three people inside of it weren’t too pleased to see two more show up unannounced. The third was nearest to the elevator. It was a narrow, walk-in closet filled with fancy coats and shoes. 

“Jackpot,” Peter muttered under his breath. 

He pushed you inside and shut the door behind him. It was decently sound proofed in here with all the jackets. The music instantly muffled into the distance. You tugged on a gold chain hanging from the ceiling to flick on a single bulb. It wasn’t much light but it was enough. You turned to face Peter, the spell from outside starting to crack as the nerves set in. You might not have been entirely truthful when you told him you’d let him touch you however he wanted. The thought of losing your virginity in a closet wasn’t exactly how you envisioned it. 

Peter’s smile softened when he caught the apprehensive glint in your eye. He reached out his hand and tugged you close to him as he leaned against the door, making sure no one could enter. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“Remember when I told you were fuckable earlier?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

“Well,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were nothing more than a quickie in a stranger’s closet. I hope it didn’t come off that way and that was the impression you got. This might have gotten a little out of hand. We might have gotten a bit carried away.” He took a step away from the door so you could leave if you wanted to. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you. I had enough fun tonight to last me a lifetime. Just being able to dance with you made my day.” 

You gave him a light shove, pushing him back in front of the door to act as a human lock, taking back control, “I never said anything about leaving.” You took a deep breath, being brave, and trying to advocate for exactly what you wanted from him. “What I said still stands. You can touch me however you want but just with your hands. Okay?” You trailed a finger down his forearm, grazing over his wrist, and locking fingers with him. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you.”  

His smile grew when you repeated his own sentiment back to him. To help build back up the same electric energy from outside, you pressed closer to him and grazed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel how erect your nipples were. He tenderly cupped your cheeks with his large hands and captured your lips with his.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he mumbled against your lips. His kiss was slower than the other two like he was really savoring the moment. You felt special. Wanted. Beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way he worshiped your lips made you feel like the only woman left in the world. Maybe you were. Maybe nothing existed outside of this closet. All that was left was you and Peter. 

“Mmph,” was all you could manage back. Very articulate. 

And, just like that, you were back under the Parker spell. 

His hands made a slow descent away from your cheeks. They traveled down your neck, pausing for his long fingers to gently wrap around it, making you feel small inside his grasp. They brushed over your shoulders, toying with the thin straps to your dress, inching them to the side until they fell down the slope of your arm. The back of his fingers traced over the swell of your breast, letting the hard nub of your nipple feel every bump as he dragged each of his four fingers slowly over it. He was taking his time, carefully watching your every move and listening for every hitch of your breath. He was treating you like a precious piece of art that was meant to be admired and painstakingly inspected under a magnifying glass so as not to miss any precious details. 

The pooling wetness between your thighs caused your soaked through underwear to cling uncomfortably to you. You wished you could remove them but still felt too nervous to make any moves and distract Peter from his work. You stood still as a statue, lids half closed, as he molded his hand to your breast. Your eyes gazed up at him, helpless under his touch, the sounds of your heavy breaths the only thing you were now able to hear. 

A quiet moan whined in your throat when he pinched your nipple through your dress, capturing it between the knuckles of his middle and pointer finger. He shuddered at the sound, giving a sharp inhale. He wanted to hear it again. His free hand wrapped around your thigh to close the miniscule gap between your hips. He thrust his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, as he molded your breast in his hand.

“Can-” he breathed. “Can I?” 

His fingers slipped into cups of your dress, starting to tug them down to imply what he was asking, and pausing to look to you for confirmation. You gave a silent nod. 

Peter nearly stopped breathing as he tugged the top half of your dress down to reveal your naked breasts. His eyes were alive with flames while he took in the new sights. He tenderly cupped under your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, watching as your flesh melded to his touch. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was begging to capture your nipple between his lips, but he stuck to the “only hands” rule, using his thumb to flick over it instead. 

Your hardly audible moans hit his ear. The sound must have awoken something in him because he responded to it with a whimper of his own. You glanced down to his crotch. His erection was thicker than before. It looked painfully locked up behind the confines of his jeans. You wanted to unleash it, let it be free, but you were too scared to take that leap. 

Peter didn’t seem to care about what his cock was feeling. He was too focused on losing himself in your body. He was more of a giver and a taker, you could tell. His hand still gripping onto your hip started to get more daring. You felt him sliding closer to your core. His fingers traced over the elastic band of your underwear, circling around the tiny, ribbon bow adorning the top. If you had known this was how you would end up tonight, you would have bought something sexier. That concern immediately flew from your thoughts as his fingers slipped between your thighs. His palm rested over your mound while the pads of his finger tips traced along the drenched material. His ragged inhale was all you needed to know to understand how turned on that feeling made him. 

“You’re so wet,” he growled in your ear. 

“Mm,” you croaked out, eyes closed. Words were no longer something your brain had access to. 

You bit your bottom lip the harder he pressed your panties against your slit. The thin cotton material was the only thing holding him back from entering you. 

Peter lifted his other hand to brush under your chin. He lifted your head so you were forced to look up at him. You pried your eyes open, staring at him through heavy lids. Your mouth hung open to accommodate your panting breaths. He locked eyes with you, looking into your soul, as he slipped the wet fabric to the side. 

You gave a silent, wide eyed cry when his finger grazed over your bare slit. Your stomach seized, nearly doubling you over, in excitement. You felt your folds open to his touch. His leg resting between yours nudged your ankle, telling you to spread your legs open a little wider for him. You clutched onto the front of his shirt, grabbing a fistful of it into your grasp. Without it, you felt like you might collapse. The look of lust etched into his features caused you to nearly orgasm on the spot. Your body was trembling, craving more, nodding your head as if that would make Peter work faster instead of slowly dragging everything out at a crawling pace. 

He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “I’m going to make you cum for me.” 

That nearly did it. You whimpered, letting your eyes close again. Peter tugged your underwear down your legs. They stopped at your knees, the width at which you were standing not allowing them to go any further. It was enough. His hand cupped between your thighs, rubbing you, teasing you. You grind your hips, thrusting your clit against his palm. He gave a soft chuckle, enjoying how desperate you had become. 

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mumbled to himself. 

His long fingers moved gently on you, caressing your wetness, feeling how easily they slid through the slickness you were creating for him. All for him. He continued to simply feel you until you gazed back up at him. He was waiting for your eye contact. Your heart was pounding, waiting for the inevitable, and surrendering yourself over to him. The moment you locked on, he eased his middle finger between your parted lips while his thumb brushed slow circles around your clit. It was the first time a man’s finger had ever touched your sex. You felt the pressure, felt the fear, felt the excitement and the slight searing of pain at how tight you were. You whined as the pain and pleasure mixed to create an intense, swirling storm deep in your sex. Your pussy felt like it was sucking him in, trying to eat him whole, the deeper he sank into you. 

You clung to the front of his shirt, balled up fists, and tears spiking in your eyes. It felt so good. More intense than anything you’d ever felt. You’d touched yourself before but Peter was different. Better. You were sharing the moment, giving up control, and letting someone else learn the intimate details of your body. Your legs were shaking. Your knees felt weak. 

You buried your head into Peter’s neck as he started a steady, slow rhythm of easing his finger half way in and out of you. He focused most of his attention on servicing your throbbing clit. He could tell you were a virgin, he could tell how tight you were squeezing him, and he wanted to go as slow as possible so as not to hurt you. Even a single finger felt like it was filling you up. You were moaning against his neck, whimpering, whining, beginning for more. Your hips worked with each small thrust of his finger, trying to push it deeper. You thrust your clit against his thumb. Your body was taking over as you tumbled towards a climax. 

Peter’s lips were pressed against your ear. He whispered quiet words of encouragement, urging you on, praising you, comforting you. The night was all starting to meld together. The slutty dress, vodka, the obnoxiously loud music, how easily Matt rejected you with nothing more than a few words, finding Peter, dancing together, Britney Spears, the passionate terrace make out, the closet and how sweet Peter had been to quell your obvious fears, the way his finger felt so big inside of you. The entire night was swirling around your thoughts. A tornado building inside your brain. Ready to wipe out anything it touched. 

“That’s it,” Peter whispered over your pathetic whines. “There you go. Cum for me. You’re right there. Let it go. Let it happen.” 

You gave a sharp cry as light exploded in your vision. The tornado tore straight through you, ripping your mind from your body. You were floating in the air. High above everything else. You had no control of the way your body jerked and spasmed, held tightly against Peter’s chest. You’d never experienced an orgasm this powerful. It would have brought you straight to your knees had Peter not been holding you upright. 

He wrapped his arms around you, tracing his fingers over your back and up your neck. He soothed you with a quiet humming until your mind came crashing back down to earth. You were shaking, shivering, eyes glued closed. Peter was your one tether to cling on to. He kept you grounded as you let the tornado fade off into the distance. 

When you finally managed to get your bearings once more, you took a shaky step back from him. He kept his arms outstretched in case he needed to suddenly catch you if you decided to crumble. You shrugged the straps of your dress back up and adjusted the chest so your breasts were back to being concealed. 

Peter had given you a gift you didn’t even know you were looking for. You wanted to repay the favor but you didn’t think your body could handle anything more tonight. Instead, you slipped the underwear still clinging around your knees down to your ankles. You carefully stepped out of them. He watched in a silent curiosity as you closed the gap between you two, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. 

“To give you something to remember me by,” you stood on your tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. A sweet, innocent kiss. 

He looked at you with an awe, loved filled gaze as you pushed open the closet door and stumbled into the hallway. 

When he didn’t follow, you glanced over your shoulder with a sly smirk, “Well? Are you coming?” 

[reidslovely]

Something about helping frat!blonde! Peter touch up his roots. Like he calls you and reader must think its for hooking up purposes - then he surprises her w “can you. uh..retouchmyrootsplease” and she’s like “??? 🤨wat” and you just go over to his place and spend time with him, washing his hairr, he making eye contact with reader through the mirror, etc. But he’s still stubborn about his feelings so he’s like “this was a one time thing only don’t let it get to ya head”

sorry if this was jumbled I just had this in my head for a while now

Yes this idea is so so so so so cute. I have written something vaguely similar before but I love it so much I don't care to write it again

please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post 🫶🏼

“Pete?” You questioned picking up your phone, your eyes locked on the clock that read 4:00pm. “It’s far too early for a booty call..what’s up pretty?” 

“Ya flatter bashful.” His chesty laugh could be heard on the other end of the phone. It sent your heart doubling in speed, your cheek pressed lovingly into your shoulder. 

“You still with me bashful? I need you to do me a favor.” 

“So this is a hookup call..you only ask me that if-” You're cut off by him rushing out a string of words. None of which you caught. “Pete..baby. I need you to breathe and say that again.” You laughed softly, already gathering your stuff up to head over to the Theta Tau. Regardless if this was a hookup situation or not you were tired of your homework and Peter always seems to take any type of stress away. 

“Can you uh..” There's an awkward cough and sigh. “Retouchmyrootsplease?” 

The questions still came out as one word this time around but at least you actually caught what he was saying. 

“Sure, Pete.” You tried not to laugh. “Do you have what you need or do we need to run by Sally?” 

“No, no I have everything here for you. Thanks for this.”

“Course Pete, anything for you.” You hung up before you could get any type of snarky reply. 

Peter’s blond locks were a new addition about three weeks into your situation ship and you absolutely loved them. They flattered his face, and made his little baby deer eyes even more baby deer like. Which made you want to kiss him even more, and made it hard to say no when he’s asking you for another round. 

“You’re literally the best for this. Just moved up to like number two in my ranking.”

It was a joke, you were easily number one if not the only girl in Peter’s ranking but you have to play along or else you’ll scare him away. 

“Offended, whose number one.”

“May..sorry.” Peter sighs dramatically, leading you up the stairs to his bathroom. Tossing a few nods and hey’s to his brothers walking down the steps. 

“Mhm can’t be mad at that.” 

Peter laughed sitting on the chair he’d tucked away in the bathroom, pulling off his shirt. 

“Awe did you go ahead and set everything up for me?”

“No I was gonna do it myself but that's how we ended up in this scenario in the first place.”

Peter would never admit to it but he had set everything up for you. He’d done it before he even picked up the phone: not that he knew you'd say yes but he could hope. 

“Mhm I see.” You hummed running your fingers through Peter’s hair. He grabbed his phone starting his music, looking at you in the mirror as you started sectioning his hair out. 

Admittedly the whole time he was locked on you. Every move you made he was locked on you, not wanting to miss a moment. His head lolled back as you ran; you painted the bleach on his roots. Earning soft little ‘stops’ and ‘hold your head up’ from you as he relaxed. Your eyes were fixed on his hair making sure you’re applying everything evenly and correctly. Peter held his phone up in the mirror snapping a quick photo of the two of you. The photo falling amongst the others he’s sneakily taken of you or the both of you that you had no clue about. 

“Okay you gotta sit for a while and then I’ll wash it, tone it, all that after.” You said sitting on the toilet lid next to him taking the gloves off, tossing them in the trash can. 

“This is nice.” 

Peter's comment threw you off, you two only really hung out in the context of having sex or it being mutually beneficial for both. You hated to admit you had more moments like this. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm no pressure, at least not for you. I still gotta make jokes and keep you entertained.” 

“Tragic.” You tsked resting your arm on the sink hand to head as your free hand started a 30 minute timer. 

“Come on, we have enough time to watch some of that Hulu cooking show you like.” Peter stood taking your hand in his walking to his room. You flopped down on Pete’s bed watching him sitting next to you. “Careful you’ll get bleach on your..”

“No no, I'm good sitting up.”

You nodded and laid your head on his lap watching The Bear, Pete’s fingers combing through your hair switching between watching the TV and you. 

Pete’s head was tilted back in the sink, a towel under his neck for comfort. “Stop looking down my shirt, Parker.” 

“I’m not…I’m not.” He lied, turning his eyes up to look at you as you shampooed after toning his hair. “Do I look fabulous?”

“Oh absolutely.” You laughed wrapping his hair up in a towel helping him sit up. Ruffling the towel through his hair you laughed watching it sticking up every which way. You blow dried it for him smiling and singing under your breath as you fixed his hair perfectly. 

“How do you feel Parker?” 

“Amazing..I look great thanks bashful.” He says turning around, capturing your hips in his hands. “Let's get dinner, and then we can come back here.” 

“I hate sex after dinner.” 

“No, no we come back here and finish the show.” 

“Oh I get to come back to the Theta house? And not have sex?” You fake a gasp of shock. 

“I know it’s a rare occurrence. This is a one time thing though, don’t let it get to ya head.” Pete taunts, hand rubbing your side grabbing his wallet off his dresser.

“Oh baby it has.” 

Peter knew and even in his playful disdain and stubborn personality you were slowly craving a spot out in his chest and making a home in it, and at this point he had no say in it.

___________

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

[bianquitasunderworld]

𝐵𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝒶’𝓈 𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈t

Everything posted here is smut! If you want to request non smut send request to @bianquitasworld

<3

I am not responsible for your media consumption!

⭒ Frank Castle from The Punisher

Frank Castle x Innocent!Reader

Soft submissive!Frank Castle x reader

⭒ Dave Lizewski from Kick Ass

Virgin!Dave Lizewski x experienced!reader

Submissive!Dave Lizewski x Dom!Reader

⭒ Tangerine from Bullet Train

Mean!Tangerine x Reader

⭒ Peter Parker from TASM

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

LATE NIGHT TALKIN- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Dads Best Friend! Peter Parker x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.8k 

Summary: After your father catches you rebelling again, he sends you to the only place he knows left... his best friends house- Peter Parker. Hoping he’ll be a good influence, he leaves you there for the summer. Little does he know, Parker splits a blunt with you, and some “late night talking” becomes a little more than just talk. 

Warnings: SMUT, extreme daddy kink, oral (fem receiving), teasing, pet names, breeding kink, size kink (peter is like 6′5) praise kink, degradation kink, cum play/ feeding, finger sucking, masturbation, mentions of masturbation, teasing, weed used, booze mentioned, confessions, plug mentioned, over stim, mentions of y/ns cheating asshole ex bf

Notes: “ we’ve been doin all this late night talkin, bout anything you want until the morning- now you’re in my life.. i cant get you off my mind.”- harry styles, late night talking

You should have been pissed. 

Furious, actually. 

You should have been bursting at the seams, throwing fits of wailing and yelling like those teenage girls did in the early 2000s movies, with the hair pulling and the pillow screaming. 

But you weren't. 

You were calm, and collected taking in your father's words as he pounded his fist down on the marble countertop, huffing about you disappointing your mother again. 

They forgot that you were of age. That you could go out and drink, and smoke, and do anything your heart desired. 

Despite reminding your parents of this, time and time again- they refused to listen. It was their rules if you were under their roof, even if it was just for a few months. 

Which meant, no sneaking up to your room with your best friend from middle school, plastered and puking all over the bathroom tiles. From the countless eye rolls, head shakes and dirty looks, you could tell they were pissed. 

In your defence, you had cleaned it up. Nonetheless, they sat you down in the kitchen again, your mother's tears in the corner and your dad's yelling about how you were no longer “his little girl” reverberating off the walls, straight to your throbbing headache. 

You had sat, and stared as he whipped out his phone, barging off into the other room to make a call. That call had changed your summer. You had tried to tune out your father's voice to the best of your ability, and had mainly succeeded. Until the words “ I’m sending you to Parkers to clean you up” had left his lips. 

That- you could not ignore. 

Those words had led you to where you currently resided, sprawled out on the queen-sized bed in the guest bedroom of your father's best friend, Peter Parker. You felt like a child being scolded as you shuffled inside his front door, your dad's firm tone following you up the stairs as you tossed your bags on the bed. 

It had been hours since your last encounter with anyone, as you were too embarrassed to leave your quaint little room. It didn't help you had a massive crush on the man, Peter's good looks and simple gentleman charm lingering in your heart for years now. You got flustered whenever you were in a room with him, whether that was when he’d come over for family barbeques, or he was watching football with your father on the couch, the little boyish grin and wave he’d toss your way made your thighs clench together tightly. 

And now that you were in a house with him, his house- for months?! You simply thought you’d perish, your bones melting into butter as you’d mesh into a puddle on the floor of lovesick hornieness. The feelings he gave you made you feel like you were a kid again, and you loved and hated him for it. 

Not that he was aware of it, of course.

 He was polite when you entered his home, showing you where the towels and soap were, allowing you to help yourself to any food or drinks whenever you wanted. After that, he had left you alone in your thoughts. He understood you needed time, through that silent look the two of you had shared when your dad was rambling on about how he desperately needed Peter's help to help shape you up again. 

Like you were some form of clay, meant to be molded and toyed with. 

Peter had kept his lips shut firmly, and hadn't said anything about your recent activities that had you wound up in this mess in the first place. You adored that he knew exactly what you needed, but at the same time- you despised it. 

You hated how easy it was to fall for him, hated how much you loved him because he simply was what you craved.

 It was wrong, these feelings you had about the handsome, very single (you had confirmed many times, and had checked his fingers for rings every time you saw him) man in house 245 but honestly, it was becoming harder and harder to care. 

You sighed, hauling yourself out of the mess of soft sheets, getting bored of counting the sunrays that bounced off the vanity mirror and onto the ceiling. They no longer were there, the moon taking over its place instead. 

Stretching, you slid out of the bed, kicking your now empty bags in the corner of the room as you made your way over to the little window. You unlocked it with a click, sliding it up to allow the fresh, spring breeze to waft through the room, blowing the curtains and ruffling your hair. Ciaides sang as you looked out at the long twisted driveway, staring at the willow trees that adorned it. 

Suddenly, the smell of fresh cut grass had changed, you noticed- sniffing like a hound dog. 

You knew that smell anywhere.

 It was no longer fresh cut grass, but grass grass. 

Your gaze flickered down to where Peter sat on the front porch steps, freshly rolled blunt now lit from between his fingers, the smoke trailing up to your window. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head as you took him in, chocolate brown hair now messy as his baseball cap was sitting beside him, the tight-fitting tee making his large muscles bulge.

 And the sweatpants… sweet jesus. 

He had caught you staring, a smile on his face as he peered up at you, waving you over with a wave. Me? You mouthed, confused beyond belief. Peter, the man who was supposed to follow your father's commands to a tee, was inviting you down with him, with weed? Who else? he mouthed back, making you smile and shake your head. 

You turned and ran as fast as your legs could carry you down the steps and out the front door, the breeze making you shiver. Or maybe it was the close proximity between the two of you, his back within a few strides reach. 

You couldn't tell.

 “Hiya pumpkin.” his husky voice called out, followed by a breath of smoke. “Hi Mr. Parker.” you said hesitantly, making your way over to where he patted on the steps beside him. 

“I’ve told ya pumpkin, call me Peter. Please.” he smiled as you sat next to him, wrapping the oversized cardigan closer to your body. “Okay um- Peter, why’d you ask me down here?” you asked, confused as he turned to face you. 

The blunt was facing you, urging you to take it from his large fingers and take a drawl. “Wanna hit? Don’t wanna smoke alone.” You inhaled sharply, furrowing your eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me ‘clean up my act’?” 

Peter smiled, turning his head one way, then the other. “I don't see him out here, do you? Cmon pumpkin, I insist.” You shrugged, taking the joint from his fingers, taking an inhale. 

“There you go, that's a good girl. That wasn't so bad now was it?” he purred, making you squeak like a mouse as you exhaled, near coughing. The praise made your thighs clench,  and your heartbeat race.

 “What about my father?” He shrugged, taking the blunt back from you. “It can be our little secret pumpkin. One just for the two of us.” he exhaled, the smoke wrapping and curling up around your cheeks, making you giggle. 

Soon, the blunt was nearing its end and you had found your head in his lap, looking up at him with admiration. You took the last drawl, his fingers placing it between your parted lips as you inhaled, the smoke filling you to the brim. Your body was light and fuzzy, bones turned to jello as the weed coursed through your bloodstream, clouding your judgement. 

“You’re so pretty Peter.” you giggled, hands reaching up to stroke the stumble that was littered across his cheek, feeling his flushed cheeks. “Mmm am I pumpkin?” his red eyes narrowed, dimples forming as he grinned. “S’pretty. The prettiest- even.” You snapped your lips shut, realising what you had just said. 

You tended to talk, and talk when you were high, the guards that protected the gates between your thoughts and your vocal cords had left post, the gates left wide open. There was no filter. None. 

“Such a silly lil girl...” he cooed, hand coming down to stroke your hair. You leaned into his touch, purring like a kitten with yarn as he played with your hair, fingers brushing your flushed cheek ever so often. 

You felt like you were on cloud nine, floating between the clouds. Your body was simply jello, little fireworks exploding in your core as he coddled you. “Can I ask you something? Since ya know, we’re doin whatever this is.” 

You laughed. “What- sharing is caring? Shoot Parker.” you teased, giggling as he pinched your heated cheek between his fingers.  “I saw those gears turning in that pretty head of yours when you came in today pumpkin. Is there something else going on, besides this?” he asked softly, drumming his fingers on your scalp. 

You gulped.

 Peter could sense your uncertainty, watching the way you knawed on your lower lip as you struggled to find a response. “You don’t have to tell me pumpkin-”

 “No, no! It’s just… no ones really noticed. Or asked, I guess.” you answered, fully truthful. No one had ever really asked you what was wrong, or had even bothered to mention it. It felt… weird. But in a good way.

 Peter nodded, as if to say, take your time. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. “I’ve had a bad few months, and it might be selfish of me to say but, I feel like I’m not valid. My now ex-boyfriend cheated on me and broke my heart, school is stressing me out beyond belief, and my dad hasn't given me the time of day. He hasn’t in... years. I guess that's why I act out sometimes, cause I want his attention. I don't even care if it's good attention, or if he's yelling at this point… just.. something.” you confessed, fighting the urge to burrow your head in his chest, hiding away from the look of sorrow on Peter's face that held you close. 

There. It was out in the open, floating among the million, trillion other atoms in the universe. Just there, his for the taking.

 “ I’m sorry you've had a rough couple of months pumpkin, you don't deserve that. Not at all, you’re too precious for this world.” he whispered, his words making heat pool to your core. “School is school. I’m always here to help if you need it, don’t feel like you’re ever a bother. And your dad well…” he sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. 

“God love em, but sometimes… he doesn't get it. And I know he can be hard on you, but it's not fair to you pumpkin. He hasn't been giving you the sweet attention that you deserve, has he sweetheart? You deserve so much more.” 

You nodded, hypnotised by every word that left his mouth. You wished he’d talk for hours. Days, even. You never wanted him to stop, his voice oozing with a sweetness like the sweet cherry blossoms in your backyard, so soft and calming. Reassuring. 

“You’re not selfish. You’re malnourished of love, pumpkin. And you’re ex-boyfriend?! He’s a dick. He didn't deserve a sweet lil thing like you, he's a stupid college boy who only thinks with his cock.” You laughed at his words, realising the truth behind them. 

“Ya know he forced me to give him head, but never returned the favour?” Peter's eyes nearly popped out like a cartoon characters, his mouth hung wide open in astonishment. “What?!” he barked out, his hands sliding up to rub his face. 

“You spent time worrying about a guy who wouldn't even go down on you? Did he even make you cum?!” he shook his head in bewilderment. You knew probably was an inappropriate conversation to be having with a man your father's age, but the gates were down. The guards had left post for the time being, the weed taking their place. 

“Nopeee! Said it was gross.” you snorted, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as you turned your head to look up at the night sky, the stars shining above the two of you through the hazy clouds. You felt as if you could reach up and touch them, like you could lick the shimmer off their frail bodies. 

“Jesus pumpkin, you gotta get your priorities straight. Fuckin love eatin pussy.” he smiled, the confession making your head light and fuzzy. 

More fuzzy than the drugs. Which was saying quite a lot.

 “Mmm we should eat then.” you hinted, hand reaching up towards the sky. “Eat pussy?!” he laughed, fingers intertwining with yours as he brought your hand over your head, across his other knee. 

“Yes! I mean n-no. No, we should probably eat something. Like a wholeeee bunch of stuff. You know they have places with food all around the world, all in one place?!”

 “Like a buffet?” he snorted, watching as you sat upwards, gripping your head as the world tilted and turned from under you. “Yup! They got food I think.” you rambled, stumbling slightly as you stood up on the wooden step, thankful for Peter's large hand that slid back into yours to guide you back towards the door. 

“Well I don’t have a buffet in my house but I have blueberries. Will that work for you sweetheart?” You nodded, following the man as he slipped inside, making his way down the hall to the kitchen. 

You liked Peter like this. You liked Peter all the time, but you had never really seen him so… relaxed. He always seemed a bit uptight with your dad, always quiet and gentle whenever the rest of the guys would get rowdy. 

He was so easy to talk to, and fun. He made you feel valid, and wanted. Something you didn't realised you needed, until he blatantly pointed it out to you. 

The kitchen soon appeared, the dim yellow light still left on as the dishes sat drying on the rack. The image made you smile, the thoughts of him whistling a tune while drying the plates and spoons with that little white tea towel making your heart jump three sizes larger. 

Yes, Peter was fun and carefree, like a teenager finding his wings to fly for the first time, but there was another part of him. The wise side, where he’d wash the dishes and give advice, when he’d read the newspaper with his morning coffee and had the urge to take care of you. 

To shelter you, in a way. You loved both sides of him. And now… after the conversation that had just taken place, you weren't so sure if you hated how easy it was to love him. 

You loved it, you loved him, you loved everything everyone else in your life couldn't be. 

“Catch.” he called, that being the only warning before a blueberry was tossed up in the air from the woven basket, landing on your tongue. The juices soaked your tongue, and you swallowed the fresh fruit was a moan. 

“S’good.” you smiled, trailing over towards the couch, where you jumped down with a plop. “We should play a game.” you declared, stealing another berry from him as he sat down on the soft cushions next to you, placing the basket on the coffee table in front of the two of you.

 “A game hmm? Like what pumpkin?” he asked, popping the fruit between his pearly whites with a wink. “Two truths n a lie. If we guess the two truths, we get blueberries.” you giggled, lying back against the cozy armrest to face him. 

The sight of him so relaxed, his head lolled against the back cushions, a boyish grin on his face as he took in your body made you giddy, your toes curling in your socks. You hated manspreading, you really did. But the way his hands were resting on his thighs, the way those damn sweatpants left so little to the imagination… 

“Who goes first?” he whispered, voice seeming to drop an octave as his red eyes slid over your body, resting on your bare thighs that your hiked-up shorts had now displayed. 

“You. Cause I make the rules.” you drawled, the wetness in your panties becoming near unbearable. You felt exposed as he raked you over, as if he could see right through your skippy shorts, directly to the throbbing of your clit. 

Clenching your fingers into fists, you physically detained yourself from touching yourself, or Peter. He smiled, a cheshire cats look flashed across his face. 

Mischievous.

 “Whatever you say pumpkin. Hmmm lets see…” he rasped, hand coming over to rest on your leg, the back of his knuckle stroking your skin at a teasing pace. 

“Every single day, I think of how amazing you’d taste on my tongue. So sweet, so divine. Like those raspberry tarts you’d always make me in the summer. And the sounds you’d make.. whining, just begging under me..” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, the air suddenly becoming too hot to breathe.  Surely you were imagining things.. right? Peter chuckled at the frozen expression you made, could hear the way your heart pounded widely under your ribcage.

 Anyone could.

 It was thumbing so loudly you surly thought it’d pound out of your chest, and take an evening stroll. 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself pumpkin, my apologies. Number two… is that I think of all the ways I could stuff you full of my cum. Watch it ooze out of your abused hole, and scoop it back in with my fingers. Where it belongs. Or I could cum inside that pretty little ass of yours, just begging to be full. You’d like a plug, wouldn't you honey?” he cooed, watching the way you shimmed against the couch, wrapping your ankles around one another. 

It was agony. And he knew this. 

“Number three is that I’ve never ever jerked myself off to the thought of you sweetheart. Take your pick.” he smiled, pinching your skin playfully as you squeaked. 

“N-number three is the lie..” you whispered, voice near cracking as you felt his hand inch up towards your thighs. “Aren’t you a smart lil girl? Open up.” he teased, placing a blueberry between his fingers, setting it down on your outstretched tongue which you had so obediently placed out with him without hesitation.

 “Good girl sweetheart. Your turn!” he smiled innocently, as if he hadn't just confessed the dirty thoughts that had been running through that beautiful head of his. You were at a loss for words, truly. “Peter I-” 

“Oh don’t get shy now honey, you wanted to play did you not? So play the game. I can smell you, so there's no point in acting innocent.” 

There was no way of getting out of this. And truth be told, you were happy about that. You were beyond pleased to be wrapped in this mans web, him being the spider and you the fly.

 “U-um, I think of you when I touch myself-” 

“Show me.” 

It wasn't him asking, it wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. His tone was laced with authority, puplis blown wide as he turned to fully face you. “W-what?” 

“Show me pumpkin. Make your daddy proud.” he cooed, hands slipping to rest between your bent legs, spreading them ever so slightly, hands chill against the fire burning from under your skin “But that wasn't the rules!” you gasped, choking on a moan as he neared your clothed core, near centimeters from discovering the juices that lingered there. “Daddy?”

 “I thought I asked you to not act innocent pumpkin? Don't you remember that summer pool party your mother held last summer? When you went inside, to get a ‘few drinks’?” 

The memories of that warm summer's day hit you like a freight train, thoughts flooding in like a river overflown. Peter had looked so delicious, his muscles rippling with each stroke he swam in the water, the water dripping down from his hair, down his biceps and abs chiselled so perfectly you swore the gods had carved them by hand. 

It was too much. 

The summer heat wasn't the only thing making you flustered, as you had ran up the stairs, bolting to your room before your hand slipped under your bikini bottoms. 

“Ohh daddy please!” you had cried into your pillow, attempting to muffle the sounds of your heavy breathing as you came around your digits. You were too lost in headspace and far too needy to realise that the door had not been firmly shut, Peter's body lingering on the other side. 

“Oh.” you breathed, wetting your lips with your tongue as he slid his hands up to tug at your shorts. “You put on such a pretty show for me pumpkin. Took everything in my power not to barge in there, and fuck you right. Fuck you how you deserve to be fucked.” he growled, watching as you shivered from the cool air hitting your exposed cunt. 

“Such a pretty pussy baby. Go on, play with her. She deserves it, no?” You nodded, every nerve in your body tingling as you brought your hand down to the place you needed it most. 

“Daddy please!” you moaned, fingers strumming your clit, playing it like a harp, rewarding sounds from you that could be placed in an orchastra. Peter's eyes were hungry as they took you in, and you couldn't help but notice his hand palming himself through those damn sweatpants. 

“Listen to how wet you are for daddy, pretty girl.” he groaned, watching the way your fingers would pump inside your entrance, the sound of your juices sloshing through the air. You moaned at his words, back arching as you slipped your other hand up to cup your breast, tugging and teasing as you continued to do as Peter asked. 

“Want you to fuck me daddy, want you to fill me up-” you gasped, your hips rutting on their own as he cursed. “Fuck angel, eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me, that's a good girl.” he smiled as you forced your eyes back open, to meet his once more. 

“You listen so well, you know that pumpkin? You’re such a good little girl, always pleasing me. I don’t even gotta fuck you into submission, you're already a dumb little hole for daddy to use.” 

You didn't have time to say a word before your hands were replaced with his tongue, his guiding your legs over each shoulder, hands clenching your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “D-daddy it tingles!” you screamed, the fire in your core turning into molten lava as he licked up your center in one stroke. 

“You taste amazing baby, so good to me.” he moaned, wrapping his lips around your quivering bud and sucking. Bucking your hips, you mewled, hands coming down to run through his hair, pushing down on his head. You were overstimulated beyond belief, your legs shaking as he teased, switching his strokes between little kitty licks and  long caresses.

 “Shh, shh stay down for me baby.” he cooed, hand coming up to press down on your lower core, keeping your hips trapped in place as you squirmed. 

Whether it was the weed making your head dizzy, or the pure bliss you were enduring, you felt your orgasm approaching at lightning speed. “Peter I’m cumming I’m-” You had no time for a fair warning before your hips grinded down on his face, juices squirting across his pretty pink cheeks.

 “Oh fuck sweetheart.” he moaned, lapping up your cream like a man starved, fingers leaving bruises as he forced you down even though you cried. “Feeding daddy so well pumpkin, I’m so so proud of you.” he cooed gently, your juices staining his chin as he peered up at you from his place between your bruised thighs. 

The need to have him, to have him take you overwhelmed your body whole ate you alive, puppet strings causing your hands to run through his silk locks, tugging on them with a groan.

 “Need you.” you moaned, any logical thoughts out the window as you took him in, peering up at you lustfully as your head lolled back against the cushions. “Pumpkin I’m too big for you. You’re so little, I haven't had time to prep you yet and-”

 “Don't care. D’care- need you. Need you so so badly.” you mumbled incoherently, beginning to whine impatiently as he stroked your quivering thighs.The sensations you felt were too much, too powerful. Peter knew this as finally, he gave in. 

“Alright, alright sweet girl. I’ll give you what you need okay? Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” 

“Yes, yes, ohgodsye-” you sucked in a gasp as he neared your soaked entrance again, his hard, aching cock now freed from its restraints. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?” he whispered, voice soft and hazy as he positioned himself on top of you. 

Dominating you. 

You nodded, taking a deep breath with him as he inched closer towards you, wrapping your legs around his middle. “Peter I don’t think I- OH!” the sudden intrusion made you scream, and for good reason. 

He was massive. And he wasn't even in fully yet. 

“Sorry baby, daddy couldn't help himself.” he groaned, head hanging low to brush your temples together as he seated himself inside you. 

“I wanna take it slow with you, cause you’re so little compared to be but god fuck Y/N- you- you make it so difficult.” he hissed through clenched teeth as you stretched around him, little moans and whimpers echoing in his hazy mind as he sheathed himself fully inside you. A bulge was formed at you belly, a little indication that this man was literally up in your guts. 

“Y’can go as rough as you want daddy, just want you.” you hiccuped, fully under his spell as his hand came down to press on the bulge, making you moan. “You’re so sweet angel, but its time for me to take care of you… hmm?” he whispered, kissing your temple as he shifted his hips, slightly exited you as he slammed back in, hitting home with a choked moan of your name. 

“ S’good. You feel so good- so tight n wet, keepin me warm..” he trailed off, picking up a pace with the snap of his hips as you mindless babbled from under him. His cock reached places you had never known were possible, your g-spot being caressed with every thrust of his hips.

 “Ruinin you for those silly little boys at school, aren’t I pumpkin?” he cooed, eyes burning into yours as you furiously nodded. “S’good daddy you’re fucking me so good…” you mewled, fingers digging into his biceps hard enough to leave little crescent moons as he railed you into another century.

 “Want me to fill you baby? My dumb lil girl, all you’re good for is breeding huh? Just a hole for her daddy to use.” 

You didn't know where the degradation came from, but god you loved it. Your orgasm neared again, and it didn't take long before your toes recurled, scratches at his arms becoming frantic as the heat in your core burned and blazed. 

“Daddy I’m gonna-” You clenched around him hard, head thrown back in bliss as you cried out his name, cumming around his cock.

 “Such a good girl, such a good good girl…” he trailed off, peppering your neck in kisses as he rode you through your orgasm, his own near approaching. 

“Daddy I’m sensitive I’m soosos sensitive-” you mewled as he used you, his hips begging to falter, your words spurring him on even more. “ I know baby, its all gonna be over soon. Being so good to me.” he murmured, the little clench you gave him sending him over the edge.

 He groaned out your name, chanting it like a mantra as he filled you to the brim, stuffing you full. 

Just as he promised.

 His hair tickled your cheeks as his head drooped, his cheeks even more flushed as he murmured soft praises to you.  “Makin a mess..” you giggled softly as he smiled, panting as he slowly removed himself from you, his cum spilling out of your abused hole and onto the couch cushions. 

“Then it’s a good thing you’ll be cleaning it up, isn't it pumpkin?” he winked, grabbing a blueberry from the basket. With a smirk, he slid a finger across your soaked folds, smile becoming even wider as he heard you groan and saw you squirmed from his actions. 

Smearing the cum across the blueberry, he neared it towards your parted lips. 

“Blueberry?” 

You smiled, opening wide as he placed the blueberry on your tongue, watching as you closed your mouth around his finger, sucking it dry. 

[lxinesux]

i’m holding my breath for you

Characters: Tasm!Peter Parker

Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader

Summary: Reader regrets her time with Peter and attempts to push him away to get her friendship back. Peter does not take it well. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Blood, Fingering,Loss of Virginity, Floor + Counter Sex, Creampie, mildly dark!Peter, Possessive Sex

A/N: There’s a read more because this gets smuttyish pretty early. love creepy peter, hes just a liddle freak 😭. this is the unexpected second part of a story i posted in june-ish. read the first part here!

It had happened, it was real.

He got to touch the untouchable-make you cry out and cum and squirm. He did that. He had been the first to do that.

He’d wanted to fuck you-either with his fingers or his cock-but you were way too spent. He teased you relentlessly in the shower-chasing water droplets that ran over your body with his mouth, touching you all over, kissing you roughly against the shower wall.

You were irresistible, adorable, as you shied away from him, trying to keep his hands above your waist.

“I don’t think…I can’t…”

You could. You could come again. Over and over and over until you couldn’t stand. But he didn’t want to push you. That had been your first orgasm with another person. Stamina could be worked on later.

You were in your head, too. He could tell. You were never the most talkative but there was something going on between your ears he desperately wanted to know about.

Did you regret it? What happened?

Fuck. Did you not trust him anymore?

Was there a way for him to regain that trust?

-

He corners you in the kitchen, the smallest room in the entire apartment. It was very easy to do, given how small you were in comparison to him.

“We have to talk.”

“About what?” You turn away from him, trying to organize the groceries you bought on your measly paycheck. There wasn’t much, and he could tell you were avoiding him. You could only pick up and put down the same clementine before it became personal.

“About…that.”

“No, we don’t.”

His heart breaks a little.

He thought he’d made his case very clear and apparent.

He was in love with you. Had been for a very long time.

“I haven’t felt the way I do about you since…”

The silence lingers heavily in the kitchen. Your spine is ramrod straight, shoulders tensed. And you’re not looking at him.

Looking like a perfect soldier. Looking like you weren’t human, but a perfect robotic clone. The portrait of frigidity.

His stomach twists. Okay. Alright.

“Forget I said anything. We can just…we can go back to where we were before.”

“Can we?”

The knife between his ribs twists. Wonderful. Great.

“I don’t see why not. We can just..forget this happened.”

“Peter…”

He brushes past you, “Gotta head out.”

“Peter, wait-”

“‘Ts fine. There’s nothing left to say, fresh restart. Factory settings. Just…stop.”

And you do stop. You watch helplessly as he crawls out of the window and into the frigid night air.

-

Peter was avoiding you entirely.

You attempt to wait up for him, now that he’d made a habit of going on patrol without you. But more than once, you would fall asleep.

You found yourself missing him. The smell of his skin, his hair tickling your nose, the feeling of his arms around you while you slept.

The few times you saw each other in the apartment, he was curt if he made conversation at all. Not even a good morning or good night, just ‘hey’ and ‘bye.’

You’d rather be in the basement at Oscorp getting your brain scrambled than deal with this pain.

-

You had gone on your own patrol and had gotten back way past mid morning in an attempt not to run into Peter. You’d changed into your civies and walked through the front door-

There’s a stranger in your apartment.

She must have not seen you or if she’d seen you, she didn’t care. The entire apartment smells like breakfast-smoky and sweet alongside the bitter sting of coffee.

And she’s wearing Peter’s favorite t-shirt.

It’s fucking Lucy. Lucy from fucking accounting. She couldn’t figure out how to use the copy machine. The goddamn copy machine!

And she was in your shared apartment.

She had slept here, had slept in Peter’s bed, your bed.

She fucked your Peter.

The kitchen isn’t that large, the aisle blocking off the living room is short enough that the two of you make eye contact as soon as she turns her head.

“Lucy, I told you to-” Peter’s voice comes from behind you.

“Get the fuck out of our house.”

How dare he. How fucking dare he. Fucking sleep with some random girl beause you wanted space? You wanted his friendship back and he fucks LUCY?

Her lips are parting, like she wants to say something. Her hand is on her hips, like you’re just some girl in competition. Like you didn’t know how to break her neck in a millisecond, like you didn’t have the training to ruin that pretty face.

In an instant, she was an enemy and your programming slams into overdrive. You’re up and over the counter in a millisecond, the t-shirt bunched into your first.

Superhuman strength is a blessing and a curse. You only mean to maybe shove her lightly.

What you do instead is leave a Lucy sized hole in the cheap door to your apartment. She lands at the end of the hall. Every door on the floor is flung open, revealing shock and amused faces alike-all of them turned to you.

-

“You’re so lucky we weren’t evicted,” He sighed, “And that Lucy was only a little bruised.”

A little bruised was an understatement. Lucy has a contusion in her shoulder that’ll take weeks to heal.

You tried not to look too pleased at the news as you helped Peter install the new door.

“She’s lucky she was only bruised,” You breathe through your nose.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Why did you even bring her here? Couldn’t you guys shack up at her place or something?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back before morning.” He actually has the grace to look guilty, maybe a little sad.

“Whatever.”

More silence.

You chew diligently on your bottom lip until he speaks.

“I’m sorry. It’s been weird these past few weeks. I think…I think it’d be best if I moved out?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, you’re actually comfortable like this? We nearly fuck, we kiss. You mauled my one-night stand! You push me away, you try to reel me back in. Forgive me for getting mixed signals!” His hands move into his hair, running his fingers through it, “I can’t do this anymore, I really can’t! Seeing you, it’s like…it’s fucking torture. I can’t do it.”

“You don’t talk to me for weeks and this is what you have to say!? You think this is easy for me?! God, Peter! I don’t know how to feel about you! I’m a fucking lab experiment gone rogue! I’m barely a person! What part of that screams girlfriend material to you!”

“I’ll let the landlord know I’m getting off the lease. I’ll be out at the end of the month.”

“So that’s it?”

“I can call Stark back, so you aren’t by yourself. I know you hate that. I don’t want you to have to be alone. We just…can’t be alone together. Not like this. Not until I’m over this…”

“Fuck you, Peter Parker.”

The new door slams, the hinges cracking.

-

You’re awake for hours, waiting for him to come home. You smell him before you see him.

Blood. You smell blood, thick and salty, and wrong on Peter.

His suit has been shredded along his abdomen, the blood making the spandex cling to the open wounds.

He nearly falls through the window and you catch him before he hits the floor. Guilt is swift and immediate.

Wordlessly, you help him to the bathroom. He doesn’t fuss, doesn’t put up a fight.

You peel off his suit gently, careful of the-are those claw marks in his chest? Before you can grab the first aid, his fingers are loosely wrapped around your wrist. He pulls you towards him. Pressing you against him, his sweaty bloody body touching your skin. He lets out a tense breath.

“Peter-”

“Just let me hold you. Just for a little bit.”

You can’t say no to him. You let him run his fingers through your hair, rub your back. Gently, you lay your head on his shoulder, trying to be careful of his wounds but selfishly trying to soak up all the emotion and touch you haven’t felt in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” He breathes out after a long stretch of silence.

“I..I’m sorry, too.”

“I kept trying to push you.”

“I was trying to protect you from me.”

He takes your face in his hands. His blood feels tacky on your cheeks. He brings your foreheads together, his breath warm against your lips. You remember what it was like to kiss him. How he’d begged for it, begged for something so simple as that.

The thought makes your body pulse in ways you don’t want to think about. Not right now. His thumb rubs against your cheek, leaving your flesh tingling in its wake.

“I don’t need you to protect me. Let alone protect me from something I want.”

“I told you before, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

He chuckles weakly before letting you go. You grab the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet but still feel his eyes tracing along your back. When you turn, he doesn’t shy away from his staring, a goofy smile still plastered on his face.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Peter, can you focus?”

“So mean to me,” He pouts when you come near him, “I’m injured and you won’t kiss me better?”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Healing factor is making you loopy. Sit up straight, I’m going to disinfect your wounds.”

“Yes ma’am,” In the same scratchy voice that he had when he-

Ugh. You are not thinking about that right now. Even if he’s being too handsy, running his hands over your hips, up your sides. Trying to pull you into his lap.

“I can smell it, ya know? Super senses.”

You want to dose him with the rubbing alcohol bottle just to get him to stop talking. His blood was clotting nicely and you’ve since surmised that most if the blood on him wasn’t him as you feared.

“Smell what?” You dab him gently instead. A tight, clean gauze dressing and the deep marks should go away in a few days. You apply the clean cotton and begin to wrap him up, seconds away from applying skin safe tape.

“When your cunt’s wet, when I turn you on. Like now. Can smell it, always have. That’s how I know you want this too, you’re just scared.”

Your noses touch when you look at him earnestly, “I am scared.”

“I’m scared, too,” His fingers move through your hair, his eyes scan your face, “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t wanna lose your trust.”

It feels good. The silence surrounding you doesn’t feel as oppressive knowing that you’re both in it together. Your eyes close without your permission, lounging once again the comfort of just having Peter touch you again.

“I trust you, Peter.”

You feel his face move further toward you, his lips inches away from yours.

“Say that again,” he whispers breathlessly, “Please, say that again.”

“I trust you.”

-

It was the closest thing to confirmation he was ever going to get, but he’d take it.

His lips press against yours, a soft peck. Another and another until he can feel your body relax. He’s been so starved of you, greed fills him when your lips part. He lifts you up, possessive hands firm on your ass.

God, you were soft. So soft and warm. He wants to devour you, piece by piece.

He puts you on the bathroom counter, your legs hike up over his hips. Your pussy is pressed against the tent in his pants through your thin sleep shorts.

He won’t pull away. His lips leave yours only briefly to catch his breath. Your shaky hands move through his hair and he shutters.

“Missed you so bad,” He whispers, “Missed you so fucking bad.”

His hands move up your shirt, his warm hands traveling up to your bra and then running back down to your thighs.

You whimper, your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. His lips trail pecks from your mouth, across your cheek, and down your neck. The soft noises you make control him. You’ve never experienced pleasure like this and he wanted to be the only one to give it to you.

The only person you’ll ever have. The idea of anyone else seeing you melt like this makes him suck the sensitive skin of your neck between his teeth.

“Peter-“ Slightly desperate. Begging almost.

He pets your hair, “Shh, baby. I’m right here. Do you feel me?”

He pulls your hips tighter to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. When you hiss between your teeth, he can feel himself leak precum.

“Y…yeah…” You move minutely against him, “Yeah, feel you. Feels good…”

He kisses you again, just to taste the words. He pulls away just to get your shirt off. New skin for him to put his mouth on. He unhooks your bra easily, how starved he was for your flesh. He mouths along your collarbones, leaving bruises with his mouth that would linger on your skin.

He kisses down your chest. Your nipples are hard and pink and distracting.

“Peter, Peter, I-“

His tongue swirls around a nub, the other is tortured by his fingers. He pulls it away from your flesh. You try to move your chest further into his face. Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. You gasp and writhe.

Fuck, you’re getting so wet too. He can feel it against him, dampening the front of your panties and his Spidey suit.

His cock aches. He needed to be inside you, couldn’t take getting pushed away again. He was going insane. He was going to jump out of his skin if he had to wait any longer.

“Get down.”

“Wha?” Your voice is thick and heavy. Your eyes are glazed over. It’s making it so much worse.

“Get down, lean over the counter.”

For the first time in weeks, you do as you're told. Your panties are around your ankles before you realize it. He spreads your ankles apart.

Your pussy is pink and glistening. His mouth waters while he admires it. You whine.

“Nah baby, don’t be embarrassed. Most perfect thing I have ever seen…” He kisses along your shoulders, down your back.

His hand moves between your thighs, “You’ve never had anything inside this sweet pussy, have you?”

Your cheeks are flushed, “No…”

He smiles, reaching around your front and pressing against your clit.

“Oh my god-“

“Breathe, baby,” He presses the tip of one finger against your opening, “Gonna open you up so I don’t hurt you. It’ll feel good, I promise. Just breathe.”

One finger slides in instantly. In and out, hearing the sound of your soaked cunt. He can see your legs lock at first as you feel the awkward pressure. You relax again when you get accustomed to one finger. Another slides alongside and you keen as the press against that spot inside you.

“Too much…” You whimper.

“Pretty girl, I know you can take more,” His fingers speed up slightly as you leak against him, “Fuck, you’re so tight. Been dreaming about you cumming around my cock…”

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth opens just slightly. Your hips move back against his fingers. You might be trying to say something, but the only thing Peter can hear is-

“Ah, ah, fuck, please…”

Your face in the mirror is gonna make him lose it. He gently tilts your head back.

“Look at yourself,” He whispers in your ear, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, “Look at what I’m doing to you…”

Another finger, his free hand returns home to your clit. You don’t avert your eyes, even though you really want to. Watching your own skin flush, your pupils unfocuses, your jaw slack.

“‘m so close…so close…”

Embarrassing for you, arousing for him.

He pulls his hands away from you. You whine, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “No!”

You feel the tip of him press against your hole. Protests die in your throat. He’s big. So big, you don’t know if he’ll fit. He might tear you apart. You feel so empty though, open and ready. If he doesn’t do something, your heart is gonna explode in your chest.

You trust him.

He’s trying so hard to be patient. You’re a fucking velvet vice around the head of his cock and he wants to feel you all around him. He pushes in farther, letting out a strained moan.

Your breathing picks up, your eyes squeeze shut. He knows before you say. He can feel your walls pulse, your thighs quivering-

“Cumming, Peter, fuck I’m gonna-“

He nearly finishes right there and then. Your cunt tightens impossibly around him, trying to milk him for all his worth. Your body crumples, nearly hitting the floor. He holds you while you shutter through it, kissing along your temple.

He guides you gently to the floor, laying you on your back before boxing you in with his own. He guides your thighs over his hips.

He slides in much easier after your first orgasm. By the time he’s fully seated inside you, you already accept your fate. He takes a minute to look where you're conjoined, your puffy pussy taking all of him.

He pulls out just enough before slamming back in, watching your face. Your groan, your head lulling back. He does it again, and again. Shallow, slow thrusts to get you used to the weight of him. He’s seeing stars behind his eyes, watching your face contort while he overstimulates you on purpose.

“You’ve got more in you,” He pants out, “I know you’ve got more in you.”

Those swallow thrusts change into deeper, faster ones. Hitting that spot inside you over and over. Your skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, his blood is drying on your body. The sight of it is making him insane. Peter leans over and starts sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your neck. His teeth trace your jugular.

“One more,” He breathes in your ear, “Gimme one more…”

Your abs are twitching underneath him, whimpering and whining and clinging to him. You say his name over and over, like it’s the only word that exists in your brain.

His thrusts get more sloppy, feeling your own second impending orgasm build pushes him toward the edge.

“Gonna cum inside you…” Not a question, a statement.

No going back.

You only cry out, seeking out his mouth to drown out the embarrassing noises you’re making. He licks into your mouth just as you tighten and gush around him again.

With one final thrust, he cums deep inside you. He bites down hard on your lower lip.

Now, he’s got your blood on him. No matter how small the amount.

“I love you,” He whispers against your skin, “I love you…”

You nod, struggling to catch your breath. You lean your head against him.

“If you love me, really, you’ll help me clean up.”

He laughs. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve heard in weeks.

“Fine,” He presses a noisey kiss to the crown of your head, “Shower?”

“A shower shower,” You say, “No funny business.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Christ, Peter, at least wait until I can stand…”

It’s a start.