B I S H O P L I K E C H E S S

But it didn't.

He sat there, watching you laugh with the others, like your normal self. He knew you wouldn’t show any emotions that you were feeling, and that made him feel worse. He wishes you’d just slap him instead of acting like whatever happened didn’t affect you in the slightest.

He knew. 

He knew what you felt for him, and he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t a part of him that felt the same.

But he’d always love Lily more.

And you were his best friend. The fear of messing things up with you at some point and then losing you, terrified him.

However, something told him that he’d lost you already.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

He stayed up,  constantly thinking about you and your expression that day.

And the haunting fear stayed.

He felt like he was drowning and usually he’d go to you. But he couldn’t. Not this time. Not when you were probably in the same situation, a little farther down, struggling to swim up with your own weight tied to your feet.

He lay there, counting the hours, until he decided he couldn’t anymore, and walked down to the common room.

And he instantly wished he hadn’t.

You were sitting there, a blank look on your face as you stared off into nothingness. 

He felt you slipping away from his fingers then. Because at times like this, he’d be the first you called.

But of course, he’d never been the reason for this before.

He stood, frozen, unsure what to do, and maybe he should’ve decided sooner, because you seemed to realize you weren’t alone, and turned to face him.

“Hey James.” You’re surprised, he can tell, but he doesn’t move, still scared to make any decision. The last time he had to make a tough choice is what led to this in the first place, and now he was too scared to move.

You pat the seat next you, and he thinks that maybe it’s the right thing to do. Maybe this will fix everything. Maybe you’re not as affected by it as he thought.

But as he sits down, he knows he’s wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

You’re wearing Sirius’s oversized sweater.

He gave it to you because he didn’t like how loose it was, and you’d started wearing it when you were in a bad mood. You said that it provided comfort to you, and that whenever you wrapped your arms around yourself, the extra cloth would bunch up, making you feel like you were being hugged.

The second he saw it, James’s resolve broke.

The tears flowed freely, a sob wracking his body.

He felt so stupid for crying when clearly you were hurting more.

You didn’t react immediately, watching him as he continued to sob into his hands. And James thought that it was for the best. He didn’t want you to comfort him. He wanted you to cry as well, cursing him for ever deciding to choose Lily over you.

But of course, you’d never do that.

You wrapped your arms around his body, resting your cheek against his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered.

“No, no it’s not,” James replied, still crying. Why wouldn’t you just yell at him? Why couldn’t you call him out for how unfair he was being?

You shush him, gently rubbing his hand.

“This is it isn’t it? I-I’m gonna lose you,” He muttered, and he felt you freeze. He was right. Of course he was. Who would stay with him after what he’d just done?

But you didn’t let go.

You pulled him towards you, so that his head was resting on your chest, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“You’re not gonna lose me Jamie. At least, not forever,” you mutter, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t know what you meant. But it only made the pain in his chest double. Usually being your arms released the building pressure, but this time, it only amplified.

He couldn’t even imagine how you felt.

“Please yell at me. Curse me, do something but please please don’t sit here and hug me after everything I’ve done,” he voice was pleading. He needed you to do that so that he didn’t have to see you upset tomorrow. Or watch you laugh, knowing the truth of how much this had affected you.

But your arms only tightened around him.

“No,” You whisper, your voice shaky. 

You’re crying.

“I get it. She’s the love of your life. I’m not mad. I’m not upset,” you pause, your hands gently rubbing his back, “not upset with you at least,” you mutter.

James knows what you mean. You’d always compared yourself with Lily. She was the only person who you deemed worthy enough to be your competition, for many things. You two were friends and you’d never let that get compromised. Not even now. But you’d always felt insecure when it came to her.

And James had only fueled it.

He couldn’t tell you to not compare yourself with her, after he’d literally chosen her over you.

But you were both different people and he wanted you to know that.

He pulled away, looking at your tear stained face. “Please don’t compare yourself,” he muttered. Ashamed that he was even in a situation like this in the first place.

You smiled sadly, sniffling, “Kinda hard not to. It’s okay. I just need…time,” you say nodding your head.

You took your hands in his, and internally, James begged for another try. He wanted a chance to go back in time, to fix things.

But he knew that would be wrong.

Because it was the truth. He loved Lily more. He always had, and he always would.

Yet the crushing feeling of losing you overpowered that love right now.

“I’m gonna need time,” you avoided his gaze, looking down at your intertwined hands, tears falling onto them.

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing full well what you were going to say next, and it crushed him.

“I need some time away from you. You’re not losing me but-” Your voice cracked and you trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.

It hurt way more hearing you say it.

His grip on your hands tightened. “No. No please. For how long? I need you.”

You let out a small laugh, and for the first time since James had met you, he felt the bitter touch. “That’s not fair James,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ll come back, just give me some time.”

You were slipping away. Fast. 

And there was nothing he could do about it.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whispered, running your thumb over his knuckles. “You’re gonna be okay. You don’t need me. You have Lily, you have the boys and if something really bad happens I’m always right here. I just…I just need some time,” you muttered, looking at him.

James felt like he was being torn apart. He watched your hurt eyes, contradicting the soft smile on your face. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never had. But he couldn’t deny his strong feelings for the redhead. He knew you’d only be even more hurt if he’d chosen you while loving the other girl more.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sniffling, as the tears continued to fall. 

“I know James. It’s okay,” you mutter.

You pat his hands before pulling away, bending over to press your lips against his forehead.

You stay like that for a moment and James feels like dying.

You always care so much. No matter how much someone hurts you, you always care. You shouldn’t be comforting him right now. Not when you’re probably hurting more. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” you say once more as you move away, standing up.

Then you’re walking away from him and up to the dorms and with each step James feels you slip away.

Until he can no longer see you, and he knows you’re gone.

Maybe not permanently. But you both will never be the same again. Because you’ll no longer look at him like he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. And he’ll never be able to forgive himself for hurting you like this.

But you’re gone now and all he can do is pray that you’ll come back.

-------

We have a code. No women, no children. So, today is your lucky day, miss. You get to live. For now at least…

The captain's words still rang in your ears, even now as you were fighting hard to stay awake, jerking every two seconds to rip yourself out of slumber. Even with cold and heavy manacles restricting your movements and effectively keeping you upright on your tired feet, sleep was still inevitable, no matter how uncomfortable or scared you were. 

You were down in the makeshift brig below decks, it was really just some chilly quarters used for storage purposes but being chained to one of the thick wooden pillars standing tall by one of the forever-dampened walls made this room on the black sailed ship seem like as much of a prison as any to a young and wide-eyed lady such as yourself. 

Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open, letting in a sliver of moonlight from above. Stirring, you jolted upright and warned the unwanted guest still completely enveloped in the shadows, “don’t come any closer! I swear, I-I’ll scream!”

“Miss,” the man's tone was careful not to spook you, “you forget you’re on a pirate ship.”

Suppose that was true. You had screamed yourself hoarse till the sun went down and not an eye had come down to check on you. 

Stepping into the low light, you saw a young man. Catching you off guard, behind the scarred and rough exterior, peeped a pair of kind amber eyes. His unkempt chocolate hair was tied together with a thin leather cord and in his clearly yielding, upturned hands were what looked like a stale piece of bread. 

“I just thought you might be hungry,” he offered, but when your frightened expression didn’t waver, he said, “tell you what,” and unholstered the small blade at his side, causing you to flinch, “how about I set this down right here,” letting it clang atop a barrel by the door, “I promise that is the only weapon on me.”

When you didn’t reply, he simply accepted that would be as much of a confirmation as he would get under these pressing circumstances. 

“Here,” he held out the chunk of bread for you to take a bite, but when you simply eyed it mistrustingly, he added, “it’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re a pirate after all.”

Tearing off a corner of the crust himself, he chewed, “see, if it is, then I’ll join you in the grave.”

Holding his gaze, you slowly opened your mouth just ever so slightly. Lifting it up to touch your lips, you eventually bit down on the rough bread. Chewing on it for what felt like forever, it completely dried out your mouth and made the swallowing part even more difficult. Maybe because he himself just had a taste, “oh, here,” he got out his waterskin, “this might help,” and popped off the small cork. 

Carefully helping you take a sip, the strong drink within it made you cough and nearly choke on the last remaining crumbs.

“Sorry,” he apologised for the unexpected beverage and instinctually caught the drop of rum that trickled down the corner of your mouth with his knuckle, unfortunately causing you to jump back at the contact. 

After an apologetic glance, he aided you in the consumption of the rest of the simple meal, till no crumbs were left. 

You didn’t remember seeing him on the boat when the rest of the pirates pillaged and slayed the small crew you travelled along with to get to your destination on the other side of the ocean.

As the man turned to leave, you finally spoke up, “wait,” and he turned to look at you, “what’s your name?”

“Moony, miss,” he answered out of habit, but then corrected himself, “or that’s what the crew calls me. My real name is Remus. Remus Lupin.”

As Remus sneaked down to see you, scavenged food in hand, every night for weeks, the primal desperation to simply settle your rumbling tummy gradually turned into something else. He became an unexpected comfort on this horrid ship. 

Early on in his visits, he had pushed one of the heavy barrels over towards you, giving you a spot to sit on and a chance to rest your sore legs. 

When noticing how you slowly began to relax more around him, he found his mouth running off as he helped you eat, telling you cautionary tales of creatures of the sea. Everything from mermaids to krakens flowed from the natural storyteller’s lips, legends that often stretched out long after you had had your last bite. 

But tonight, when he wrapped up his dramatic fable and turned to leave, you yelped, “wait! don’t go! Please, not yet. Just stay until I fall asleep.”

Not needing to be convinced, he simply smiled and scooted a large crate over beside you. Feeling a couple of butterflies flutter around your belly as he moved it with surprising ease, you averted your gaze. As per usual, the sleeves on his tunic had been rolled up, making it easy for you to spot how his burly forearms flexed and danced under the strenuous work. Taking a deep breath, you tried to settle the flutter, though it didn’t help much when the crate finally came to a stop right beside your makeshift chair, and he hopped up to sit down right next to you. 

“Just as long as I get back before people start to wake up, then I can stay here as long as you want,” he bowed his head to catch your eye, offering you a kind smile.

Feeling your shoulders relax, you asked with a low voice, “could you maybe tell me another one?”

The corners of his lips curled up once more and he breathed out, “sure,” leaning back against the wall, he found a spot on the ceiling to fix his gaze upon and let out a soft hum, thinking of what story to tell next. 

When he finally began, it didn’t take too long for your tired neck to give in and bend down to rest your head upon his broad shoulder.

“What’s with all the yelling?” you asked as soon as you saw the face of Remus appear and before he even closed the door completely causing him to shoot you a nervous look, wordlessly telling you to lower your voice, and flinched to look around the outside before carefully closing the door behind him. 

“They’re not yelling,” he scratched the back of his neck, “they’re singing.”

“That’s them singing?” you quickly silenced the burst of laughter that bubbled out of you, flashing your companion an amused yet apologetic look.

“Yeah, they were bored, so they decided to throw a bit of a party tonight.” 

By now you were well aware of how he usually waited to sneak down to see you till the majority had fallen asleep and only the unperceptive night watch was there to fear. “Won’t they come looking for you?”

“No, they won’t notice that I’m gone, they are all drunk out of their minds.”

“Remus…” your tone made him avoid your gaze, “should you really be down here and not up there? What if they notice? I mean, why even are you down here? Wouldn’t you much rather have a night off, relax a bit?”

“Like I said, they’re drunk out of their minds,” he bit down on his lip and admitted, “I just got a bit nervous that’s all. Couldn’t stop imagining what a drunk group of pirates could come up with as entertainment when a beautiful lady was in their reach…” had he just called you beautiful or had you imagined that? “So, if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to just stay here and sleep by the door, just in case.”

“You're willing to miss a party in order to protect my honour?”

Finally meeting your gaze with just the hint of a smirk, he said, “who says I didn’t bring the party with me?” and conjured a bottle filled with dark liquid.

Could you call it a party if it was just two distressed people sharing a drink? Who knew, but at least you tried. Keeping your voices hushed, not wanting to call attention to your small gathering, he expertly helped you take small sips, being quite good at the motion by now. 

The strong liquor warmed you up and quickly brought on a wave of hope and happiness that you gladly let wash over you. 

In order to be able to hear each other's soft whispers, Remus had periodically moved closer and closer to your bound form. Leaning against the barrel, you rested your now slightly dizzy head against the beam you were chained to and let out a warm giggle at the amusing yarn Remus was spinning you.  

Tilting your chin up again, this time he seemed to be standing even closer, causing your laughter to die down. The room was spinning, and you didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or the proximity. 

And in a flash, before he had even finished his sentence, you lifted yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips against his. 

It took him a long moment before he realised what was happening, but when he did, you felt his large hands glide over your waist, pulling you in closer. In the haze of it all, he had completely forgotten about your limited field of movement and began to sway back, pulling you with him.

You let out a small hiss as the manacles stopped you from straying any further. 

“Ouch,” you stumbled back, making the chain slacken and giving your bound-up hands the opportunity to rest somewhat more comfortably against your heaving chest. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Shut up,” you caught just the essence of his tunic between your knuckles and tugged him closer, “please,” your short words came out sounding breathy and desperate.

The corners of his lips curled up into a genuine smile before he gently grabbed both sides of your face and bent down to kiss you once more. And in time, as his lips moved over yours and his tongue snuck its way past to dance across your own, you felt the terror that was your reality slowly drift away. 

Sliding his palms down your body, he tugged at every inch of your dress just to somehow ground himself in this dreamlike moment. As he pressed his body impossibly close to yours, even through the fabric of your dress, you felt the rapidly growing bulge, chasing after your warmth like a compass searching for its north.

As he instinctually began to grind against the fabrics of your skirt in pure desperation, you let out a gasp and parted from the kiss. Halting his movements, he stayed there, completely close to you, nose still ghosting against yours as he searched your eyes and watched as they grew heavy at the thunder he had started inside of you. And after many heavy shared breaths, when he finally confirmed the obvious storm that was brewing under your skirt, he pushed back in, kissing you passionately once more. 

Palming your bottom through your dress, he quickly grew more desperate and started to gather up the material. Sneaking a hand in from behind, palm curving around and under your ass, he supported some of your weight with a tense forearm as his fingers found your weepy cunt. 

As his bullying fingers found your swollen pearl, your side of the kiss faltered, letting out a shaky moan instead. Your lips were parted, and your glistening tongue still rested against your bottom lip.

Slowly, he stuck out his own and swiped it over yours, swapping even more saliva and licking up your whimpers. 

Sinking his fingers into your waiting hole, his dark eyes bored into yours as he mocked, “oh, now who needs to shut up, huh?”

You tried to answer, you really did, but only more mewls escaped your lips, mixing in with the sloppy sounds of his fun beneath your skirt, as your heavy lids fought to stay open. 

Placing a small peck on your parted lips, he reluctantly withdrew his fingers and pleaded, “come on darling, we have to stay quiet,” swiftly lifting up one of your legs, resting it nearly all the way up on one of his shoulders. 

Biting down on your lip in an attempt at stifling your sounds, you saw him quickly free himself from his breeches. Since your dress had bunched up around your waist and he had already cracked you wide open, nothing stood in the way of his bulbous tip to brush up against your drooling folds. Feeling the head nudge up against your clit, you felt his right hand flex and fondle your ass, moving your frame against him. 

But as he bucked his hips, stuffing you full in one fell swoop, his left palm came up to clasp over your lips, silencing your shuttering sob. 

“Please stay quiet,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “don’t let the others find us, I beg of you,” you could easily hear how hard he tried to stifle the filthy sounds that so desperately wanted to escape his lips, “don’t let them take you away from me, please, I’ve barely even had a taste.” 

You tried to keep quiet, but with every hard thrust of his hips, whimpers bubbled out of you and vibrated against his rough palm. Digging your fingers into his shirt, loathing the fact that it was the only part of him within your limited reach, you felt him kiss your brow and bathe you in quiet shushes. 

Clenching your jaw, you finally managed to swallow most of your moans, although when he pulled back and removed his hand, the eye contact that he ignited made the mission to stay silent seem unbearable. 

Scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, nearly folding you in half in the process, the gentle pirate then continued to bounce you up and down his rock-hard length, sinking impossibly deep within your fluttering hole. 

How could you feel this good when you were being held captive on a ship seemingly sent from hell itself? Why did you have to be in the wrong place in order to find something this right? 

Within just a few more overwhelming flashes of him repeatedly impaling you on his dick, the floodgates opened, and you creamed all over his cock, soon thereafter, his movements eased down and you felt his own essence begin to leak down your inner thighs as he needily kept on stuffing your sensitive hole, right until you assumed that his painstakingly slow thrusts might just pick up again. 

Though when he finally pulled out and carefully set you down on your wobbly feet, leaving you a dripping and trembling mess, you heard his heartsick voice find your ear, “I promise I’ll get you out,” as he held you tight in his arms, “whatever it takes.”

“Did you get them?” you asked frantically as Remus returned. The visage of him in the doorway made you feel as if you might start crying out of pure relief that his risky stealth mission had gone to plan. 

“Damn nearly woke up when I grabbed them, but yeah,” he proudly held up the captain's jingly ring of keys, “I got them.” 

Rushing towards you, he reached up and worked to free you of your binds, huffing and cursing damn near every time the key didn’t match. But when one of them finally did fit and your left bruised wrist fell free, a triumphant breathy sound escaped your lungs, half a cry and half a laugh. 

Feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes, within but a moment you had reached up and kissed him, effectively choking out your sob against his lips. Finally tangling your fingers into his soft hair, you heard the keys fall from his grasp and onto the floor in a soft clang. 

Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his for but a moment before he recalled the task at hand and swiftly bent down to snatch up the keys, freeing you completely. 

As soon as the last lock clicked open and before you could begin to blubber out an affectionate string of thanks, he informed, avoiding your teary eyes completely, “Smithy is asleep at the helm tonight,” his voice was shaky but sure, as if he was attempting to hold back tears himself, “so no one should notice you till you're long gone on the dinghy.”

“Remus…” you raised up a palm to cup his cheek, letting your thumb dance over his cheekbone, ready to catch any tears that dared to escape. 

“No,” he kept his eyes on the floor and shook his head lightly, “I already know what you’re gonna ask and please, I beg of you, don’t.”

“Remus-“

“No, I can’t go with you,” he snapped, finally meeting your gaze, “I am a wanted man. Even though the claims aren’t true, it is still my head the bounty is still out on and not the actual person who killed them.”

He had previously told you about how after a mysterious murder, his hometown had turned against him, pinning evidence against him, and forcing him into the barbaric life he now led, simply in order to not rot in prison for the rest of his days for a crime he did not commit.  

“They’ll hang me if I go back there,” his fingers gently wrapped around your bruised wrist and pulled it down, removing your hand from his cheek, “do you know what the punishment is for hiding a fugitive? They’ll probably hang you as well if you try and help me, for all I know!” 

But with your heart burning for him the way that it did, his warning didn’t overrule your stubbornness and you exclaimed, “then let's go somewhere else! Someplace where no one can find you, where it’s just the two of us.”

Almost taking a step back, he blinked down at you, “…you’d really do that?”

“I would do anything for you,” you caught both of his hands in yours, “I don't-… I don’t have anyone… not anymore…”

That was the reason why you had been on that ship the pirates pillaged. Your parents had gotten sick and soon thereafter had died, leaving you to be shipped off to some far-off relative that you had never even heard of. Someone who was undoubtedly going to marry you off as soon as you landed on shore, just to get you out of their hair. 

“You have me,” he promised you, a single tear slowly rolling down his cheek, glistening as it caught in his scraggly beard, “from now until the day I die, you will always have me.”

“And I you.”

sirius was busy rutting into you, his large hands were gripping so tightly on your waist that his knuckles were turning white. the room was filled with the sound of his skin slapping against your bare ass and the low grunts that were leaving both of your lips. you remained on all fours, head tilting back as you while another moan escaped from your lips. if he cared of anyone walking in sirius would have locked the door or attempted to hush you a bit. but that was the thing, sirius didn't care. if anything it got him off more, knowing how everyone could hear you.

"fuck- that good huh, bunny?" sirius cooed to you, still thrusting his cock inside of you.

you only managed to mumble out something of a reassurance, as you moaned out for sirius. sirius could feel you tightening around him, approaching your orgasm. one of his hands finally released you from the grip he held on the side of your ass and moved down to your clit, the pad of his thumb giving no mercy as he rubbed circles on it. it was only moment before you tightened around him harder then before, and your release quickly followed. the coil inside you letting go and you begun screaming sirius's name as he thrusted faster.

despite reaching your second orgasm, nearly collapsing on the bed, sirius didn't stop thrusting into you.

he paid no attention to your shaking legs as he continued. "good girl, good girl" sirius cooed his hand moving back to the side of your waist to get a better grip of you, to control how you moved for him. "you like be a good girl for me, don't you, bunny?" sirius questioned you, a mild pant finally leaving his lips after he spoke, the heat from his breath spreading throughout the space of the twin bed the two of you shared.

"yes, siri- i would do anything to be a good girl for you" you whined, hips backing up- to meet with sirius's as he continued to thrust himself inside of you. his cock was beginning to twitch inside you, he was getting close, and you could feel it.

"good, i need a favor then bunny," sirius groaned out the speed of his hips increasing as he slammed his cock into your overstimulated pussy, nearly begging for his release, a low build up once again forming within you.

"anything siri, please-" you whined again, your hands now balled into fist, both grabbing the silk sheets on the bed.

"i need you to fuck remus-" sirius said, he continued inside of you but you froze for a moment. the request was unlike anything sirius had ever asked you to do and honestly you were caught so off guard you didn't even know how to react. "he's still a virgin, y/n. isn't that pathetic? seventh year and never felt the touch of a woman?" sirius asked, he was laughing a bit, groaning after with his hands nearly going numb as he continued to his thrust, they were hard, and showed no signs of stopping.

"wait- you want me to sleep with remus?" you questioned, trying to process the question as you were once again on the verge of cumming, the request he made being the only thing stopping you from reaching it again.

"fuck, i promised i would get i laid by the end of the year, and i can't find a single girl in hogwarts whose willing to go through with it," sirius explained between grunts, "i'll be right in the room with you, baby. the entire time, just please bunny. please say you'll do it" sirius was practically begging at his point.

"okay, fine- i-i'll do it" you finally agreed, hesitating slightly. the idea felt out of this world and for a moment you wondered if this was even a real request or some kind of strange fantasy he had created. sirius smiled to you, though you were unable to see as your eyes were focused on the shaking footboard that was in front of you.

"good girl, good girl" sirius praised you, finally reaching the peek of his orgasm. his seed spilling into you and coating your walls, as they clenched onto him, and milked him in the same way they would soon be doing to remus. "fuck, thank you bunny, thank you" sirius let out as his hips finally had come to a lazy stop. pulling out of and looking down for a moment as he watched his seed spill from deep within you.

"it'll be tomorrow night, wear something black-"

sirius had practically dressed you that night. instructing you to sit on the bed as his large hand pulled black stockings to your thighs, his hands slipped the black lacey dress over your nude body, and his hands were the ones who strapped the black choker onto your neck. "going to show remus how good of a pet you are for me, aren't you, bunny?" sirius mumbled in your ear while he on a chair at the corner of the dorm, arms around your waist as he kept you on his lap. you could only nod in response as you waited for remus to enter the dorm. it was nerve racking, waiting to fuck one of your boyfriends friends. but sirius was asking you to do this for him, and you had no real problem with remus. he was sweet, anyway. you attempted to look at it more and more like helping a friend.

when the door opened your head swung with sirius's, looking as remus stepped in. no words were initially spoken. instead sirius and remus only locked eyes, remus shutting the door behind him softly. "strip for her, remus" sirius demanded of his friend, you were unaware of the understanding that the boys had come to.

remus wanted it to only be you and him in the room, but sirius insisted to be there. to be in control of what he did with you, and it was because of this that remus obeyed him. his hands loosening the gryffindor tie from his neck before tossing it in the near by hamper. his fingers nimbly and quickly unbuttoned the white shirt that clung around his frame and his pants soon followed. it was only a matter of a minute before he had been nude in front of you, and he was already hard.

part of you wondered if he had been thinking about you, and another part of you was concerned by how turned on the thought of him lusting for you the entire day. the other part of you only grew concerned with the fact that this was actually happening. that one of your boyfriends best friends was now removing his trousers to reveal himself to you. that you were the one who was going to take his virginity. did remus even want this? did you want this?

your eyes traveled down remus's toned body. scars were littered across his shoulders and stomach. some of them were even slashed amongst his thighs, though, your eyes were not caught on the scars for long. he was already hard, just from being nude in front of you. though shy remus lupin was unable to even look you in the eyes now that he was exposed. you and sirius just staring at him as he waited for some command. which sirius was quick to give him.

"go lay on the bed, remus" sirius instructed of him. remus did not hesitate to walk over to the twin bed. the brunette was tall enough where his feet were hanging off slightly, he still had his socks on. "go on pet, make it good for him." sirius instructed you now giving you a small slap on the ass in order to get you to leave his side. like remus had done just a moment prior, you obeyed.

in a shy way you made small and soft steps across the wood floor of the dormitory and over to the bed. your eyes met remus's just for a moment as you offered him a sweet smile. remus did the same back and his hazel eyes met yours in the comfortable silence. though, even sweet remus allowed his eyes to travel down your body to look at the tight black lace that was clinging to your body. you wondered if you should say something, a greeting- but formalities weren't important. not now. not for this. therefore, with no introduction you carefully pulled yourself onto the bed. you were on top of remus one of your legs at each of his sides and his hard cock was pulsing underneath you. it was tucked up against your thigh and just the touch of your skin was enough to get him twitching.

remus wanted this to be good. he wanted this to be good for you. he had rubbed himself out four times prior to coming here; the thought of you viscously on his mind as he thought of how his hand would be your tight pussy tonight. that it would finally be him who would be filling you and making you whine. sounds he had heard you make for sirius time and time again. but now? now it was his turn.

"merlin, you're so fucking pretty" remus mumbled, a small pink blush flooded to your cheeks at his compliment. "can i touch you?" remus asked, his eyes looking up to you. for a moment you thought of asking sirius. however, without even thinking of asking for his permission you nodded, giving him the go ahead to explore your body. one of his large hands worked quickly, moving up your body to squeeze one of your breast underneath his hands. his breathing was becoming heavy at your touch. you only gave him a smile, enjoying the feeling of him squeezing on your breast. remus took two of his fingers to his lips, wetting them with his spit. his fingers made quick way underneath the lace underwear, unbuckling them to give him access. you were going to help him find your clit, but remus seemed to have no trouble finding it.

his large fingers made his way to your clit and was quick to rub circles around it. you bit down on your bottom lip for a moment before releasing it from between your teeth. your moans were soft but encouraging to remus. the gryffindor boy continued on rubbing in circles before placing his thumb directly on your clit; he as smiling. no, no. remus lupin was grinning, teeth showing with pride as you- sirius's girlfriend- was growing wet and slick on his fingers.

"enough of that now; don't want to get her tired, remus. trust me-" sirius called out from behind you. for a moment, caught up in your bliss you forget that sirius was behind you. you forget this entire thing was an arrangement. therefore, under the command of sirius remus did stop, pulling his fingers away and bringing them to his own mouth to suck them clean.

"you ready, remmy?" you questioned gently, remus nodded immediately. without hesitation. your hands gently took the base of his cock to hold it steady at your entrance. the tip brushing against it for a second as remus let out a groan. you sunk down on him slowly, spreading yourself onto remus who was a bit longer then sirius was- causing you to bite your own lip as you felt yourself stretching with him inside of you, once he was fully in you. you were taking him well.

remus, however, let out an earthy "fuck-" the moment you finally had taken all of him in. you felt better than he could have ever imagined. his hands were digging into your hips for something to grip onto and his head was thrown back against the pillow. he couldn't even bring his eyes to look at the sight of you on his cock. you waited for a moment, allowing him to at least get use to the feeling of your pussy clamped around him, before starting to move your hips. you bounced up and down on his cock, slowly, his nails still digging into your hips as you did so. remus was moaning from the movements; gentle, and yet you were intoxicating. driving him crazy.

you bounced up and down, up and down, up and -you went to go back down but when you sunk onto him again you could feel him pulsing inside of you. he was gritting curses through his teeth, and he was already painting your inner walls with his seed. it took you a second to realize he was already cumming and sirius as well. however, the moment sirius came to the realization he broke out into laughter.

"you're done already remus? that lasted a whole fifteen seconds. merlin, that's pathetic." sirius was laughing, you watched as remus's face went completely red with embarrassment though he quickly switched from embarrassment to anger. seething, blinding, anger.

"shut your mouth, sirius. i'm not done-" remus barked back at him. with his hands on your hips he flipped you over. your back now on the bed as he had pulled out of you. his thick seed was spilling out of you when he pulled his cock out. it happened so quickly you barely had a moment to process. remus had a clenched jaw, biting down on his own teeth. his hand was wrapped around his flaccid cock as he pumped it viscously as he had done early that, forcing himself through the pain to get himself hard again. you were going to plead with remus to calm down or to tell sirius to shut his mouth as well. but before you had a second to process what you were going to say remus was pushing himself back into you. you yelped a bit as remus was over you. his shaggy brunet hair falling into his face as he began to rut into you without mercy.

moans were quick to fall from your lips as remus slammed himself into you. you were loud; almost whining at how good he had been making you feel as he slammed himself into you. your moans were the confidence he needed to continue, one of his hands reaching down to your pussy to rub your clit under his thumb again. "seven hells remus- i'm gonna, i'm gonna-" you couldn't even form the words as hot coils formed at the bottom of your stomach.

"say it, say it-" remus demanded of you, his thumb giving no mercy to your clit and his cock no mercy to your pussy. he slammed into you as you tried to form the words. but he could feel the way you clenched around him, how tight you were squeezing him. the feeling of your pussy clenching around him made him want to cum again, but he couldn't. not yet. not now that sirius was trying to make a fool of him.

"i'm cumming, fuck, i'm cumming remus-" you cried out, your pussy spasming on his cock as he continued to thrust in and out of you. he was smiling again, that wide grin, as you were screaming for him. crying into the dormitory, making sirius who sat in the chair jealous that remus was able to make you cum so quickly.

remus continued to thrust himself into you at a near violent rate, the sound of your moans and yipes were only motivating him. remus never heard sirius make you this loud. if anything he was sure any dorm around them would be hearing how you were screaming for his cock. he could feel you starting to tighten around him again and he let out a grunt through gritted teeth.

"you like that? hm?" remus questioned you, his face was close to yours now. his long hair dripping down and tickling your cheeks. you had let out some sort of sound to signify yes, that you were loving this. but that didn't seem to be enough for remus. not this time. "tell me how it feels, y/n" remus demanded of you only applying more pressure with his thumb to your swollen clit.

"it feels so good remus- so good" you managed to muster out through your moans, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. you could hear the slick that covered his cock when he plunged into you time and time again. remus was deep within you and within moments the hot coil inside of you snapped again bringing on to your second orgasm. your back arched on the bed and remus's hands were now pushing down your thighs to keep them open for him against your own orgasm.

"don't stop- say it again. say it." remus demanded without mercy, you could feel him twitching inside of you, and the ruthlessness of his thrust were starting to bring tears to your eyes. the pleasure was intense in a way you had never really felt before with sirius.

"fuck- remus it's so good, so fucking good-" you cursed through the mess of your moans. you continued to repeat it under his command. his eyes seemed darker. almost dark brown in comparison to the almond color they normally were. he was mumbling curses as he slammed into you and without warning you could feel him twitching inside of you again. spilling himself into you, plunging his hips deep as if he was to leave his seed. remus went as deep as he could wondering if he plunged so far in that he'd be able to keep a part of himself in you forever. remus continued to give a few more sloppy thrust into you before he pulled out breathless.

remus wanted to thank you, his eyes met yours again in the clarity of being done. he wanted to ask you if you were okay, and if the situation was different he would have pulled you into his arms and kissed you. remus looked down at you, looking as his cum was dripping from your sore pussy. he never got a chance to decide what to say as sirius stood up from the chair in the corner. "finally, not a virgin remus, congrats mate" sirius called out, the both of you forgetting that he was there. even if it was only for a second. "now kindly do us a favor and fuck off, would you. after you say thank you to bunny of course-" sirius spoke to him. remus looked to the ground and quickly begun to put his clothes back on.

"yeah, thanks y/n. really." remus went on to say, wishing his thank you could have been more genuine and not under the influence of sirius. remus wanted to tell you how had been thinking of you and nothing but you for years. he wanted to tell you of how he pined for you. of how he thought of you each day, and how much he had hated himself for letting sirius get you before he could. remus wanted to kiss you and pull you close to him in his bed. remus wanted you and he would do anything he could to get you again. you were going to be his if it took killing sirius to get to you.

though, unknowing to what remus was thinking, you just watched remus walk out the door fully dressed leaving you covered in his cum and aching.

"so, are you going to clean yourself up and give me a go?"

How could this be a competition when the two of you had already lost beforehand?

It’s not that you were chasing after him. God forbid you did. Dick is disposable, you know. But something about Peter and the way he absolutely devoured you that night, showed you what kind of gentleman he was, how he set this excessive standard for the next fuck and the fuck after that, made you want more. So much more. Maybe it was the blond, or maybe it was just the weed. Yet, nothing about what happened felt like a bad trip. It felt real, and you could still feel the high of having Peter’s lips on your body and his smoke residing in your lungs.

Honestly, he couldn’t look at a blunt the same way ever again after what you did to him. Blowing into his mouth like you wanted him. Wanted him more than a youthful one-night stand. Wanted him more than a simple bathroom fuck and tangled limbs inside a clawfoot tub in a house that wasn’t even yours.

Peter isn’t one to harbor feelings that last more than a few months, but he can’t stop replaying and rewinding the events of that night. Of you, more than anything — your moans, the hickies he was shamefully excited to wake up to the following day and subtly show off to his friends, how you dared to look him in the eye for the remainder of the party, even innocently smiling his direction as if he hadn’t just bent you over cold porcelain and fucked you till you couldn’t form words.

You’re the first person he looks for at every gathering.

Even now, in the chaos of this so-called “Flash’s Halloween Bash,” Peter scans the living room and foyer meticulously, squinting through the dim lights and tuning out the harmonious cheers at the beer pong table beside him. The infamous red solo cup in his hand has barely been touched. He’s been easing up on drinking lately — can’t have too many vices, recalling his roommate’s advice.

He’s come dressed as a priest, black button-down with the white collar and everything. The person wearing it is far from holy, but Halloween means he could be anything he wanted and no one could tell the truth from his method of pretending. Peter can’t exactly pinpoint where the inspiration for his costume came from, but he remembers watching a specific episode of Fleabag that he just couldn’t shake out of his head.

Peter turns his ‘trying to look for someone while trying to be subtle’ situation into a game, naming every character and every costume he’s seen in the previous years before due to a drought of originality amongst his peers. His friends have come as basic Halloween staples: sexy nurse, sexy lumberjack, his friend and his friend’s boyfriend as Chippendale strippers, and even a sexy rainbow Spider-Man — he’s used to it by now, in fact, it’s good for his ego. Good for suit design ideas, too. Especially now with the blond hair, the red and blue seemed a little overkill. He’s been meaning to don a black one.

There’s one costume in particular he hasn’t seen before.

Hello, sexy nun.

It sounds gross. He knows.

Then said sexy nun turns around and he’s met with an all too familiar face, a face that is practically ingrained into his list of hookups and knocks every other name out of the ballpark. He should’ve known, how could he have not when the outline of your body was basically embedded into his hippocampus?

In the blue-light hue of the room, you spot him the same moment as he spots you.

Peter feels like he’s in that bathtub all over again when smoke effortlessly escapes your bloody red lips and clouds into the stuffy air.

He wants to feel your breath against his mouth again. Hard and noisy, strained and needy. But again, it’s like you’re testing him and his self-control. He’s good about sex. He’s not addicted, but he may as well be when you shoot him a shit-eating grin and casually turn back to your group of girlfriends like you hadn’t just eye-fucked each other from across the room.

He can smell your shampoo from here.

It’s like that for a good portion of the night: second glances and teasing glints in your expressions. It isn’t till a little less than halfway through the party that Peter is able to actually see you up close — hair semi-tucked into the black and white veil that drapes over your shoulders, the skirt of your fake habitat exposing enough thigh and leg to get you banned from a real life convent, black shadow purposefully smeared across your eyes with hand-drawn Petrine crosses just below your lower lashes in a blasphemous spite.

Your group of friends suddenly mesh with his own, sparking conversations amongst themselves as Peter tries his best not to drool over you. He doesn’t know you’re thinking the same. In fact, the calm and collected manner you’ve decided to front is extremely convincing.

Similarly, Peter is eye candy himself. His hair has grown out, especially the brown roots that seem to intermix with the blond dye in his locks. He still looks like a walking temptation. You want nothing but to bite down on the clerical collar around his neck and stain it with your lipstick, make him force whimpers out of you as he hikes your skirt up your ass and take you on an altar of pillows.

Sure, it was just a Halloween costume. But if you really wanted to sell the vision, you’d surely play the part, wouldn’t you?

“Father Pete.” You playfully smirk, leaning into the wooden door frame to announce your entrance. Peter has his back pressed against the wall beside it, a hand tucked inside the pocket of his dark pants.

You take a sip out of your drink with raised brows in anticipation of his reaction. He feigns a bit of surprise, despite knowing that you’d been lingering near him for quite some time already.

“Oh, Sister Y/N.” You don’t make eye contact with him. But Peter makes sure to take in the details of your face, staring intently at your bold choice of lipstick and the darkness around your eyes. He smiles. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

But he did. He had been looking forward to this conversation the whole time.

Your black nails tap slowly against your solo cup. “Didn’t expect you to come dressed as a priest.” Your lips tug into a toothy grin when he fully turns his body to you, standing straighter than before. “Was the Devil already taken?”

“You know, I thought about showing up as an angel but it just seemed out of character.” Peter shrugs, glancing over at you as he pulls out a pre-wrapped joint and lighter. “Not really my brand, to be honest.” He cups a hand by the flame, humming in disapproval when he fails to light the blunt.

You nod, fishing out your own lighter when you notice his embarrassing struggle. You don’t respond right away, leaning into him as you flick the button and ignite the generous blunt between his pretty lips.

Your eyes linger on each other, the flame illuminating the lower half of his face. He teasingly fiddles with the material of your veil before you can pull away, looking down at you with a jutted chin and a pointed nose.

It’s painfully slow and almost agonizing how he avoids touching your bare skin. Refusing to be swayed by his actions, you break the silence.

“Were you expecting me to dress as something slutty?”

Peter laughs hard at that. “Oh, is this not — this isn’t slutty? If I’m honest, nothing’s sluttier than a nun in a tiny dress, Sister Y/N. The church should be appalled.”

He quickly offers you the blunt.

“Been trying to cut back.” You reject it with a bashful look.

“But you’re drinking?

“Well, it’s just punch.” You roll your eyes at the blond, studying how his jaw flexes while he inhales deeply. He nearly falls into you when a crowd of first-years brush past the both of you, his hand hovering just above the small of your back.

Your mind is sent back to when he kissed you in the bathroom.

Peter huffs outward, pupils dilating when you awkwardly pick at the lint on his shoulder. He tries not to think about how your fingertips feel like fire — a good fire, warm and comfortable. Even through his button-down, he feels as if you’re leaving your prints all over his body again. You steal his place against the wall when he shifts to stand in front of you.

“What’s next? Practicing chastity?” His voice is low, his lively Queens accent seeping through his slow phrases as he stares you down with his arm propped just above your head. You bat your eyelashes at him, surveying how he bites his tongue in anguish. “Have you realized you’ve been ignoring me ever since I touched you that night?” He whispers, head dipping down so that his lips meet the conch of your ear. “Did you not enjoy, Y/N?”

“Quite the opposite. ‘Touched me’ seems like such an understatement, by the way.” You admit, matching his breathy tone as you avoid his gaze. “Frankly, I think I enjoyed myself too much around you.”

“Oh, really? You sure you came dressed in the right costume? Not very pure… of you… to confess you liked something that you weren’t supposed to be doing.”

“You…” You stifle a moan when his nose nudges the top of your head. Peter inhales deeply to smell you, making you pause in order to regain your broken composure. You blink back your nervousness. “… you have been eye-fucking me this entire party. As if — as if I wouldn’t notice. That doesn’t make you so nice and innocent either. Does it, Peter?” He chuckles in amusement when you crane your neck at him. “For a made-up priest, you sure do love indulging in sinful things.”

“There’s a reason I’m not a real one, Y/N.” He takes the cup of punch from your hands and raises it to his lips, blunt dangling between his slender fingers as he gazes at you over the lipstick-stained rim. “And there’s a reason why you aren’t a real nun.”

“I guess sex is just too good to let go.” You run your nails across his belt, skimming over the silver buckle. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” A stray bead of red punch drips from his bottom lip, and you’re quick to catch it with your thumb before he can. The liquid stains your skin, and leaves a red trail on Peter’s chin as you swipe it away. “I’m sure you can agree, right?”

He sighs audibly; his crotch presses against your thigh as he steps closer to you. Your voices are quiet beneath the booming bass, possibly mistaken with the beating of your own heart, yet it’s ironic how the first couple notes of Tainted Love play when Peter pushes the cloth of your veil to one shoulder. His eyes wander over your throat, recalling how beautiful the once-untouched skin looked in the wake of his kisses. He smells you again, like he’s addicted to that scent — the combination of your perfume accompanied by the bitterness of sweat.

“When was the last time you fucked someone?” He asks bluntly, looking at you through wispy lashes.

Your breath is warm against his jaw. “Is this your way of asking if I’m clean?”

“No, Y/N. It’s my way of asking if you’ve had sex with anyone else.”

“Other than you?”

“Other than me.”

The word leaves you in a sudden, nervous croak. He hasn’t wanted anyone this much in ages. “September.”

“Wasn’t that the month you and I fucked the bathroom? When I…” His lips hover over yours with a wolfish grin. “Fingered you behind that curtain?” You let out a shuddering breath, remembering how he shamelessly cupped his palm over your mouth and rendered you near speechless. “Just me then, huh?”

“Peter, your friends are looking.”

He steadies himself against the wall, briefly glancing over his shoulder before you look up at him expectantly. “Let them.”

“God, you fuckin’ asshole.” You bite your lip, pushing down a gasp when his hand ghosts up your knee. “What kind of priest seduces a nun?”

Peter grins sinfully, “You call this seducing? I’ll show you what seducing is. I’ll take you upstairs.” His fingers find the black lacy garter around your thigh, similar to the ones that brides would wear beneath their wedding dress. Certainly not something a nun would sport. His gaze flickers up to you, chest stiff from holding your breath. A blondish curl flops in front of his forehead, the little strand bouncing as Peter plays with the delicate band beneath your little dress. He’s trying to differentiate lust from his desire for you, but with the way you stare at him all yearning and doe-eyed, the terms have honestly become one in the same. Peter lets himself break. Just for you. A little bit to spur that nervous demeanor he loved seeing on you. “Tell me, Y/N. Do you want me as much as I want you right now?”

Your nostrils flare at him, because for one: he’s making a show out of this, he’s practically getting off on it — having you in a corner with nowhere to go, almost damaging your reputation of giving in to an asshole’s advances for some dick. You’re not desperate. Yet with him, you want nothing but his towering shadow to swallow you whole and relentlessly, even if it meant his friends and your friends would talk about it behind your backs.

Who cares, right?

But was it always about sex? In the time that you spent only thinking about Peter, not even touching him yet reminiscing over how his smoke filled your lungs and shoveled a carnal path to your heart, did you develop something more than a fickle sexual appetite for the blond?

Another bad decision couldn’t hurt. You speak before you can even register what you’re insinuating.

“Take me upstairs then and maybe you’ll have an answer.”

With that, Peter basically shoves his way up the staircase, dragging you along behind him. Insincere excuse me’s are thrown about as you push past the lingering partygoers on the steps. Neither of you can think about being polite right now, especially when your hand is tightly enveloped in Peter’s. His palm is searing with heat, digits curling around your knuckles as he pulls you into an unfamiliar hallway and what you believe is some stranger’s bedroom.

Immediately, he has you pinned against the locked door. Peter’s hands are heavy on your face as he holds you on either cheek, mashing his lips against yours hungrily. Nothing about it is sweet, nor shy, far from how he kissed you last time. It’s like he wants to jump inside you, make a home out of your mouth and melt as his tongue slips past your teeth and remembers the taste of your saliva. Normally, you would’ve cringed at how hard you were breathing on each other — but that sound of desperation, of obsessive pining, it did more than turn you on.

“Don’t cum in your pants now.” You giggle against his lips, his teeth pulling at your skin as he marks your neck. Your hands swiftly work through the buttons on his shirt, pushing the article of clothing down his long arms before you’re grasping at his exposed chest.

He sighs breathily, a mixture of laughter and embarrassment.

“Of course you’d never let that go.”

“It was hot.” He quickly tugs your veil off of your head, tossing the black material to the side before he runs his fingers through your locks. You still when he taps your chin, urging you to look up at him. “Really fucking hot.”

“You know what would be even hotter?” He smirks cockily.

His bare chest touches your clothed one, making your nipples harden through your dress as he presses against you.

“What?”

Peter cups a hand on the nape of your neck, holding you there as he lowers you onto the floor. You have no choice but to sink to your knees and hold eye contact with the dirty blond, sitting back on your calves.

If he was a preacher, he just made you his devoted follower.

“You shutting up and sucking my cock.”

“You have such a way with words, you know that?” You tease, rubbing circles on the tops of your thighs as Peter deftly unbuckles his belt. “One minute it’s, ‘I want you’ and the next it’s, ‘Suck my dick.’”

You help him shimmy his pants off of his legs and away from his feet, watching it join the rest of his clothes and shoes in the unruly pile by the corner.

“They basically mean the same thing.” Peter retorts, avoiding how he mindlessly confessed to ‘wanting you.’

Whatever that meant.

Your eyes widen when you take him in, fully and intently.

“This is new.”

An elegant spider, specifically a black widow, decorates the alabaster skin of his hip bone. The tattoo is smaller than your hand, the inked legs stark thin and outstretched across faded scars. You wonder how he got them, but you know it’s rude to ask. So you move on, continue to become accustomed to the new tattoo on his lower torso, red lips worshipping the drawing as you kiss up and down his abs with tenderness.

Peter sighs, his ego blossoming when you eagerly pull him closer by the waist and free his aching cock from his boxers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, entranced by the reflection of the ceiling light in your pupils and the glittery Petrine crosses on your face.

“Is it just me or are you getting deja vu?” He quips playfully, stomach twitching when you put pressure on the leaking slit of his head with your thumb. “God, because I am… one-hundred percent getting deja vu right now.” His hand splays over the six-paneled door when you replace your finger with your tongue, getting his thick length nice and wet with your spit.

“You talk too much, Parker.” You’ve barely done any damage to him, but his groans roll out wounded and clipped when you wrap your lips around the base of his cock, suckling the skin there. Saliva bubbles from your mouth as you run it across the side of his length, puckered lips staining his fair skin with a sinful red. “Maybe I should shut you up.”

“Keep talking back and your little cunt won’t be the only thing getting fucked tonight.”

Peter watches your irises darken with something deeper than playful lust, something he hadn’t seen when he had you like this in the past.

“And if I do?” You start with a challenging edge to your breathless voice, fist squeezing around the head of his cock. “What happens if I wanna run my mouth…” You swirl your tongue around him to collect the small drop of pre-cum on his tip, your words coming out as a moaning mewl when you swallow the salty bead. “… all fucking night?”

You’re driving him mental. He’s losing it, his urge to just throw you against the bed and fuck you until the headboard makes an indent in the wall has grown exponentially — in fact, that’s the only thing he wants to do right now, until you innocently nuzzle your cheek against him and gently kiss his pelvis. The notion itself sparks something in Peter.

“You really wanna know, princess?” He courses a hand through your hair, your head tilting back with the movement. His cock throbs the more he stares at your face, specifically your eyes, because they’re telling him all the things you can’t say out loud.

“I do.”

“Pretty sluts who talk when they’re not supposed to get their throats fucked.” You gulp heavily at his words. His control is shattering and Peter can just feel his desperation quickly seep through his dominant tone. “Do you want that, Y/N? Your throat fucked raw like a whore?” His brows cinch together, lines deepening on his forehead. “My big cock shoved all the way down, so hard and rough, you can’t talk? Till I leave that cute fuckin’ mouth all sore?”

You whine at that, breaking his glare with timidity at the thought. It makes you damp between the thighs, and Peter takes pleasure in how your skirt has ridden up to give him a perverted view at your black panties.

You stroke his length needily through ever-growing pants. “Maybe I’m into that sort of thing.” You rest your hands around the back of his thighs. He steps closer. “Maybe I want you to ruin me.”

A switch flips in his brain.

“You’ve gotten so bold since the last time I saw you. Do you really want that?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly and sincerely.

He continues combing through your hair, purring at you. “You tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, alright?” He bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It’s sweet, but the moment is fleeting when Peter tucks a hand beneath your chin and the other behind your head to prevent you from hitting the door as he guides his cock between your lips. “Open. Wide. Wider, baby.” He can feel you exhale through your nose when his length fills your mouth. He’s heavy against your tongue, the spider tattoo on his hip bone just within your peripherals as you hollow out your cheeks for him. “Oh, Sister Y/N…” He chuckles mischievously. “Not so much of a saint when you have dick in your mouth.”

Your words come out muffled. “Maybe you need to bless me, Father.”

The blond catches you off guard, thrusting harshly into you. Your eyes screw shut as you gag noisily, and you can’t help but slap a hand over Peter’s upper thigh as leverage for something to hold onto. “You ask, and you — You. Shall. Fucking. Receive.” He snaps his hips into your mouth fast and unforgiving; your nose brushes against his sparse pubic hair before he pulls away, then thrusts back in without giving you a second of relief.

It’s almost embarrassing how much saliva is dripping from your chin, but with how his thick cock is straining your jaw, you’ll take anything to help the pain.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Peter cooes through a laugh. “Taking me like an absolute angel… fucking Christ, Y/N. Wonder if anyone’s fucked your mouth like this before.”

He’s careful not to use too much force, aware of how his differing strength may hurt you in the process.

But Peter is starting to realize that maybe you enjoy the pain.

He guides you by the back of your head, lightly pushing it down his length until you’re blubbering and salivating around his cock. Your grip on his thigh is unwavering, and Peter feels you squeeze the longer he continues.

You try not to count the seconds he keeps you like that, but five becomes ten, then ten becomes fifteen, and your temples are throbbing as the room spins and oh, god — he pulls out, a devilish chuckle leaving him while a loud cough rips right through your throat.

You abruptly sit back against the door, back hitting the wooden surface as you wipe away the spit on the lower half of your face. With red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks, you gasp for air. Peter continues towering over you, cock in hand, before he gently caresses your jaw in an apologetic manner.

“Did I do okay?” You whisper, voice tight and gaze woozy as you peer up at him. He can’t hide the tugging smirk on his features when he notices how fucked-out you already look.

Nodding, Peter runs a thumb across your bottom lip. “Did better than okay, baby. You wanna sit on the bed for me?” He slips the digit into your mouth, pressing it against your warm tongue. “Let me show you how much of a good fucking girl you were to me.”

You whimper at that. The sound goes straight to his dick as he helps you stand. Peter takes your face into his hands, brushing back flyaways as he pulls you into another kiss. Your hands take to his chest, wandering across his ribs, his thin waist, the broadness of his shoulders. The wings of his back flutter beneath your touch, rippling under your nails when you scratch down his spine. He latches onto your jaw and makes an identical purplish mark to that of the one on his breast.

His fingers find the zipper of your dress, deftly dragging it till it stops just at the concave of your lower back. He helps you tug your arms out from the long black sleeves. Peter’s lips follow the wake of the newly exposed skin, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls the dress down your soft hips and the expanse of your thighs. He’s on his fucking knees, taking in the sight of your lingerie-clad body.

“Peter…” You sigh at the view of him stroking himself to you. His lips kiss over your knees then the waistband of your thong. His teeth find the lacy garter on your leg, canines tugging the pathetic material off of you. “I want you.”

“I know, princess.” He murmurs, sucking gently on your outer thigh. “Want you too, but you don’t get to rush this.” You yelp when a ripping sound fills the tense air, looking down to find your black panties in two pieces. You’re about to argue with him, but Peter quickly hooks your right leg over his shoulder and impatiently buries his face in your core.

A pornographic moan instantly slips out of you, mouth parting open as Peter flicks his tongue over your throbbing clit. He uses a hand to spread your folds apart, revealing the sticky mess of your cunt when he laps at your entrance.

“You know, I thought about you…” You pipe up breathlessly, holding onto a fistful of Peter’s blonde curls as his mouth works on you. “… after that night, after everything you did to me, I touched myself to you.” Peter groans at that. You take it as a sign to keep going. “Thought about your big fingers filling me up, your tongue on me. Tried — tried using a vibrator and it just couldn’t satisfy me the way you did.” The words fall from your lips without a second thought.

Your filter had practically vanished the instant that Peter put his hands on you.

Peter wonders what else you thought about, what other situations that you pictured him in, if your imagination was fueled by lust or…. maybe something more.

He suckles roughly on your clit, filthy noises escaping the both of you before he abruptly forces himself to pull away from you and pause because too much of you will make him grow absolutely mad. He moves to sit on the bed, chin glistening with your juices.

Your eyebrows draw together, worry and frustration mixing across your face. “Why’d you stop?” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He does the same thing once more before he shifts awkwardly to shake his head, a shy expression dancing over his appearance. “What? Is something wrong?”

You bend down, slowly kneeling between his thighs to catch his far-off gaze. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” You smile warmly at him.

“No, no, I think it is. Feels self-indulgent.”

“Well, whatever you wanna tell me, I’m listening.”

Peter realizes you’ve wrapped your hand around his — fingers intertwined and everything. It’s comforting, but even then, all it does is make the conversation harder for him to get past. He lets out an embarrassed groan, hair falling against his forehead as he looks anywhere but you.

“Can I… can I ask what else you thought about? With me?”

Your eyes widen, because certainly, it wasn’t the question you were expecting. The cocky blond anxiously gnaws on his bottom lip. Unsure and lacking self-confidence for once, it makes you huff in amusement and you use the situation to your advantage.

“Okay, well…” You clear your throat. “There were a lot of things. Where do you wanna start?”

“From the beginning.”

You nod as you move to stand, “I thought about… what would’ve happened if we got caught. The taste of your lips, how I could smell you all over me even after I showered.” You rake your fingers through his hair, similar to how he did to you earlier. “Thought about you stuffing my mouth… with your fingers, with my panties, with anything really… just to shut me up. To keep me quiet. I thought about you…” You swallow, the thought itself makes you wet, but saying it aloud makes you ache. “… fucking me in the ass. Just imagined how your cock — that big, fucking cock — would stretch me out, make me cry and cream all over you.” Peter finds himself looking up at you like you’re God herself, quiet moans leaving him as you wrap a fist around his length and pump him. His middle and ring finger find your cunt, slowly teasing your entrance.

“More.”

“Thought about you spanking me, slapping my face, pulling my hair.” You moan loudly when a hand comes down onto your ass cheek, a pleasurable sting rippling through your flesh. “I wanted you to punish me, to edge me, to fucking call me names… to take me rougher.”

His nose nudges against your belly. His breaths become ragged, noisier and more desperate with each word that leaves you. “You dirty fucking girl.”

“I thought about riding your thigh. Maybe even riding your face, wondering how it would feel to have you at my mercy. I… I just wanna hear you beg.” A strangled growl erupts from Peter. He pushes his fingers into you, your juices squelch around the long digits. “Peter… I — fuck, I wanted you to tie me up… to make me yours…”

“Are — are you not?” He grunts when you squeeze the head of his cock. “Fuck, Y/N… your h-hand…”

“Do you understand what you do to me?” You whine out, cupping his cheek with knitted brows. “I’ve — God, I have one more thing to tell you.”

His hips rut upwards. “You’re gonna kill me, princess.”

“I’ve always…” You chuckle, the sound cut off by Peter’s fingers filling you to the hilt. “… fuck — fuck, I’ve always wondered how does Peter Parker respond to being called daddy?” His hand comes to a halt as his jaw clenches visibly. You hum lowly in approval, massaging his scalp. “You like it don’t you, Peter? Or should I say… daddy?”

He hisses sharply. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s not holy to use God's name in vain.”

“And it’s not very holy of you to call me daddy, but here you are. Tell me again. What’s my name, Y/N?”

His fingers curl into you.

“Daddy.”

“Can’t hear you. Gotta be louder for me.” Peter’s hand picks up the pace, the heel of his palm snapping against your clit as you try your best to stay balanced on your feet.

“Oh, fucking — daddy. Daddy. Please.”

“Look at you. All fucking smug and shit, thinking you got me wrapped around your pretty finger.” He stands up. And there, you remember how much taller he is. You let out a cry when he grabs you roughly by the chin, thumbs digging into the puffiness of your cheeks as he squishes your lips together harshly. His dominant exterior has returned, fingering you faster than before. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Do you get off on teasing me? Get off on being called daddy’s good fucking girl?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” You squeeze your thighs together, but the hand that was clasped on your chin suddenly flies across your cheek and it takes you by pleasurable surprise. Peter just slapped you — and you fucking liked it. His breath fans over your pained features, nose nudging gently against your eyebrow as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t close your legs on me. Don’t do that. You know better, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He smiles in satisfaction.

This is sinful. Absolutely sinful.

“Get on the bed for me.” Peter pulls his hand from you, leaving you aching and throbbing for more when he licks at his damp fingers. “Let’s see if that cunt remembers how to take me.”

You easily comply, still reeling yourself back into reality from the hard slap he drove across your face. You lay back, hands laid out over your head as Peter unhooks the clasp in front of your bra. It’s convenient, he thinks, but it would’ve been better if he could rip it off of you like he had done to your panties from earlier. He kisses along the swell of your breasts, suckles a faint mark right on the side, before he’s taking a nipple into his mouth and tugging lightly.

“You’re still on the pill, yeah?” He asks, eyes glancing up at you as he gives attention to your other breast. You nod rapidly, biting your tongue as he licks a slow stripe down your abdomen. “Good, because I’ve been dreaming of cumming inside you again.”

“Holy shit.” You gasp out, his words going straight to your sopping cunt.

“All fours. Then I’m fucking you missionary later, baby. Love seeing your face when you cum.” Nothing but moans fall from your mouth as Peter flips you over and pulls you onto your knees, your face falling against the unfamiliar pillows and blankets. His lips trail down your back, past the curve of your hips, then his presence is gone. “Hold on. Thought of something we could use.”

You glance over your shoulder as he quickly pads to the corner of the room, picking something off of the floor.

No.

No, he wasn’t going to do that. Was he?

Peter emerges with the white clerical collar from his priest costume. He plays with it, twirling the stiff material between his fingers. The bed dips when he joins you. His face comes down by your ear.

“Earlier… you said you wanted your mouth stuffed, right?” You nod meekly in agreement. “You said you wondered. Well, now, you won’t really need to wonder anymore.”

He slips the collar between your parted lips, grabbing onto either end to pull you up to his chest. You bite down on the plastic, teeth gritting against it as the head of Peter’s cock prods at your folds.

If there’s a God, you’re sure that Heaven is the last place he’d want you to be. But here, with Peter’s arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, you suppose Hell and every ring within Dante’s Inferno would suffice.

You just want him. After all the teasing and the filthy conversations exchanged, you just want everything he has to offer you. No matter how painful.

You whisper shyly, “I want all of it.”

Peter stills, admiring your side profile. “Are you sure, baby?”

He nibbles on your earlobe. You can feel his eyelashes against your cheekbone, the smell of his musk filling your senses.

“Please, daddy. Need it. Need it so bad.”

You ache for more of him, his thick head spreading you apart as he penetrates you.

“You’re getting so good at begging.” He takes your hands in his, running them down your breasts and waist so that you can feel yourself. “If it hurts, I need to know. Okay?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“No, no, no. Say it for real.” You’re confused as to what he means by that, but his swollen lips and the weight of his words against your mouth helps you. His brown eyes are kind and sincere, filled with warmth and desire as he looks past your naked body. Briefly, he takes the collar out from between your lips so you can speak clearly. “Say my name so I know you understand, Y/N.”

“Yes, Peter. I understand.”

With that, the blond thrusts into you with one fast motion. The fullness of his cock inside your cunt makes you gasp out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He kisses you again, tongue delving past your teeth to drown in you and take your mind away from the stinging stretch of your walls. His hand feels light on your face, his features contorted into utter yearning when you return the gesture and touch him gingerly.

“Can I move?” He sighs, his breath once again bringing life to your lungs. “You’re — fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so hard. You gotta stop that.”

You giggle mischievously. “Why? Are you gonna cum prematurely again?”

The jab causes Peter’s eyes to darken. He hums at that, then thrusts harshly into you with flaring nostrils. You cry out in surprise when he stuffs the collar back between your teeth, gagging you. “Wow, who fucking said you could talk like that? You know, Y/N, baby, I could end this right here and right now…” You’re clenching tightly around him, your wetness smearing the back of your thighs and his heavy balls. “… make you walk out of this room all by yourself… your pussy dripping, just aching, because I didn’t let you cum.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I won’t do it again.”

He pushes you down by the head, fucking you deeply into the mattress. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as his hips meet your ass, skin slapping against skin as he spreads you apart with his large hands. “Daddy. You call me daddy. Nothing else, nothing more.” He grabs a handful of your hair, fisting into the tangled strands as he pounds into you. “Taking me so well. Such a fucking bad girl now, yet your cunt is just… fucking hell — shit, you’re made just for me. Aren’t you?”

“I’m all yours. Yours to ruin.”

“That’s right, princess.” He spits into his hand, spreading the saliva across the pads of his fingers before he’s circling your clit with his middle digit. “You’re mine. Don’t even know the first thing about you and yet this belongs to me.”

The comment leaves a weird taste in your mouth, but he isn’t wrong.

He doesn’t know the first thing about you.

But it doesn’t deter you from wanting him any less.

“You’re giving it to me so — so fucking good, daddy.” You pant out, sweat building on your forehead as his cock continues prodding your g-spot. “Love the way you fuck me. Fuck me like I’m nothing but… but a little slut.”

“My little slut.”

You sob in pleasure. “Your little slut.”

“Aw, Y/N…” He chuckles darkly, hand splayed over your tailbone as his thrusting slows. Your inner thighs feel unusually wetter, then you realize what’s happened. “I just made you squirt all over my dick.”

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing.” You spit the collar out, laughing nervously in hopes that you hadn’t ruined the moment.

His lips twitch at that, nostalgic to when he accidentally came from eating you out in the bathtub back in September.

“Personally, I think it’s really hot. Maybe I can make you do it again.” He smiles innocently, leaning over your body to kiss your cheek. His raspy voice is laced with sin, filth dripping from his words. “This isn’t even our bed and yet you’ve made a mess of it, Y/N.”

Our bed.

No, no. Can’t think like that when his cock is still hard inside you. But it’s warranted — warranted when he captures your mouth into another tender kiss that feels too romantic for the situation, too real and too gentle for a quick hookup. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his soft blond curls sticking to your slick skin as you both catch your breaths.

You don’t say anything after, just let Peter pull you from your awkwardly-bent position and comfortably roll you onto your back. He keeps a hand behind your neck, lips wandering over the marks he left from earlier.

“Y/N…” You bring his face up to yours when your name is uttered, thumb drawing circles on his chiseled jaw to show him he has your full attention before he continues. “I…”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow.

He does that thing he did before — mouth opens, closes, the cogs in his brain turn visibly. “I… fuck. Sorry, I forgot.”

You don’t believe him one bit, face softening when you see a flicker of sadness glaze over his pupils. But you don’t egg him on, instead, you caress his cheek with a weak nod. “Okay.”

Peter smiles sheepishly to recover his fumbling. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

The compliment makes your lips twitch with giddiness, and you poke his sternum with your finger. “Thanks, you.” You kiss his eyelid, brushing back his hair away from his vision. “You still wanna keep going?”

“Yeah, I’m — sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I definitely want to.” He shifts, bringing your knees up to your chest as he nips at the backs of your thighs. “I wanna make you cum, Y/N.”

You shiver when he kisses the swollen nub of your clit. The light gesture makes your legs tremble, your hole clenching at the almost-innocent notion. “Then do it.”

He scoffs with a casual shrug. “You’re supposed to ask me nicely.”

“Can you please make me cum?” You teasingly grin at Peter, biting the nail of your thumb as he repeats the pleasurable action, kissing your mound. “Please, daddy? I’ve been so, so good tonight.”

“Not entirely, but I’ll let it slide, princess.” He spreads your legs apart, letting your calves rest on the top of his firm shoulders as he strokes his cock into his fist, using his spit as lube. “Maybe next time, I’ll remember to punish you.”

“Oh, fuck.” His throbbing tip slips in first, the reddened head of his cock is enough to make you whine for more. “God. Oh, my god.”

Then the rest of him follows, his pelvic bone flush against your body as he buries his length inside you. He’s cursing uncontrollably under his breath, filthily watching how his cock disappears into your wet cunt and swallows his prick wholly. He studies the way your eyes roll to the back of your head when he shifts slightly, hiking your legs higher for more access.

“I could stay here forever.” He licks his lips, gauging your reaction as he lazily plays with your clit. “Make your cunt nothing but a nice little place to rest my cock. So warm, so tight for me, I wouldn’t even have to fuck you and I’d be content.”

“I need you so bad. Please.”

He slaps you again. It isn’t as harsh, but the sting is enough to make you behave for the time being. “You know what that’s called? When I keep my cock inside you, but don’t fuck you?”

“No, daddy.”

“It’s called cockwarming.” He spares you the anticipation, slowly drilling his length into you until a string of moans escape your quivering frame. “And that’s what I do to sluts who don’t know how to act right. Maybe it’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“You better, or else I won’t make you cum.” He keeps a hand on your hip, the other wraps softly around your calf. “I was being nice when I fucked you in the bathroom. Here, now, you’re gettin’ a bit too comfortable with my kindness.” He pulls his hands away from your body, resting each palm on either side of your head as he hovers over you. “Earn it. Earn your fucking reward.”

At this point, neither of you care how loud your moans have been. Peter’s practically a moaning mess when you start to fuck yourself on his cock. Your breasts bounce with each desperate motion. You’re not sure how much longer you can take, but you want every minute with Peter to last.

“Can you feel me?” You breathe out, cupping the blond’s face as you gaze up into his starry eyes. “Can you feel my pussy milking you?”

“Fuck, baby — yeah, I can. Not gonna be so tight when we’re finished, aren’t you?” He says through a whimper, meeting your cunt with his hard strokes. “Maybe I’ll need to fuck something tighter…”

“Oh, my god.” Your face heats up at the thought.

“Like your ass.”

“Fucking hell, Peter.”

“Mhm, you want that. I know you do. Makin’ a real mess here, Y/N.” He gestures to the sticky mess on his lower stomach as your juices continue to coat his cock. “Just by me saying I wanna fuck your ass? Can’t help but wonder what else could happen if I actually did.”

The ache in your cunt grows stronger as Peter quickens his thrusts. Your skin is red with irritation from the action of his skin slapping against yours. Peter’s fingers make indents in your stomach as he guides your body to meet his.

“Whore.” You whisper, recalling the nicknames you used on each other from before.

He can’t help but smile. “Slut.”

“Show me next time…” You fist the bedsheets, nose scrunching up as you snarl desperately at him. “Next time you fuck me, we can try all the things I said I wanted you to do to me.”

Next time, he thinks. Your words echo through his mind.

Peter’s movements grow sloppier. He buries his face by the crook of your neck, mouth falling open in wanton satisfaction.

“Fuck, Y/N. Oh, fuck. You — you feel so goddamn good. Baby, I can’t… can’t get enough of you…” You can feel him falling apart. Peter’s soft voice is an instant giveaway, based on how his deep groans suddenly turn into needy whimpers. “I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you. You don’t understand how fucking good you are to me — how this cunt just milks me and milks me… could fill you up for days if you’d let me.”

I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you.

If you’d let me.

His words find your heart more than the space between your legs.

“Peter, I’m so close… fuck, I’m — right there, please. Yes, right there!” You cry out, shaking your head through a blubbering sob as his finger circles your clit. The combined pressure and the harsh pounding of his cock sends you into a frenzy, incoherent sentences leaving your mouth as Peter moans shamelessly above you.

“There we go, look at you. Look at you, princess. Feels n-nice, doesn’t it? I bet you’re so close.” His words are shaky, his own release approaching as your cunt flutters periodically around him.

Your mouth hovers over his lips, mouths searching for each other in the dim light as he tries to kiss you. “Tell me if I’ve been a good girl.”

“The best girl. You’re my best girl, princess. Taking my cock like a champ, taking it like you’re made for it.” His eager praises push you closer to the edge. “Oh, baby. You’re shaking. You wanna cum so bad, that your body is practically beggin’ daddy to give you an out. I think you’ve been an angel tonight. A little rebellious…” He chuckles, before inhaling deeply. “But I think you’ve shown me how well you can behave. That’s all daddy wants from you, Y/N.” He kisses your temple, then your cheek, your jaw, until he’s tugging at your bottom lip with yearning. “Oh, fuck. Cum all you want for me. You’ve earned it, sweetheart.”

“I’m — I’m… please, Peter!”

“Shit, you’re so tight. Jesus, Y/N, I’m gonna…”

“I’m cumming!” You sob loudly, forehead resting against Peter’s as you crudely moan together in tandem.

His cock is pulsating inside you, his spill painting the walls of your cunt with a milky white as you unforgivingly squeeze the cum right out of him. Peter whines your name with closed eyes. The intensity of your orgasms leave you spent, nothing but an exchange of pants and satisfied groans fill the sex-scented air as you clutch Peter’s shoulder. He leaves a path of kisses across your collarbone, his nose bumping against yours before he explores your mouth yet again.

“Shit…” He whispers, wincing at your reaction when he tries pulling out. “Sorry, sorry.”

“S’alright.” You sit up on your forearms, eyes dancing over Peter’s face as he watches his cum seep out of you. “God, you weren’t kidding when you said the bed is a mess.” You laugh with an embarrassed look, rubbing your neck as Peter moves to lay beside you.

He sighs loudly and rests his hands over his stomach. “Yeah, I feel really bad for whoever’s sleeping here tonight.”

“You’re an asshole for that.”

“Oi, don’t get me started on you, freak.” He teases, flicking your side as you tuck your head between his chest and his arm. The laugh that runs through your body is innocent and sincere. Peter can feel the warm rumble of your giggle in his chest, and his heart grows fonder at the sight of you exhausted and sleepy.

“Hey, I…”

“Y/N…”

You chuckle awkwardly at each other, tearing your gazes away from one another’s faces as you recollect your thoughts.

“Sorry, you first.” You offer, gesturing at him with an open hand.

“No, you. Please.” His thumb begins to trace the visible veins on your wrist. Peter finds pleasure in how your small hand fits in his, fingers twitching against his knuckles as you swallow with uncertainty.

“Earlier…” The word already makes Peter anxious. “You said my name, like you wanted to tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

You continue despite knowing it sounds stupid aloud, especially when the blond’s eyes intently lock onto your face.

“But then, you told me that you forgot.” He nods in acknowledgment. “Did you — did you remember what it was?”

You can feel his body tense beneath you. He shifts, running a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling nervously.

“I never forgot, I just… dunno. Don’t think it’s something I can say to you.”

“Oh, okay. Is it, uh, like a thing? Like a frat thing? Or…”

Peter huffs at that, counting the seconds that pass by as he tries to think of something in response. “No, it’s more of a…” He sighs again, and you look up at him. “It’s about a girl.”

“Oh.” Your face falls. You have no right to feel bad, but every bone in your body goes limp with complete disappointment.

“And, I’m not entirely sure how she feels about me.”

“Uhuh.” You try to tune him out, realizing that your awful decisions have finally caught up to you as he continues onward.

At this point, you don’t want to listen. You know it’ll only make you angry, but Peter doesn’t take the hint, not even when you sit up and defensively pull your knees to your chest. In fact, he mirrors you, using a blanket to cover his indecency despite the established intimacy between the two of you.

Maybe it wasn’t intimacy.

There’s a fine line between that and… fucking, you suppose.

“I don’t think she really likes me as a person, and I… I don’t really know much about her, because she’s — she’s cool, and she keeps to herself most of the time. And I don’t see her often. But when I do…” He looks over at you, admiring how your gaze softens as he speaks almost cautiously. “When I do see her, I think of what it would be like to get to know her.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to talk to about this kind of stuff.” You shrug with an irritated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you narrow your eyes at him.

He’s upset you. But Peter continues, knowing that you’re smart enough to recognize the underlying meaning of his dumb words. “I haven’t taken her on a date. I don’t even know her — her last name or her major, or what kind of food she likes.”

“Well, that’s the whole point of going on a date. Peter, is this really what you wanted to tell me?” You break eye contact, putting up another wall as you get up to collect your clothing.

“Y/N. Stop what you’re doing and look at me.”

You turn to him with a clenched jaw and wide eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t know the first thing about her. But I want to, if she’d let me.”

If you’d let me.

The familiar phrase from earlier sinks in. Oh.

“Are you…” You laugh, more out of fear rather than actual humor. “Are you talking about me?“

“Yes, you dumbass.” Peter drags a heavy hand across his face, cupping it over his eyes as he avoids your shocked glare.

He can’t be serious. You know how cruel fratboys can be, so you choose not to believe him. “Peter, I-I don’t even know you.”

“I know, and I…” He groans in frustration. “I know I’ve probably ruined everything by hooking up with you, and — and I don’t normally find myself crushing on the people I have sex with… but I… I don’t know, Y/N. I’m a dick, and I’m sorry. So if you wanna forget about what I said, that’s fine. I just wanted to — to tell you. For closure.”

“You’re genuine?”

“Why would I be lying?”

“Because…” You scowl stubbornly, covering your breasts with the cloth of your dress. “Because you’re blond and an asshole.”

He laughs.

You do, too.

“Listen, I know what we have is unconventional. Like the most unconventional thing to base a relationship off of. And I’m not saying we even need to have a relationship, I just… I think I like you. And I wanna know everything about you.”

“Okay.” You slip your dress on, flexible fingers pulling the zipper up before you pick up your shoes and veil.

“Okay.”

You smile playfully. “That’s it?”

“What — what do you mean ‘that’s it?’ I said everything I wanted to say.” You slowly nod at that, grinning as you unlock the bedroom door. Peter watches anxiously as you linger by the doorway, your body wedged between the open crack.

The corners of your lips tug upwards.

“I don’t want you to become a stranger.”

The confession makes Peter feel weak in the knees. “I don’t want that, either.”

“Then you can start by asking for my number, Parker.”

A humorous huff escapes him. His shoulders deflate, a relieved chuckle whistling through his teeth.

“Can I get your number?”

You share a look of fondness in the midst of your distance.

Although the drumming music from downstairs feels loud and the chatter of people grows livelier with each long minute, it isn’t enough to drown the romantic tension between you and the bright-eyed blond. You step back into the room with him, shutting the door behind you. Peter doesn’t move an inch from where he stands, eyes trained on you as you take a pen from the desk by the closet and retrieve the clerical collar of his costume off the ground.

You scribble messily onto the white material, ink staining your fingers before you quietly hand the collar back to him.

“Think I’d like to know a little more about you, too.”

Peter smiles vibrantly. “You just ruined my Halloween costume.”

“Yeah, and you ruined my makeup. What else is new?” You nudge him, stepping closer towards him. “You should really get dressed before someone finds us here.”

He peers down at you, adoringly. “Oh, really?”

You get lost in the way he looks at you. “Yeah, never a good thing to get caught.”

“Mmm, I’m sure you know.” Simultaneously, your eyes linger on each other’s lips. Peter lifts a hand to caress your cheek. His thumb travels down your jawline, cradling your chin in his palm as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t be a stranger, Peter. Call me.”

His words are gentle, coming out as sheepish yet playful against your skin. “From a scale of one to ten, how much do you like me?”

“Negative.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Well, last time was different.” His face nears yours, lips hovering over one another yet again with giddy smiles. “But you’re still the same blond asshole I met in the bathroom.”

“You are extremely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Doesn’t that make you want me more?”

She had been the one to grab his arm and yank him furiously into that bathroom, dark nails cutting against his forearm like a cat scratch— he’d be the first to admit if it had been him. She’d also been the one to pull him by the collar for a kiss that he hadn't let her control. From there, it had devolved into sharp words that gradually lost their bite and soft apologies and kisses that stopped being battles. Or maybe he was overthinking it and she’d played him like a fiddle, although he’d seen the change in her eyes when he’d told her he didn’t hate her. The thought had never crossed his mind; he’d thought maybe he was just too loud for her and she preferred quiet in the lab, which Peter wasn’t particularly known for. Just a dumb workplace rivalry, right? It was easy to joke around with the haughty girl and see if he could get her to crack, loosen up just a little. And sure, maybe he was obnoxiously nice because killing someone with kindness was satisfying, but he truly had hoped that she’d soften eventually. 

The fact that an idiotic comment he’d made had bothered her so much hadn’t even sunk in until he’d been in bed that night, staring at the ceiling in a haze, replaying every second of her in his head. He genuinely hadn’t known that that was why she usually gave him stony silence and snappish answers when she had to speak with him. A few dumb words meant as playful had eaten away at her for months, and honestly, he understood where she was coming from. He’d only met her an hour before while they’d completed paperwork. She didn’t know him or his sense of humor. Sucks to be you was something you say to your best friend, not your brand new colleague. 

He also had no idea what the hell had gotten into him when he’d walked into that corridor, talking to her the way he had. Who was that guy? Something about her just spun him out entirely. Calling her spoiled was shitty, he knew that. It had been easy to fling at her after months of snippiness, and yeah, he should have apologized more sincerely. But instead he’d dug his heels in and told her why she was spoiled, tossing sharp little reasons out like horseshoes, watching her body tense with irritation before all hell finally broke loose. 

It wasn’t like he’d followed her out of the dining room with the hopes of the night ending in brain-melting sex; he’d really wanted to squash whatever was between them. But now there was something different between them: uncertainty. Because why would she have kissed his chest and brushed his hair out of his eyes? There was no reason for any of that. That sweetness he’d insisted on just to needle at her might have been real, and it was eating him alive. 

And the joke was on him, because he’d spent the weekend thinking of her: the cherry red of her mouth, the soft sighs she’d given him, and the absolute worst thing, which was the utter confusion. He didn’t know for certain if she’d enjoyed it or if she’d decided to screw with him. The moment she’d kissed his jaw and asked to ride him was when she’d flipped him around entirely. He hadn’t ever thought that her giving up control would be his downfall, but the second she’d gone sweet was when he’d started to lose himself. And now, his brain was all over the place. One minute, he’d be totally convinced that he’d made her come four times and the next he’d be wondering if she was just a great actress. Being up in the air with her was a complete headfuck. 

But it hadn’t stopped him from thinking about dragging her into the supply closet at work and eating her out until she couldn’t take it anymore. It hadn’t stopped his brain from drifting to her in the shower after he’d swung in from a long cold night and imagining her on her knees with her nails raking down his thighs and mascara trailing down her cheeks. It hadn’t stopped him from thinking of a lot of different things. 

It was becoming a problem. 

The lab’s New Year’s Eve party was at some ridiculous hotel in the heart of the city. Apparently, they had the run of the ballroom, not to mention an open bar, which was nice since he didn’t get hangovers. She’d said maybe she’d know by New Year’s, and that was all part of the game, right? If it was a game? Was she agonizing over it like he was? Honestly, he didn’t even know if she’d be there, and it was gross to show up just on the off-chance of seeing someone he’d fucked in a bathroom, hoping for a repeat. Come on, Parker. Be better than that guy. Why couldn’t he just treat a one night stand the way other people his age did? That’s all it was, just two people taking out months of irritation on each other by banging it out. It wasn’t a thing, and he was making it a thing. 

The hotel lobby was all chrome and black, and it looked more menacing than inviting, like some kind of mid-2000s sex dungeon. There was a sign pointing toward the ballroom that he followed, fidgeting with his tie as he found the rest of his coworkers. Why Juliette had spent so much on balloons for a bunch of adults, he’d never know. 

Peter spent the next hour slipping in and out of small talk, holding a beer more to have something to squeeze rather than drink, because his nerves were up and it wasn’t even a spider thing. He was bouncy and maybe talking a little too fast, because he kept thinking of her and her sharp little mouth and how her eyes had gone glassy with pleasure before she’d shoved her face into her neck, like she could hide it from him. 

But as good as his senses were, he did not have even close to a solid read on her. Cagey little thing. It was the lack of clarity, that was all. He just needed to know, and then he’d be over it and it would be out of his system and he could go back to sleeping badly for other reasons. 

He set his bottle on a table and a draft of cold air caught him. The balcony doors were open, and there she was. 

She was with Annika, and she was wearing black again, although he could only see the hem of her dress peeking out from under her coat. It hit her just above the knees, with a slit up the side that shorted his brain out for two seconds. Bits of snow dusted her shoulders and hair and she shivered slightly as she spoke, grinning happily and clinking glasses with Annika before snaking their arms around each other to drink. The cocktail was either bad or too strong, because she shuddered and wrinkled her nose as she coughed. Shaking her head, she caught his eye and froze for a split second before giving him a small wave. 

That was a positive sign. She didn’t want to kill him. Maybe. He hadn’t texted her back after that picture, because what the hell was he supposed to do? Send one in return of the scratch she’d left on his shoulder? Text a wink emoji? Call her? There was no so you fucked your coworker, now what? brochure he could consult. Instead, he’d just stared at the photo and then he’d remembered how fucking good she’d tasted and before he knew it, he was taking a cold shower. 

Annika left a few minutes later, and Peter took that opportunity before he lost his nerve. 

“Hi,” he said much more confidently than he felt, sidling up to her. Was that weird of him? Was he acting entitled? Maybe he needed a Xanax. Or a lobotomy. 

“Hi,” she replied, looking lethally pretty. Her mouth was dark red, lipstick staining the rim of her glass. “Happy almost New Year.”

He nodded. “The, uh, ball’s over there.” He pointed across the skyline, through the myriad of glittering windows and lights. Smooth. Why the hell was he talking about that? He knew only a few things about her, but one piece of information he had was that she was as local as he was. Telling her about the ball was like her taking him on a tour of Fifth Avenue. 

“I know where it is,” she said, but it wasn’t unkind. “My parents used to bring me to see it drop when I was a kid and I hated it. It was too loud and too cold.” Little clouds lifted from her mouth as she spoke, disappearing as quickly as they came. 

“I only ever saw it on TV.” 

Silence settled over them while he agonized over what was possibly the worst small talk he’d ever engaged in. The New Year’s ball, that was super sexy and cool of him. Why not go ahead and talk about his annual physical or the article he’d read last week about intestinal parasites? Maybe he could explain the electoral college to her while he was at it. 

“I talked to Dr. Scott,” she said, taking another sip of her drink, scrunching her nose at the bite of it. “Told him it wasn’t fair that I was being benched when I’m more than qualified to take on bigger responsibilities. But I said it more, you know. Kiss-assy than that.”

“Good,” Peter said, immediately wondering if that meant they’d work together more, because that might just worsen his overactive imagination. 

“And,” she began after a moment, bouncing slightly as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her peacoat, but he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or nerves. “You got your way. I thought about last week a lot and I’m sure if we’d been scheduled together, I would have looked at your hands.”

Oh. It had been on her mind too. “What else did you think about?” he asked before he could stop himself. It was selfish to ask, but he wanted to hear it. Maybe she’d spent the entire week just as fucked up and horny as him. 

She hesitated, biting her lip, and he knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He also knew that he should stop staring at her. “Four oh eight,” she replied finally, downing the rest of her drink. 

Peter stared at her, wondering if she’d misheard him. “What are you—”

“Every January first, I get brunch with my best friend and then we go on a really long run together in the park to work it off, and then we make our resolutions by the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. We’ve been doing it since high school. I figured since I’m supposed to be a few blocks east tomorrow, I’d spend the night.”

It clicked, and heat flooded his body. “Four oh eight—”

“Is the room I’m staying in,” she finished as she pulled a cherry out of her cocktail and popped it in her mouth. “I don’t think I should answer your question in front of our colleagues. That would be unprofessional.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed, still trying to process her words. Room number meant, well, he knew what that meant. Unless he was being a pig. God, she was good. 

After a moment, she pulled the knotted stem from her mouth, twirling it between her fingers. “Happy New Year. I’m gonna head upstairs. To room four oh eight.” Setting it on the railing, she disappeared back inside, weaving through everyone like a scrap of silk without a backward glance. 

The stem sat innocently on the cold metal, and all he could think of was her tongue and how she’d licked his neck right after he’d come and the stars that had burst under his skin when she’d done that. It was cyclical thinking like he’d never experienced in his life. If he looked at a fork, he’d loop back to her somehow. He couldn’t get his head out of that fucking restaurant. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to. 

He checked his watch. It was just after ten, and he rocked back on his heels thoughtfully. It didn’t seem wildly off-base to think she might have invited him to her room for a hook-up. And Peter was more than fine with that. He wasn’t looking for anything serious, because that’s how people in his life always got hurt, right? And if his gorgeous albeit hard-to-decipher coworker wanted to have sex, he would be an idiot to go home. 

So he headed for the elevator bank, slipping past all his half-inebriated coworkers. Maybe it was stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. Curiosity buzzed through him the entire ride up, and as he passed each floor, he wondered if he should just leave. Once was a mistake, twice was a habit, right? 

Still, he found himself in front of her room, the three gold numbers under the peephole glinting at him like an invitation. Before he could chicken out, he rapped his knuckles under the four and stuck his hands in his pockets while he waited. There were small noises from behind the door: something being zipped, soft footfalls, a quiet thud, and a muffled ow, shit that followed. 

The urge to flee grew worse the longer he waited. It felt like a guillotine blade was hovering above him, ready to drop through his neck. This was dumb, right? He should just—

The door beeped and swung open. She was still in her party clothes, heels and all, and for a moment he was stunned at how truly lovely she was. Normally it was jeans and a fitted tee under her lab coat with sneakers. Not this stupefying beauty that fuzzed his brain out, an elegant viper of a woman that he’d let strike him if she wanted. 

Shit, he had it bad. Whatever it was. 

“Did you want to come in?” she asked, resting her temple against the door. He couldn’t tell if she was being coy or not. “Because my feet are killing me.”

“Uh, yeah,” he spluttered, and Jesus, he sounded like some fumbling-ass kid who’d never talked to someone in his life. 

The door seemed too loud as it closed behind him, and he was hyper-aware of everything: the swish of her dress against her thighs and how it hugged her hips, the creak of the bed as she sat down on it, the chill of the air conditioner (how were hotel rooms always so perfectly freezing cold? he could never figure it out) and the slight rattle it made. It was a basic single room: a king-sized bed with a green comforter and a few pillows, a little desk and chair next to the dresser with a TV on top, and a nightstand that probably had rumpled take-out menus shoved unceremoniously between the never-read pages of a Bible. 

“Earth to you,” she said with a flutter of her fingers. Fingers that he’d thought of way too much in the last week. He was an idiot for being smug about her focus on his hands because that had backfired spectacularly in his own brain. “You want something to drink?”

He shook his head, even though his mouth was bone-dry, like he’d swallowed sand. Where was he supposed to start? Was he supposed to start? She was the one who’d said she’d answer his question and then given him her room number. The carousel in his brain spun madly, and he pictured ugly chipped porcelain horses and tigers and ostriches flying around in hideous pastels. 

“Why’d you send me that picture?” he blurted out, because all he had thought of for days had been her thighs and how he’d wanted to be between them again. 

She gave him the ghost of a smile as she considered his question. “I wanted to get under your skin,” she replied, perching on the edge of the bed primly, legs pressed together from ankle to knee. Controlled. Forbidden. Like those perfect little dolls that sat inside china cabinets. He always wanted to touch those, just because he wasn’t supposed to. “Wanted you to feel the same way I did. I wore your fingerprints for days. Couldn’t get away from you.”

Peter sank down in the too-hard plastic desk chair opposite her. Her words sliced through him, quick and blade-sharp, lodging uncomfortably in the gaps between his ribs. The space between them felt excruciatingly wide, crackling with some unknowable wild thing. 

“I shouldn’t have left marks on you, I’m sorry.” Shit, that was what he should have texted back a fucking week ago. 

She raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking like he’d said something funny. “You don’t think I would have stopped you after the first one if I didn’t want it?”

His dick twitched at her words, and he dug his blunt nails into his palm in a useless attempt to take his mind off it. 

“It was obnoxious,” she said after a minute, toying with the slit of her dress. He could see now that it wasn't black, but a deep red, and it clung to her like a second skin. The coat she’d worn had done her a disservice, because she looked like absolute sin, and for what? A work get-together? “I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth all over my tits and how you kept making me come.”

Jesus Christ, that was like a taser. Peter could practically feel those little darts being launched at him, crackling away merrily as he writhed in pain. He swallowed hard, hoping it wasn’t obvious, but he knew it had to be. “Yeah?” he replied, because the only other words in his head were an invitation to sit on his face and he needed to keep his greedy mouth shut. He wished he hadn’t slunk down into the chair with his legs thrown open, because if she kept talking the way she was, it was going to slowly kill him and she was going to see that. 

“I couldn’t walk on Saturday,” she continued calmly, standing up and stepping out of her shiny black heels slowly, the same ones she’d worn to the restaurant. The ones she’d dizzily stumbled out of when she’d come on his face, and God it had been so uncomfortable kneeling on the ground but so worth it to watch her fall apart. There was something deadly in her soft tone, quiet and simmering. “My thighs were all seized up. And the other night, I thought about how you said my name when you came and it made me lightheaded.” 

Peter shifted again, her words branching through him like quicksilver. He was already half-hard just from listening to her, and a million possibilities raced through his mind. Had he ever wanted someone so badly? It was impossible to label the shifting dynamic between them, but whatever it was was addictive. 

“You kept calling me pretty and telling me I felt good, and you didn’t have to say any of those things. You could have been greedy and only cared about getting yourself off but you made me come four times. And when I told you to stop calling me baby, you did.” Standing in front of him now, her chin was tilted as she took him in, eyes sweeping over him. She purposefully lingered on his crotch before looking back at him, and it felt like an eternity passed until she spoke again. “I was messing with you until I wasn’t. Because I think you stopped messing with me first. Did you?” she asked, and there was the slightest bit of uncertainty in her eyes. That little crack in her façade made him like her more, because for a moment, she wasn’t an aloof little glass doll that he couldn’t get close to. She was a normal person, just as confused as him. That split second gave her away: she’d also been wondering where she stood with him. 

He nodded. Whatever games they’d been playing had disappeared as soon as she’d slumped back against the wall, unable to stand properly. Fear had flared up his spine, and the idea of her passing out and busting her head open because of how rough he was being had knocked a little bit of sense back into him. “I did.”

“I spent a lot of last week thinking.” She took a step and stopped between his spread thighs, then reached for his tie, turning the dark green strip over in her hands contemplatively. “When I stopped being stubborn, I did like it,” she admitted quietly. “And I was wondering if we could try again?”

That was exactly what he wanted, and it took every last ounce of restraint not to groan out loud and pin her to the bed. He swallowed hard, desperately trying not to shift around too much even though he was ready to jump out of his skin. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “I thought if I could be nicer this time, it would be better.”

“Nicer?” he echoed with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sweeter,” she clarified, and it was the deliberate use of his words that arrowed through him. “Because that was when I started enjoying it more. When I decided to play nice, because I was trying to— to win, I guess.” 

“Are you sure?” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and she took another step, her eyes dark with want, glittering in the low light of the room.

She nodded quickly. Eagerly. “Or you can go catch your train.”

“Well, you know, trying again. That’s important,” he said as he grabbed her hips, fingers splayed wide across her waist. Super cool, Parker. Shut up.

“For sure,” she drawled as she gave his tie a playful tug. “Very important.”

“Yeah,” he said before he could blurt out any other dumb things. His hands seemed huge against her, his thumbs tucked up against the bottom of her ribs like they belonged there. 

She let him pull her closer, tracing his cheekbone before returning to his tie. “I liked when you called me baby,” she whispered as she began to work at the knot, nimble fingers dancing against his throat. “And I liked how you kissed me all slow.”

“Told you you were sweet,” he breathed as she moved to straddle him, placing her knees against his hips, balancing her shins on his thighs. The movement forced her dress to ride up, and his fingers twitched traitorously against her waist. 

“I can be,” she said, rocking against him gently, a little noise squeaking out of her when he let out a harsh breath at the friction. Her eyes widened. “You liked hearing how you got inside my head?”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed as she ground down hard just once before stopping. “You’re a menace.”

“When you got hard from just touching me…” she trailed off quietly, playing with the buttons on his shirt. Every tap of her dark nails against the plastic was torture, the staccato beat teasing his brain. “It made me wet, even though I was mad at you.” She rose up and kissed his cheek, rubbing her nose along his jaw like a kitten. “I’m sorry I acted like a brat for months instead of saying something when it happened.”

“Shouldn’t have said it.” His words were strangled, because the way she was talking all honey-slow had him in a fucking chokehold. Deadly girl, indeed. He pulled her closer, nuzzling at her bare shoulder, grateful that her dress showed so much skin. 

“I spent a lot of time thinking about the things you said,” she told him as she began to unbutton his shirt. “I don’t usually appreciate it when people talk to me like that. But something in my head liked that you took control. It was nice to turn my brain… onto a lower setting.”

That was unexpected. “I didn’t think I was the one steering that ship,” he admitted. Sure, he’d been busy running his mouth and spinning her this way and that, but he’d listened to everything she’d told him, verbally and physically. It was an intoxicating dynamic he’d never been part of before, and it had sent his blood roaring feverishly through him the whole time. And maybe he’d started in control, but it sure hadn’t ended that way. He’d been at her mercy, completely drunk on her, so fucked up on how she was trembling in his arms and around his cock that he would have done anything she’d told him: burned down the restaurant, stolen a car, fought a nun; it didn’t matter. 

She shrugged with a small grin. “Co-captains, maybe.”

He scooped her up and she squeaked, wrapping her legs around his hips. “I don’t know what the hell came over me the other night, but—”

“You should do it more often,” she interrupted as he settled on the bed with her, and she pushed him back to straddle his thighs. “Because I spent all week thinking about how much I wanted you to fuck me again.”

She was making him a little dizzy with her proclamations, and if that’s what she’d liked, he was more than willing to say those things for her again. He let her trace down his stomach, curiously following along some old scars. The nerves were dead in certain places, but the sight of her gently touching him was more than enough. “Wanted you on a bed,” he admitted, slowly pushing the silky hem of her dress up a bit, greedily searching for any remnants of the hickey, but it was long gone. “You didn’t deserve a bathroom.” 

She dipped down to kiss his neck, pulling back before he could touch her. He could smell how turned on she was and it shot through his gut like a bullet. “What happened here?” she asked, delicately tracing the smallest scar from Connors. They’d faded over the years but they still split across him in three ugly slashes. 

“Juggling accident,” he replied, because there was obviously no way in hell he could tell her that he was Spider-Man. “Wasn’t ready for chainsaws.”

“Okay,” she said agreeably, leaning down to kiss the longest one. “You don’t owe me, I was just curious. I’m sorry for whatever it was.” Her tone held no malice or irritation. Just a quiet sort of understanding. 

She continued to trail her mouth over his chest, her tongue darting out every so often to swipe at him. A trail of red lip prints decorated him, stark against his winter-pale skin. Part of him kept waiting for some kind of razor blade of a comment, and then he wondered if she was anticipating the same from him. 

“I know you said you liked it, but I said a lot of stuff last time, and it wasn’t all— shiiiit,” he interrupted himself as her teeth grazed his nipple for a split second. “Wasn’t all nice of me to say.”

“Don’t apologize.” She shrugged as she sat up, her fingers still busily exploring his chest, tracing and teasing over scar tissue. “We didn’t agree on rules beforehand. And it’s not like you called me a slut or slapped me.”

“So what are the rules?” Peter asked, taking a steadying breath as she left a searing line of open-mouthed kisses down his ribs. 

“Don’t call me a slut and don’t slap me.” Her cool wasn’t contagious; every part of him was buzzing with anticipation as she kissed lower, licking a path down his stomach. 

“Anything else?” he asked, tensing for a moment as she began to mess with his belt. He felt unnaturally heavy, weighed down by lust like he was going to crash through the bed. 

“Kiss my neck and fuck me until I can’t remember my name?” she asked, looking up at him with big eyes, her chin sharp against his hip. “Please?”

Peter shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, wondering if he’d ever been this hard in his life. “That’s what you’re gonna do?” he asked as he sat up. “Say those things like you’re not gonna make me lose my mind?”

“I thought you could handle me, Parker.” She blinked up at him innocently with a gemstone-bright gaze. 

“Back to Parker, huh?” he muttered, pulling her up into his lap. 

“Earn it,” she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his neck as she ground against him with a faltering sigh. “Earn it if you want it so bad. Be a big—”

His brain snapped and he had her on her back so fast it took him a moment to process it. Beneath him, she was breathless and staring up at him hungrily as she yanked the rumpled collar of his shirt to drag him down, his chest pressed to hers as she anchored him close. 

“You want me to earn it?” he asked, spreading her thighs with his. Again, where had this Peter Parker been hiding? This wasn’t how he spoke to people, but he couldn’t shut himself up with her. She brought something out in him, some version of himself with filthy thoughts that turned into filthy words that spilled from his mouth uncontrollably. She did something to him, and he liked it a little too much. 

She nodded immediately, slowly arching into him. The air was heavy with the smell of her perfume, something pretty and overwhelming that he wanted to drown in. “I wanna feel it tomorrow,” she said quietly, tugging at his belt loops to keep him close. 

Her words jackknifed into him. “Fuck,” he muttered as she held his face in her palms, thumbs gentle against his jaw as she gazed up at him. Something mischievous twinkled in her eyes. Something dirty. “That’s what you want, baby?”

A pleased smile tugged at her dark mouth. “Uh-huh.” Her own lipstick was smeared against her chest, mimicking the marks he’d left last time. “Will you kiss me?” she asked softly. Her question would have sounded innocent if she hadn’t been painting all sorts of erotic imagery for the past ten minutes. “You haven’t kissed me yet.”

Experimentally, he dragged his thumb along her bottom lip, absurdly wondering if he could leave a fingerprint on her oxblood lips. Her tongue darted out to lick his calloused skin, and it nearly killed him. 

“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?” he mumbled, pulling his hand away and propping himself up on his elbow. He was busy trying to memorize her face: long dark lashes and severely sharp eyeliner that made her look like a cat, pretty pouty lips that he was dying to have all over his body, and those devastating eyes that had filled most of his thoughts in the last week. 

“You don’t wanna put your fingers in my mouth?” she asked, tilting her head in that enticing who, me? way.

He leaned in, and her pupils bloomed as his lips brushed over hers. There was no reason to be a smartass and ruin the moment. Instead, he tilted her chin and kissed her jaw, listening to her sigh turn into a gasp when he ran his teeth along her throat. If her fingers in his hair were anything to go by, she was done for. 

“That’s not a real kiss,” she whispered as he made his way to her collarbone, humming as he nibbled at her smooth skin. Her voice was pleasure-wobbly, but she pushed him away slightly so she could see him.

“You want a real kiss, sweetheart?” he asked, caging her under him. 

She nodded eagerly, and her pulse thundered against his chest as he leaned in, her mouth parting under his with a soft moan. She tasted like cherries— always fruit with her— sweet and bursting across his tongue like a firework. It was easier this time, because he knew some of what she liked, the rhythm of her body, the spots that made her gasp and shiver. He cupped her cheek, spreading his fingers wide as her tongue slid along his lazily. Her hands snaked to his shoulders, pulling him close as she rocked up into him, grinding against him hard. 

“That feels good,” she sighed, pushing his shirt down his arms with unsteady hands. It ended up in a heap somewhere near her shoes. “I need…”

“Poor little thing,” he said, kissing the apple of her cheek as she grabbed his hand and guided it between her thighs. “You need me to make you feel better?” She nodded quickly, and he pushed her underwear to the side and dragged his finger through her slick folds, watching her slump heavily into the bed as he teased her clit. “You liked telling me how I got inside your head, huh?”

“Maybe I was thinking about you eating me out again,” she said, trying for confident and landing closer to breathless. Her calm was beginning to crack, but he didn’t think it was from nerves. Rather, it was from how much she wanted him. 

“All you have to do is ask.”

Her eyes went dark. “Will you eat me out?”

Peter slid a finger inside her wet heat, and her nails scraped against his shoulder, a sharp sound slipping from her mouth. “You don’t wanna ride my hand instead?” he asked, forcing her to keep her eyes on him, gripping her jaw firmly. “Don’t want me to fill you up like this?”

She whimpered and ground down against him, her heart tripping around in her chest like it was drunk. “Parker...”

“You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?” he cooed, pressing his middle finger inside her as he brushed his mouth over hers. “Hear how pretty you sound?”

She nodded, and he began to pump his wrist slowly, his fingers sinking lewdly into her cunt. “But I think your mouth would sound better,” she whispered, tugging him close so she could press a deceptively chaste kiss to his mouth. “Please?”

She made him dumb, plain and simple. Needy and vocal were a heady mix from her, and it was driving him just a little out of himself. And the fact that she was being up front about her neediness this time was a double-edged sword: she wanted him and she was going to make him lose his fucking mind along the way if he didn’t make her lose it first. 

Peter let her push his hand away and she tugged her dress over her head while he kicked off his shoes, because everything felt too tight— his skin, his clothes, his brain. It was all too small and ready to burst apart from her and her words, her black magic words that were casting some sort of spell over him that he didn’t care to fight off. 

Leaning down, he returned the kisses she’d given him, starting at her neck and making a lazy path down between her breasts to her ribs. Her heartbeat was wild, thrumming harder the lower he went. When he reached her hip, her fingers threaded through his hair, and he looked up at her. The expression on her face was priceless: her wide pretty eyes, her parted red lips. It was a far cry from how she usually looked at him: one brow raised as if to say really?, her jaw set so tight he often wondered if she was literally biting her tongue so she didn’t lose her shit with him, her eyes rolling in irritation at something he’d said. 

This was much more preferable. 

“Are you gonna let me have you?” he asked, running his fingers up her stomach until he reached her chest. Her bra was the same material as her underwear, and he ran his palms over her breasts, pleased when she arched into his touch with a kittenish noise. Her nipples were hard through the thin material, and he squeezed her tits gently before sliding his hands back to her hips. 

“Yes,” she said softly, raking her nails over his scalp when he nipped the top of her thigh, nuzzling his face between her legs for a moment before looking at her again. She let go of his hair to push herself up on her elbows, watching him intently, her eyes dark with desire. Good. That was how he wanted her to look at him. 

“Why’d you wear these? You wear ‘em for me?” he asked, slipping his thumbs under the lace to touch her hips. 

“You think everything I do is for you?” she teased. Her breathing had kicked up again and she was struggling to stay calm as he tugged the scrap of material down her legs, baring her to him. It took every bit of strength not to groan at the sight of her. “Maybe I just—”

With a yank, he pulled her forward and set her legs on his shoulders, kissing the insides of her knees. There was a slice of a scar he’d seen last time, paper-thin and almost imperceptible, but he’d noticed it because he’d cataloged every inch of her like he was gonna be tested later. How many freckles? Any tattoos? Birthmarks? Dimples? “How’d you do this?” he asked, dragging his tongue against it. 

She huffed out a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh. “Juggling accident.”

“Cute.”

“I know,” she sighed as he kissed higher, her heel digging into his back as she jumped at his touch. “S— skates. Tripped over them and split my knee. Never touched ‘em again.”

He hummed as he made a path up to her hip, breathing in her bare skin, clean and floral and her. For a moment, he just took her in: how the deep red of her bra contrasted so beautifully with her skin, how her ribs trembled, and how she was trying to stay propped up on her elbows to watch him, to keep some semblance of control. “You got scared?”

“I got mad. Felt stupid, I don’t— oh,” she sighed as he let his cheek scrape against her. “I liked your beard. Looked nice on you. Felt nice.”

Peter was gonna burst if he didn’t taste her. He pinned her hips to the bed with his forearm and she peered down at him in anticipation. 

“I know you said it’s not a trade, but I want to—” she tried to say, but she fell back against the pillows as he found her clit with the flat of his tongue. Burying his face between her legs was all he’d thought of for days, and he found himself rocking his hips into the mattress to find some kind of relief as he ate her out. It didn’t help much. 

“Want to watch you arch your back, didn’t get to see that last time,” he muttered as he planted a kiss on her hip. She was soaked and shaking already and it was a rush to know that he’d done that to her. She squirmed under his touch, bucking against his mouth to try to get more friction, gripping his wrist hard where it lay across her stomach. Her hand shook as she clutched the sheets, and he wondered if she wouldn’t break a nail. “You look so pretty like this.”

“Please, like that,” she mumbled, tugging his hair, rocking up against his mouth messily as he lapped at her. “Wanted this all week.”

“You needed it bad, huh?”

“You ruined me.” Her voice was broken, and he groaned against her. Ruined, Jesus Christ. “I lied when I said I’d had b— better. I haven’t, I—” 

He couldn’t help himself. Shifting onto his knees, he shoved his hand down his boxers so he could jerk off while he devoured her. He was so hard that his own touch was a momentary shock. 

“I wanna do that,” she said indignantly, weakly grabbing at his shoulder, and how she still managed to sound haughty when his tongue was inside her was beyond him. 

He pulled away, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. “Come on my face and then we’ll talk.”

“Mean,” she mumbled petulantly as he licked a harsh stripe against her, and she shivered as she threw her arm over her eyes. 

He focused on her; what made her shake and arch and pull his hair and dig bruises into his back. Arousal spiked in his gut when she let out a shattered moan and he stopped touching himself so he could pin her thighs down with both hands. 

“I’m—” she tried to say, and he flicked his gaze up in time to see her eyes roll back, long lashes damp and fluttering like butterfly wings. “I’m gonna—”

He latched his mouth against her clit and sucked hard, pushing her over the edge. Her body went rigid under his hands, and her heart screamed in his ears as a slow shudder rolled through her, leaving her trembling against his mouth as he let her ride it out, leaving messy kisses all over her cunt and thighs. He knew he was holding her too tightly but he couldn’t let go, because something in the animal part of his brain wanted her to have his fingerprints again as a reminder. Like he was still touching her even after they went home. 

Her chest was heaving and he crawled up to kiss her, and she grabbed his face frantically as her mouth crashed into his, her tongue greedily trying to find his. “There you go,” he assured her between kisses, cradling her cheek. “Doing so well, baby.”

“Felt so good,” she panted, pressing kisses all over his face. Her pupils were blown out, swallowing the irises. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“Yeah?” he managed, because he was not the in-control guy he was pretending to be, and her hand was trailing down his stomach and it was making his vision cloud just a little. The clink of his belt buckle rushed through him like a flash flood. 

“Let me touch you,” she whispered as she licked her palm and slipped it into his boxers. “Let me be sweet.”

It was terrible, the featherlight touch of her fingers as she wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking him slowly as she pulled him closer, pressing slow kisses down his neck. He tried not to move, to just let her caress and explore him. She pushed him back and knelt between his legs, tugging his boxers and pants down impatiently, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She hadn’t looked last time, watching his eyes stubbornly instead as she’d touched him, like she was trying to prove some kind of point. 

Tentatively, she ran her fingers down the length of him, as if she was trying to calculate something. He sank his canine into his lip, trying to stay still as she gazed up at him. “You know,” she said thoughtfully as she pressed a kiss to his hip, licking a path up the muscle, “if you’d told me this was going to happen a week ago, I would have said you were insane.” 

Before he could form any sort of articulate response, she leaned forward and swiped the tip of her tongue across him and he let his head fall back against the pillows even though he’d thought about this for days. The idea of actually seeing what she was doing might be enough to make him come, and he wasn’t going to do that, not until he was inside her again and she asked him for it. Maybe it was presumptuous of him to hope for that, but there he was, praying to every deity he could think of that she’d let him do that again. 

She was just on the edge of unfair with him, dragging her tongue too slowly, letting her nails scrape along the flat of his stomach, twisting her wrist perfectly while she took more of him in her pretty mouth with each stroke. “Fuck,” he muttered inelegantly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurt. Neon shapes flared in front of the black of his eyelids and he blinked, trying to shake it off. 

“Thought you wanted to see me looking at you,” she whispered, her breath ghosting across him. “Don’t you?”

He looked down at her, and it was something he’d remember for the rest of his life: her coquettish expression, her smeared lipstick, her cheek leaning innocently against his thigh while she jerked him off. Lethal. Reaching down, he cupped her cheek, and guided her back where he wanted. “Come on,” he urged helplessly, watching as she took him in her mouth again, his cock sliding between her lips until her eyes watered. He tried to think about something stupid to distract himself from how unholy good she felt, like pi or reciting the presidents, but it didn’t work, because her mouth was so wet and inviting that he began to meet her with small thrusts of his hips, pressing farther inside until she moaned quietly and tapped his thigh, pulling off with a gasp. 

“You’re too big, I can’t,” she mumbled apologetically, sitting up on her knees as she wiped the remainder of her lipstick away on the back of her hand. “I have a bad gag reflex—” and he couldn’t help it, he laughed because how the hell were they having this conversation? She frowned, rocking back on her heels, clearly unsure of what had just happened. “Don’t— don’t be mean.” 

“No, hey, I’m not,” he assured her immediately, reaching out to touch her knee. “I swear I’m not. I can’t believe you’re apologizing for what you just did for me. I was trying to remember who was president after Coolidge so I didn’t come in your mouth.”

“Oh.” A sheepish look crossed her face. “It was Hoover.” Her eyes were soft, and she leaned down to kiss him as she straddled his thigh. “Sorry, I thought—”

“I’m not gonna be mean,” he promised, stroking her cheek. “We’re not doing that, remember?” 

She nodded, swallowing hard. The more she talked, the more he learned who she really was. And it made him wish he knew her better, because he didn’t think she was mean, just protective of herself. As if he could blame her. As if he was any different. “I know, I just… I don’t mean to be defensive.” 

This softer version of her was radically different and Peter was beginning to realize that she was less tough than he’d thought. Or maybe her handing off control wasn’t really handing off control. Not entirely, anyway. It was like a game of tug of war, but it didn’t feel like either of them was trying to win this time. It just felt filthy and good. An even playing field.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, pulling her close to kiss her neck, because he’d been neglecting it and she’d asked him to do it. Trailing his lips against her skin, he dragged his tongue up the column of her throat, and her broken sigh lit him up. He didn’t know how he could possibly get harder, but somehow it was happening. “Doing so well for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“I was so mad last time because you kept making me feel good and I wanted to— I thought about— fuck,” she mumbled, rolling her hips as she tried to find friction against his thigh, and Jesus Christ he truly didn’t know how long he could handle her doing that. She was dripping wet and grinding against him mindlessly as he sucked a bruise at the hollow of her throat. He wanted her to see it and remember that she’d breathlessly told him to earn it. “Please,” she begged, her pulse shivering under his tongue as she dug her nails into his shoulder. Soothing the spot briefly, he kissed her newly-marked skin and then pushed his tongue into her cherry-sweet mouth, cradling her jaw like she was something precious. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he cooed against her lips, and she sighed blissfully. “You making all those pretty little sounds for me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, tilting her jaw to give him access. “But don’t go thinking I’m the only one moaning, because you’re just as bad as I am.”

“Is that a problem?” He spread his fingers across her throat, pressing his thumb against the hinge of her jaw. 

“No, I like it. And I— I did wear it for you,” she admitted as he hooked his thumb under the strap of her bra, watching goosebumps scatter across her skin.

“Well, aren’t you something,” he muttered as she sat up and reached back to fiddle with the clasp. The straps slipped down her arms and there she was, nothing but skin, peering down at him with just a hint of nerves. Each time there was the slightest bit of wondering in her face, it only endeared her to him more. She bit her lip, eyes bright with anticipation. “A pretty little something.”

“You and your words,” she breathed as he rolled them, pinning her in place, his forearms pressed into the mattress next to her head. She bucked up against him with a soft whine as she touched his face, pressing starry aches into his jaw. “Will you please fuck me?”

“Say it again,” he said, already positioning himself at her entrance, and Christ she was so fucking wet that he sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek so he didn’t lose it, hoping the pain would take the edge off. 

Her eyes widened. “Please fuck me,” she repeated, and he thrust into her slick heat, and she felt even better than he remembered, tight and hot and trembling around his cock. “Oh, fuck.” Her head rolled to the side in pleasure as she arched up, trying to take more of him, and he groaned into the hollow of her throat as he bottomed out, pressed as close to her as he could manage. No space, just them tangled tight and inextricable. 

“God, you feel fucking perfect,” he told her roughly, pulling back with a sharp thrust that sent her nails raking across his back. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her eyes were soft and hazy, staring up at him in utter adoration as he fucked her. She kept kissing him all over, skittish little movements that reminded him of a deer. “Wanted this so badly,” she confessed brokenly, digging her heel into his back when he reached between them to touch her. She clenched around him suddenly, eyes falling shut as she began to tremble, and Jesus Christ, she was about to come again. 

“Look at me,” he said with a hard thrust. “Look at me when you come.”

“Mouthy,” she whispered with a weak grin, opening her bleary eyes nonetheless. 

“Just with you,” he groaned as her cunt spasmed around him unforgivingly hard and that unfocused look came over her face.

“Please kiss me,” she mumbled, still clenching around him, and fuck, she was gonna kill him with please. “I want—” A low moan left her and he kissed her hard, his tongue finding hers as she carded her fingers through his hair harshly. 

“There you go,” he crooned. He slowed down to give her a moment, and her hands slid down his spine, exploring his back.

“You were right,” she panted, baring her neck to him as she shivered through an aftershock. 

“Yeah?” he asked, leaving a line of sloppy kisses along her shoulder before he began to worry a mark above her collarbone. 

“I— oh, like that… I am spoiled. I do want my way.”

“It’s good to know what you want,” he replied, slowly rocking into her. 

“What do you want?” she murmured earnestly, tracing his jaw. This was not the girl he’d spent months butting heads with. This was someone he was genuinely starting to like, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was fucking her. 

“I think I’m doing just fine right now.”

She made a pleased noise and squirmed under him, and he let her push him onto his back. Bracing herself against his chest, she sank down on him with an almost too-slow roll of her hips and he stared dumbly at that perfect spot where their bodies met. “Jesus, you make me feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Good,” she said sweetly, leaning down to brush her nose teasingly against his. “Show me how crazy I make you.”

She was a sharp girl, somehow perfectly walking the line of sweet and filthy. He grabbed her hips, helping her move in perfect circles, her knees digging into his sides. She fluttered around his cock, and he reached between her legs again. “Did you touch yourself and think of me?”

She nodded unsteadily, trying to match his pace. “Didn’t feel as good. I wanted your mouth and your fingers and— oh, fuck, right there,” she said, grabbing his wrist and holding it in place. 

“What else did you want, huh?” He rubbed a slow circle against her clit, mesmerized by how she sank down, shuddering around him with each stroke. “Use those pretty hips, come on.”

“Wanted your cock again. Kept thinking about how good it felt—” she cut herself off, clenching around him hard for a moment before she leaned forward with a shaky sigh, like she was trying to fight it off.

“Atta girl,” he told her, rubbing her thigh gently, watching her face change entirely when he said that, looking pleased as punch for a few seconds. He’d noticed it last time and wondered if he’d imagined it. But no, she lit up at his praise. “You wanna know you’re doing a good job too, look at you.”

Something unsure flitted across her face. Maybe it was embarrassment, or that stubborn streak that she’d hidden behind for so long. “I don’t know.”

He held her still, buried to the hilt inside her. “You don’t wanna hear that you’re a good girl?” he asked, not letting her move as she tried desperately to grind her hips down into his. 

“Maybe,” she squeaked out, her thighs trembling against his. “Stop not fucking me, come on.” Her words were a plea, and her dark nails dug into his chest in painful little half moons. 

He pulled out and she grumbled in frustration until he turned her onto her stomach. She turned to watch as he leaned down to kiss the small of her back before pushing her thighs apart, bracing himself over her. But before he could sink into her again, she nudged her wrists against his hands before slipping them under his palms. 

Oh. 

He laced his fingers through hers and she fucking moaned as he thrust forward, grinding hard into her before setting a slow pace, wondering which of them wouldn’t be able to stand it first. When he covered her body with his, she looked up at him with a face that was halfway between misery and bliss. “How do you do that?”

He was so distracted by how she was taking him that it felt like his brain was on a delay. “Do what, baby?”

She arched up into him like a cat, and the new angle made him out of his mind stupid. “Fuck me ‘til I wanna cry,” she mumbled, her nails digging into the sheets as he leaned down to kiss the back of her neck. 

“Come on,” he grunted, dropping his forehead to her shoulder blade before pulling her upright against his chest. “You’re killing me.” A whine left her mouth as he rolled his hips into hers, slowing down even more. She was silent for a few moments as she pressed back into him, and he wondered if she’d reached her limit. “You okay?”

“Have I been a good girl?” she blurted out, her breathing going shallow. So that’s why she’d been so quiet. The fact that she’d been seriously weighing his words burrowed under his skin and the room spun for just a second. 

“What do you think?” He ran his hands up her ribs to gently pinch her nipples and caress her breasts. It pulled a contented sigh from her, and she leaned back against his shoulder. 

“I’m trying.” She took his hand and guided it up to her throat, and that made his hips stutter. Somehow, she was a step ahead of him, constantly figuring out a way to knock him for a loop even though her thighs were shaking against his.

Experimentally, he wrapped his fingers around her neck, squeezing lightly. Clearly, she liked it, because she moaned and pushed his other hand between her thighs. “You like being good?”

“I…” she trailed off. “I think I do for you.”

“Yeah, you do,” he groaned, kissing her until they were both breathless. The room was warm but she was shivering against him as he circled her clit, her hips moving erratically as he fucked her. “So good for me, sweetheart.”

She didn’t answer with any discernible words, just a wrecked little moan. “I like sweetheart,” she managed, and she pulled against him weakly until he let go. She slumped onto the bed, and when he slid his palms up her back to her shoulders, she mumbled something again that he couldn’t understand, her words lost to the pillow she was hiding her face in. 

“What?” he asked, bending so he could hear her. 

She turned her head to the side, stretching her arms out with her palms heavenward, and her eyes fluttered as he drove into her harder, the loud smack of his hips against her ass filling the room. “Hold me down again, please?” 

Peter obliged her immediately, lacing his fingers through hers again. “You need it like that?” he growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he ground his hips into hers, the filthy sounds of their bodies echoing around his brain. “You feel how well you’re taking me? Hear how sweet that sounds?”

Again, she made a blurry sort of noise that spun him out, a dazed acknowledgement that sent heat racing up his spine. “Harder… I can take it.”

He snapped his hips and she dug her nails into the backs of his hands as she giggled breathlessly. When he repeated the motion, she laughed harder, shoving her face against the sheets. He was fucking her so hard that she was practically melting into the bed, pushing back into him as best as she could. “You still remember your name?”

She couldn’t stop laughing, trembling around him agonizingly, and he kissed the back of her neck. “Don’t think I have one.”

“You remember mine?”

“Parker,” she sang out, and he flipped her over again. It was a gut-punch to fully see her pleasure-twisted face again as he rocked back on his heels to dull the ache that had started to build in his lower back. 

She reached for him, her fingers slipping against his waist as she parted her legs for him mindlessly, kissing his jaw when he settled between her thighs. She was sweet, he’d been so right about her after months of being so wrong. “How— how are you still going?”

“Because you come first,” he replied, grinding his cock against her slick folds, enjoying the shudder that ran through her body as he pulled her knees up tight against his ribs. 

“I’ve come twice,” she corrected with a helpless moan as he rocked against her. “Parker, please.” She reached for his face with both hands as he plunged back into her, groaning in relief when he bottomed out. The new angle allowed him deeper, and it was borderline heaven. 

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he braced his forearms next to her head. Her hands trembled against his jaw before she looped her arms around his neck and tucked her face into his shoulder. She sighed contentedly, and he wondered how she was still going too. He knew he could last a while, but she was hanging in there just as well as him. 

“You’re doing so good, huh?” he asked, and she nodded against him, leaving careless kisses against his chest, teeth scraping along his skin affectionately. 

“Feels so good.” Her voice was uneven, splitting apart as he thrust into her. “Gonna come, you feel so good.”

Her phrasing made his hips falter and he struggled to regain control, because fuck, she’d said you feel so good. Not it feels so good. “Go ahead, baby,” he encouraged. “Let me feel you.” He pulled her knees up higher against his ribs and she curled into him like a collapsing star as he pushed her over the edge again, kissing the sob right out of her mouth as she tightened around him so hard that he almost lost it too. 

“Peter,” she said helplessly, nosing at his neck while she tried to compose herself, but she was still shivering under him, dripping all over his cock. “Peter, I want—”

She stopped talking because he began to pound into her, not caring that the bedframe was knocking into the wall. A bomb could have gone off and it wouldn’t have made a difference to him, because she’d sighed his name like a prayer and he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him that that was what made him lose his mind. He’d thought last time was just a fluke, but it wasn’t. It was the intimacy of it all, and what a thing to discover about himself. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, dipping his face against her neck and leaving a line of kisses there. “Whatever you want, sweetheart, tell me what you want.”

“Want you to come inside me again.” She was wrapped around him like a vine, ankles crossed at the small of his back, her arms tight around his neck. “Please.”

“You and your words,” he groaned as she raked her nails down the planes of his back, and he snapped his hips hard. 

“That’s so deep,” she gasped, clutching his face and kissing him desperately. Her fingers tangled in his hair and he buried his face in her shoulder, fighting the urge to leave another mark there because he’d left quite a few already. “Peter, please.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the way she was begging or how she was rolling her hips up into his, but it was his breaking point. “I’m gonna—”

She kissed him with a sigh, so damn sweetly that it branded itself onto his brain, and he came hard, panting against her lips, forgetting that he should be more gentle. But she was still moving with him, her hips following his like a shadow as he rode it out, her heels digging into his back to urge him on. “Fuck,” she said dazedly and he kissed the underside of her jaw in response. 

“You okay?” he panted, stroking her cheek tenderly, trying his hardest to stop moving but he could only manage to slow down. 

She gave him a fucked-out dizzy smile, and trailed her fingers up his back to wrap around his shoulders. “I’m good,” she sighed, her body going limp under his as he gave her one last hard thrust. She made a soft sound when he kissed her neck, nuzzling his way across her tits as she tried to catch her breath. 

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered while he focused on not collapsing on top of her. “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.”

His limbs felt like concrete, and he could only imagine how she felt with him on top of her. He kissed her once more and slowly pulled out, her nails scoring his shoulder as he did. Flopping on his back next to her, he scrubbed his hand across his jaw and tucked his wrist behind his head. 

Now what? Was he supposed to leave? Or did she want him to stay? Last time they’d just awkwardly separated after a bit, avoided eye contact as they’d straightened up, and left in ten minute intervals. Somehow, they hadn’t been missed at the party and had managed to sneak out undetected. 

“Do, um… do you want to order food and try being humans together?” she asked quietly, pressing her cheek against his chest, tapping along some of his freckles absently. “Or, um, I don’t know, maybe— maybe we could make it down to Times Square to see the ball drop? Or if you have to go, you know, I don’t want to keep you—” Oh, she was freaking all the way out. That was usually his thing. 

“Hey,” he said, tilting her chin up. “It’s twelve degrees outside and we just had sex, I don’t think we’re heading out quite yet.”

“Oh,” she nodded sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking, I guess.” This from the girl who’d remembered the thirty-first president not too long ago when she’d scrambled his brain with a blowjob. Maybe he’d scrambled her right back. 

“What about disco fries?” he offered after a moment. He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. “We could order those.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Will they even make those here? Isn’t it like… turf wars? New Jersey versus New York?”

“Capulets and Montagues,” he nodded grimly, and she giggled. It was a nice sound. “Hatfields and McCoys.”

“You and me?” she asked softly. For someone who was so good at showing how pulled together she was, she was just as vulnerable as everyone else. She’d shown that multiple times throughout the evening. 

Peter studied her, tracing the bow of her mouth before pulling her close to kiss her gently, reveling in how she melted into him, her hand sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair. 

“Nah,” he said, kissing her once more. “Not anymore.”

~

Title comes again from Love Me Dead by Ludo.

My dumb ass really wrote an open ending to the last one like I wouldn’t do something about it, huh?

So she proceeded to be bare minimum civil to him, with one word answers and terse nods, and she tried to keep it to when it was just the two of them. But because he wasn’t stupid, he picked up on it lighting-quick. He launched an opposing assault of being overly charming and praising her work when someone else was around, needling at her until she wanted to scream, which was exactly what he was aiming for. Was it childish of them? Absolutely. Did she plan on stopping? She’d rather eat a brick. Her mother had always told her to forgive and forget, but she much preferred to resent and remember. 

It was Christmas Eve Eve, and they were at a too-fancy Cuban restaurant for the lab holiday party. She’d had a glass of sangria, which was unfortunately more fruit than alcohol, and she wasn’t really in the mood for pastelitos or tostones. It went until eleven, and it was barely nine thirty. She liked most of her coworkers, but honestly, the idea of going home and wiggling out of her frilly black cocktail dress was much more appealing right now. Then she could curl up in bed and mindlessly scroll through Instagram while an episode of Happy Endings played in the background. It had been a long work week, and she was looking forward to a few days in her red flannel pajamas of doing absolutely nothing. 

Shifting in her heels, she glanced around and accidentally made eye contact with Peter, who gave her a saccharine smile that she rolled her eyes at. Ire burned bright in her chest, hot and mean and ugly. It was ridiculous that they were acting like middle schoolers, but they were both different brands of stubborn which meant nothing would ever change. 

Excusing herself from her conversation with Eliza, who was well-meaning but long-winded, she left the blocked off party room and snuck to the deserted hallway on the other side of the restaurant where their coats hung in a bulky rainbow across the wall. The corridor was awash in red neon from the exit sign, and she wondered when all the other lights had burnt out, leaving it Halloween-eerie in December. The only other thing in the hall was a bathroom with an OUT OF ORDER, SEE HOSTESS sign crookedly taped to the door. She leaned against the wall, taking in the relative quiet. Music piped through the speakers and flowed through her head, joyous and catchy, something familiar that she couldn’t quite recall. Rubbing her eyes carefully, she sighed as she straightened back up. If she left now, she could still catch—

Someone called her name behind her, and for a moment, she thought about ignoring it. Against her better judgment, she turned, only to be faced with Peter Parker. Wonderful. 

“Hi,” she said, fighting the childish urge to wrinkle her nose as her dream of a quiet exit vanished out from under her. 

“I wanted to, um, ask you something,” he said hesitantly, but she wasn’t buying it for a second. He was too clever to be tripping over his words. She might not like him, but she could admit that he was smart. The sheepish act was just that: an act. Peter Parker and his ploys. 

“What?” she prompted impatiently, glancing pointedly past him at the coats. Her leather jacket hung there, practically waving to her and calling her name. Come get me, I’m your ticket home. 

“Can we stop this?” he asked, holding his hand out to her as a peace offering, his watch glinting red under the sign. She considered it for a moment; how easy it would be to fit her hand in his, but she wanted him to acknowledge why they were calling a truce. To say sorry and mean it. 

“Stop what?” she asked coolly, crossing her arms and tilting her head in feigned confusion. It was immature, but the thought of him apologizing was nothing short of thrilling. Grovel, Parker. Get down on your knees and say how bad you feel. 

But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he shrugged off his sports jacket in the too-warm hallway and tucked it under his arm as he considered his words. 

“This…” he gestured vaguely between them, “you know. The Sam and Diane bullshit.”

“The Sam and Diane bullshit?” she repeated incredulously, face heating up at the insinuation. All she remembered from Cheers was them furiously groping each other all over a couch after a few seasons of will they won’t they nonsense; she could never fathom kissing someone she didn’t like. Not until she was an adult and she’d made out with some persistent frat guy at a mixer, and honestly, it had just been to shut him up. “So you’re an obnoxious womanizer who flamed out of professional baseball and I’m, what, naïve and out of my depth at my job?”

“No.” He shook his head, running his hand through his hair and she was displeased to realize how good his black button-up looked on him, all well-fitted around his biceps and shoulders. “No, you think you’re better than me. You think you’re too good for your assignments.”

She gaped at him. “I do not.”

She absolutely did think that she was better than the stuff Dr. Scott had her working on. But fuck him for calling her out on it. She’d worked just as hard as him in school and it wasn’t fair that he was the de facto golden child from the jump. Some days she wondered if she wouldn’t be sent on a drink run and become the coffee girl, holding an oversized carrier of watery chai and lattes full of almond milk, juggling breakfast sandwiches and egg white omelets on top of the lids. 

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I think your anger is misdirected. Maybe talk with Dr. Scott instead of contemplating stabbing me with a scalpel every time you see me.”

“God, I can’t stand you.” She dodged around him and grabbed her coat, making her way toward the door. “You know what, Parker? I was just trying to go home and you’re ruining it. So have a great fucking holiday and—”

He shook his head and scoffed. “You’re spoiled.”

“Excuse me?” She turned on her heel so fast that she wobbled, her hand shooting out to steady herself so she didn’t wipe out in front of him. Because that’s just what she needed on top of verbal humiliation, busting her ass on the tile in front of this guy. 

“You’re spoiled,” he repeated calmly, folding his arms over his chest, and it made her want to shove him. How dare he name call and stare her down like she was an idiot. “I think you’re used to getting your way, and when you don’t, you stomp your foot like it’ll change someone’s mind.”

“I do not,” she retorted, planting her hands on her hips and fuck him because she did want to stomp her foot. The idea of pulling the framed photo of Havana off the wall and whipping it at his all-knowing face was tantalizing. “I got passed over for you on the first day and you were a dick about it. You didn’t have to say anything, but you decided to be cruel.”

His eyes widened. “Cruel? I was kidding. It was a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Her chest was so tight from confrontation that it ached. It was an ugly feeling, to be reduced like this by him, and she was embarrassed that she couldn’t keep her emotions under control. Peter Parker had driven her up the wall since day one, and she didn’t know why she ever expected otherwise. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” he simpered with what was meant to be a winning smile, his words hollow and useless, a parody of what she’d wanted to hear. 

The door beckoned. She needed to get on the train and forget about all of this. Maybe she could be nicer in January for a resolution. But right now, she had no capacity for it, because she didn’t like how he’d pulled her aside to what— admonish her like a child? Compare her to an old sitcom that she couldn’t stand? “Whatever,” she muttered. 

Like a warning shot fired, the neon sign flickered above them ominously, casting a brief shadow over Peter’s face and it sent a tingle up her spine. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he was attractive. And she hated that she thought that, because how was she supposed to despise someone and still think they were hot? Diametrically opposed thoughts, surely. It made zero sense. 

Peter took a step toward her, and she took one back, bumping into the wall and frowning as he reached toward her shoulder. He moved slowly, giving her every opportunity to knock his hand away, to sidestep him, to tell him to stop it right now, but she didn’t. Despite herself, she was curious. 

“You wanna know what I think?” he asked quietly, tracing the strap of her cocktail dress, his calloused fingers tripping against her collarbone. His touch was more gentle than she’d expected. “You don’t actually hate me. You keep staring at my mouth—”

“Because you’re talking,” she interrupted angrily, shame rising in her belly, because yes, she had been. He’d let his beard grow in a bit and she’d never seen him with anything past a five o’clock shadow, so excuse her all to hell for looking at something new. “Where else should I look?”

He shrugged arrogantly, tilting his head to study her as though she were a strange thing. Maybe she was. “You look at my fingers all the time in the lab—”

“Eat me, Parker,” she spat, pushing past him. This was done, whatever this was. An uncomfortably tense pigtail pulling contest that she had no clue how to win. God, he just loved getting under her skin—

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you,” he muttered. 

“You couldn’t handle me,” she shot back without thinking, and his eyes went stupidly big at her challenge. Just leave, shut up and leave, stop having the last word every time. 

It was too late. She wasn’t sure who was doing the pulling, but somehow the bathroom door was being slammed behind her, and the ugly yellow fluorescents burst on above them. The scent of lemon cleanser invaded her nose and stung her eyes for just as second as she adjusted to the light. He had her shoved against the wall, his long fingers wrapped around her wrist. But instead of shooting her mouth off again, she stared up at him. Her heart was beating so fast it stung, hummingbird-skittish in her breast. 

“I could absolutely handle you,” he said, and it was that utter arrogance that she just wanted to knock out of him, just take a bat and swing right at his head. She thought of that college party and that loudmouth frat guy, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed his collar and yanked him close, watching his pupils dilate as he met her halfway. 

It burned her up inside to find he was a good kisser. She wanted him to be all teeth and awkward so she could sneer at him and push him away, grab her coat and march out the door. But he was holding her face in his hands like they hadn’t spent months sniping at each other, and when his tongue slid against hers it made her toes curl. Dizzying heat rushed through her. He’d had sangria too; the cloying taste of wine evident as he deepened the kiss. She’d meant for it to be quick and mean, but it was lazy and exploratory, his thumb sweeping along her cheek gently. She’d made a grave mistake, but couldn’t bring herself to care. A parade of thoughts raced through her her head— you’re making out with him, what is wrong with you, what else are you going to do, you want him to fuck you— and she wove her fingers through his hair as a pleased sigh slipped from her before she could catch it. 

That was mistake number two. 

He pulled away from her, umber eyes glittering as if to say I knew it, and she swayed into him like some sort of planetary pull was guiding her.

“Would you look at that?” he muttered, gripping her jaw and tilting her face like he was appraising her, a jeweler with a loupe. Absurdly, she wondered if she measured up, and why she was so fixated on how she compared to him? What did it matter what he thought of her? “All bark and no bite. You’re not as mean as you want me to think, huh?”

“You don’t know me,” she breathed, pushing his hand away from her face, ignoring how nice it had felt, wide and warm and firm. “Always so sure of yourself.”

“I think there’s something sweet under all that vinegar,” he continued as his hand settled on her hip, pulling her against him. Again, it was purposefully slow, giving her every chance to break free. She didn’t. 

“And what, you’re gonna find it?” It was difficult to keep snapping back at him because his other hand was under her skirt, sliding up her thigh, higher and higher until he paused. She’d forgone stockings because she always managed to get a run, and they weren’t comfortable, no matter what anyone said. But now his fingers were too close to her, with nothing but her underwear separating them. It made her head spin, the confounding idea of wanting someone who drove her insane. It was eighties romcom stupidity, movie plots she rolled her eyes at and complained about every time she’d seen something like it. Why the hell would Sally want someone as boorish and crude as Harry? Not that Peter was—

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he offered, cutting through the ivy-vine tangle of her thoughts. “You can go catch your train, I’ll go back out there and keep talking about stocks with Will, but this is more fun, don’t you think?”

“Fun?” she repeated icily, determined to undermine him, but he tugged at the lacy edge of her underwear and she sucked in a shaky breath when he let the elastic snap against her hip. 

“Fun. You know, a diversion.” He bent to brush a lingering kiss to her neck, so slow and sweet that she held her breath. Why wasn’t he being more callous and cruel, this wasn’t supposed to be— 

Oh. This was deliberate.

This was what he did at work, with his sugared compliments and blinding smiles that made her want to throw test tubes at him, and he was going to do the same thing here. 

Maybe an eternity had passed since his proposal, maybe it had been only three seconds. She was trying to process it but it was difficult when he was caressing her thigh and watching her with keen eyes that shone with something she’d never seen from him before. 

Part of her was deeply scandalized that his hands were up her skirt and that his beard was scraping against her, leaving a fiery trail along her skin. Another part of her, some strangely curious part, was dying to know what he might do. How he might kiss her and spin her apart. If he was any good. But her bullheaded streak wanted to get him worked up— maybe grind herself all over his lap and then leave him hard and aching for her, because what was he gonna do? Chase her down? He wasn’t a sociopath; if anything, he’d call her spoiled again and that would be the end of the night. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” he commented as he tilted her chin up, and she shivered as he took her mouth again in a lazy kiss, working her open with his tongue like he’d done it a million times, and it melted her sharpness down for just a split second before she shook it off. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

“I can’t stand you,” she informed him as she plucked at the buttons of his shirt while he grinned down at her maddeningly. Smugly. This was stupid, why was she doing this instead of going home? What was wrong with her? Normal people didn’t do things like this, normal people didn’t let their obnoxiously good-looking jerk of a coworker pin them to a wall at an office party and they certainly didn’t let them kiss their necks. 

“You wanna show me how much you can’t stand me?” he asked, not missing a beat as he pushed his thigh between hers. It forced her skirt up to her hips and she froze under his gaze as he shuffled the floaty material out of the way, his thumb rasping over her clit. Even though the thin material of her underwear, the sensation stole her breath. He paused, holding her gaze, and she took the opportunity to push his shirt off his shoulders so she could see him. Tentatively, she ran her hands down his pale chest, fingers tripping over a bunch of scars. Some looked years old, others seemed barely healed. 

“What, are you in a fight club or something?” she muttered, mapping a silvery one that skimmed his ribs. It was hard to say which was more surprising: the lean muscles or the scars. 

“Sure,” he agreed amiably, watching as she traced down along the vee of his hip. He was in shockingly good shape for a guy who seemed to live off cheap ramen. “You worried about me?”

“I don’t think about you,” she said haughtily, resisting the urge to nip at his collarbone. The fact that she had to remind herself not to do that nagged at her; she shouldn’t need to practice such self-control around someone she loathed. 

“Keep telling yourself that, baby.” His fingers slipped between her legs again, toying with the flimsy material that did nothing to dull his touch, and his eyes were hawkish as he teased her with his thumb. “Sure you don’t wanna catch that train?”

She opened her mouth to say something snippy, but he ducked down and kissed the words out of her mouth with a lewd groan that she swallowed down. “You—” she tried to say, but he was cradling the back of her skull, distracting her as he tugged her underwear to the side. 

Dragging a finger along the split of her, he hummed in satisfaction as he gathered her slick, rubbing a quick circle against her clit that made her stutter. “Can’t stand me, huh?”

She moaned, grinding back against his hand. “Shut up, Parker.” 

“It’s okay to say you like it,” he murmured against her neck, sucking a bruise against her soft skin as he pressed a finger inside her. The dual sensations made her jump; the way he crooked his finger as he licked at her pulse, and goddammit he knew what he was doing and it sent her blood boiling. “You wouldn’t be moaning like that otherwise.”

“I am not,” she huffed indignantly. She wasn’t a moaner. Her ex had berated her about it once, and that had been the last time they’d slept together, although it had been multiple other things, not just him whining about her in bed. Her eyes drifted down, and it was impossible to ignore the raspberry splash of a bruise on his pec, and she wondered how he’d done that. “I’ve had better, you’re so full of yourself—”

Her words were dead in the water when he curled his finger again. “You just like fighting, huh? That’s what gets you wet, that’s why you always have an attitude with me.” His tone was vexingly calm, and all it did was rile her up more. She wished he’d match her frustration, because his composure was annoying. Get mad, call her a brat, raise his voice a little. 

“N— no,” she replied unconvincingly as she rode his hand. “I just don’t like you.”

“You seem to like my hands just fine.” He added another finger and she slumped against the wall, pressing back hard to keep herself upright as he pumped his wrist slowly. “Be a sweet girl and tell me you like it.”

“Thought I was spoiled,” she laughed breathlessly as his free hand wandered up to her neck, forcing her to look at him. His movements were all firm, achingly controlled. “I’m not saying that.”

He nodded, and withdrew his fingers. Strangely, he kept rubbing tight circles against her clit, and it hit her: he was giving her a chance to do what he said and taking himself away from her like he was counting to three. She bucked her hips against his palm; this would be easy for her to beat. He was turned on too, she could see the hard outline of his cock straining against the front of his dark dress pants, and his breathing was just a little faster than normal. And she hadn’t even touched him other than when they’d kissed, which meant he was hard over what he was doing to her. Something like that made her brain thick with want, and it just added another piece to the inconceivable puzzle of her quick-shifting feelings for him. It was probably just arousal. 

Men were simple. All she had to do was make a breathy little sound and he’d continue. This was cake. So she shook her head with an airy sigh, rubbing herself along the heel of his hand, but he still didn’t give her what she wanted. 

“Tell me you like it and I’ll let you come,” he promised, his thumb perplexingly gently against her pulse. Her blood was hammering under her skin and her legs shook as she tried to roll her hips up against his hand again. She was so close and he’d just stopped and now he was just looking down at her expectantly. He really wanted her to capitulate, flutter apart for him like a house of cards. 

“Can you just…” she mumbled, because the thought of admitting that infuriated her. This was so much worse than if he had no clue what to do with his hands. She wished he were incompetent and fumbling, because him actually getting her off was something she’d never live down. 

“Say it,” he repeated, moving his hand away entirely, and she grabbed his wrist desperately, pulling his fingers back to where she wanted them. “Say I like it, Peter, and I swear I’ll let you finish.”

“Parker—”

“Peter,” he corrected, his mouth ghosting along her throat and it sent her brain reeling, how fucking dare he. “You can say it. It’ll stay between us.”

“That’s not nice,” she whispered petulantly, trying for whiny so she didn’t have to give him what he wanted. Maybe she could pluck at his heartstrings with teary eyes and soft words. 

It didn’t work. His hand hung limp between her legs, tantalizingly close but galaxies away from what she craved. 

“I’m plenty nice,” he replied, pulling the strap of her dress down her shoulder so he could explore her skin, caressing her collarbone with a featherlight skim of his fingers, and she knew he wasn’t going to touch her again until she gave in. If that’s how he wanted it, fine. She could figure out a way to get back at him later. 

“I like it,” she caved, and the surprise that lit across his face for a split second was worth it.

“Atta girl,” he said, but she could tell he hadn’t expected it. He was true to his word, thrusting his fingers back into her cunt and catching her elbow so she didn’t buckle to the floor in a boneless little heap. “Go ahead and take it, baby.”

Some strange noise left her as he touched something that made her absolutely shatter, and she grabbed at his arm in a frenzy. Before she could get any louder, he bent to cover her mouth with his. “I know you don’t want everyone to hear you coming all over my hands,” he whispered against her lips, like he was doing her a favor in all his grand benevolence. 

But she couldn’t form a response as something weightless swept over her and she clenched around his fingers and mumbled some kind of broken sound into his mouth, and God this was not how she saw her Friday night going: a belly full of golden butterflies from Peter Parker with his big hand shoved between her thighs while rumba music crept under the door. And the fact that he was good with his hands and mouth, what the hell was that about? Every part of her was thrumming and electric because of him. This was the absolute definition of fuck around and find out: after months of fucking around, it seemed it was time to contend with it. 

With a heaving chest, she looked up at him dizzily, and he had the nerve to lean down and kiss her again, and she had the foolishness to let him, his lips just barely touching hers, pulling away slyly when she tried to deepen it. “Parker,” she tried weakly as she touched his neck, unsteadily tracing a freckle. “Come on.”

“Stubborn little thing,” he said as he stroked her cheek, and it sounded nearly affectionate. “I know you know how to use your words. Always spitting bullets at me. What do you want?”

God, the thought of getting needy over a kiss he’d refused her made her want to crawl into a hole and die. “Nothing.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, fisting her hair in his hand and exposing the column of her throat to him, and she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a moan, because something about the way he had his hands all over her body was pushing her over the edge. “You want me to eat you out?” he asked magnanimously, licking the hinge of her jaw like a cat, running his nose along her throat possessively and to her utter humiliation, another sound bubbled out of her mouth, something that sounded suspiciously like the word please. “Let me get between those pretty thighs?”

“No,” she lied as he spun her around, pushing her against the wall a little too hard but she was too turned on to mind. 

“You’d hate that,” he continued, rucking her skirt up just enough to pinch her thigh as he ground his hips against her ass teasingly. “Because every time you look at me after that, it’ll be the only thing you’ll think about.”

“Parker—” 

“My mouth all over you while you tell yourself you hate it…” he trailed off, wrapping an arm across her shoulders, pulling her flush against him, “when you’re really just dying to come all over my face.”

His arm was a steel band across her chest, strong fingers digging into her bicep, anchoring her in place. When she tipped her head back against his shoulder, his face swam into view. It was a nice face: a sharp bearded jaw, doe eyes that were darker than she’d ever seen, that freckle on the side of his neck that she wanted to kiss, no she didn’t, shut up. 

“You just want me to go down on you,” she accused, wiggling back against him, trying to find some sort of friction because he felt so good it wasn’t even funny and sure, fine, she wanted him to fuck her. But there was no way he was offering to eat her out without expecting her to drop to her knees for him, and the idea of being that submissive for Peter fucking Parker made her want to hug a land mine. 

“It’s not a trade. Is that how it’s always been for you?” he asked, a frown in his voice as he pushed her hair away from her neck. “Someone’s been treating you all wrong, huh?”

Another mistake. She’d given away a detail of past relationships and flings without thinking. 

“So you don’t want me to blow you?” she asked, turning to face him. Bullshit. He wasn’t different from any other guy. 

A muscle in his jaw tightened at her question— a crack in his confidence. Good. He could see how it felt to be toppled by a few words, to have a rug yanked out from under his feet. 

But then he shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling sinfully. “If you wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you. But that’s not what I asked. I asked if you wanted me to eat you out.”

She huffed. “Because you’re so selfless?”

“You’ve never had someone go down on you just ‘cause they wanted to?” he asked as he kneeled— fucking kneeled— in front of her. “Poor girl.”

She ignored the false sympathy. “What’s your— your goal here, huh?” she asked shakily as he kissed down her hip, spreading her legs. This wasn’t what she’d pictured when she’d imagined him on his knees, this was so beyond—

“Get your skirt out of the way.”

“What?” She pressed herself against the wall as her calves went wobbly from the hickey he was sucking against her thigh. 

“Move this so I can see you,” he instructed. 

“Pushy,” she mumbled, shuffling her gauzy skirt as best she could, but it was next to impossible. “This doesn’t— it won’t—”

He stood and spun her around easily, tugging the zipper and pulling her dress down her hips. It happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to think. He sank back down and helped her step out of it, pulling her left knee over his shoulder as she tried to keep balance on one foot in her teetering heel. Warm breath floated across her skin as he pressed a messy kiss to her cunt through her underwear before tugging it aside and licking into her like a shock. 

This was fucking bad. 

“Oh, baby,” he cooed. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

His hand was on her right hip, holding her tight (and God, he was strong) as he spread her open and lapped at her with deadly focus, spinning her stupid at an alarming pace. Oh, she’d fucked up tremendously and he was right: this would be all she ever thought of when she saw his mouth. Exhaling slowly, she tipped her head back until the ceiling tiles came into view, the lights hovering at the edge of her vision. The air was thick and for a moment, it was hard to breathe because of how he was devouring her. This wasn’t exploratory and lazy, it was him showing her that he could handle her and he was gonna make sure she loved every second of it. 

He mumbled her name against her and her thighs shook embarrassingly. She tried to shift, dig her heel into the hard muscles of his back, but his hand was too tight against her hip, his thumb digging an ache against her soft skin. “Parker—”

“Lemme see your eyes,” he said as she bucked against his mouth. She glanced down without thinking and the sight of his tongue curling into her was unbearable. Unbearable because he was causing her brain to go all cloudy and dumb, and because it tore her up to be wrong. He hummed against her clit before circling it with the tip of his tongue, shaking her to the core. It was merciless and precise and it sent thick pleasure winding through her body, turning her practically boneless in his grasp. “Look at me when you come. Wanna see that pretty face.”

“Please,” she urged weakly, threading her fingers through his thick hair and pulling him closer. Peter groaned appreciatively against her, and that gutteral sound knocked her over the edge unexpectedly, lightning-bright as she came again. It left her trembling against his jaw as her legs went rigid, her heel clattering to the ground somewhere behind him. “Fuck, please—” and maybe she said his name too but her head was all cottony and she could have told him her banking information and she wouldn’t have had a clue. 

“There you go, baby,” he encouraged as she ground herself against his slick mouth, his tongue still working at her as she came back down. “Love those sweet words.”

She let out a frustrated groan at his teasing but it was probably impossible to discern it from the rest of the noises she was making. “You talk too much,” she panted, tugging uselessly at his hair. 

“Maybe,” he hummed as he licked one last stripe up her cunt, sending a helpless spasm through her. “My goal is to make you think about me all weekend,” he continued casually, nipping at the hickey he’d just left on her thigh. Pleasure cut alongside the pain, making her whine softly. 

What the hell was he talking about? She was so dazed from coming that she just stared down blankly at him while he kissed the inside of her knee, nipping at a childhood scar from a fight she’d lost with a pair of skates. “Huh?”

“You asked what my goal was,” he reminded her as he stood, looming above her, dangerously tall in a way that excited her. That was like a brick to the head: she was actually into this— him?— and she wanted more. “I want you to think about me all weekend. When you get up tomorrow morning and your thighs ache, I want you to think about me. Want you to think about me when you touch yourself, and when you see me next week at work, I want you to look at my hands and think of how you fell apart all over them.”

The way he spoke to her was staggering and it left her with a rush of heat between her thighs. “Quite a list,” she breathed as he bent his head to kiss the slope of her shoulder, his large palms sliding up her shivery ribs to cup her breasts. “Anything else?”

“I told you, I wanna find that sweetness,” he said, flicking his tongue against her nipple through the flimsy material of her bra, some lacy black thing that she’d picked at the last minute. “It keeps coming through and you don’t even know it.”

She arched into his touch before fumbling with his buckle with useless fingers. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so turned on you can’t even get my belt off,” he said softly. “Came so hard you fell outta your shoes.” Christ, her other shoe was gone and she hadn’t even noticed. Taking her wrist, he guided her hand until she was palming him through his pants. “See what you did with those pretty sounds?”

Anticipation flooded her body, with more than a few nerves. He felt ridiculously big, and she swallowed hard. Looking up at him, she wondered if it was a genuine smile he was giving her or just more of his games. Holding his gaze, she popped the button of his pants and slipped her hand into his boxers, watching the slightest flutter of his long lashes when she wrapped her fist around him. Good. He could see how it felt to be thrown for a loop. 

He let her stoke him for a few moments, clenching his jaw when she circled the head of his cock with her thumb, smearing precome around the tip. She watched his eyes the entire time, not wanting to miss a second of his control wavering. To her utter satisfaction, they went glassy at her touch. “That’s enough,” he said suddenly, blinking rapidly as he pushed her hand away. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Thought you could handle me,” she taunted as he tugged his boxers down his lean hips. Still, she didn’t look down, because somehow that would make it all tangible, driving home the fact that she was going to fuck Peter Parker. 

“You’ve got a smart little mouth,” he informed her as he backed her into the wall again, but it was more of a statement than a criticism. “Are you on the pill?” he asked, skating his teeth along her collarbone. 

“Y—yeah.” Even that one simple word was a struggle. “You don’t have a condom?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a guy who’d actually wanted to wear one. Everything about this man made her crazy. 

He shook his head as he pulled her against him, his thick cock pressed to her hip. “Of course I do. I just wanna feel how wet you are for me. Wanna feel what I did to you.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him. He was asking permission, giving power back to her for just a second. He’d already made her come twice, what did letting him fuck her without a condom matter at this point? “It’s fine.”

He tilted his head questioningly, like she’d said something totally insane. “There’s a difference between something being fine and something being what you want. What do you want?”

It was the second time he’d asked her that. Nothing didn’t cut it as an answer this time. “I want you to fuck me,” she blurted out in a rush. 

“Just like this?” he pressed as he turned her around slowly, and she nodded, letting him pin her against the wall, spreading her legs as he pushed his cock between her thighs. She closed her eyes as he teased her, the head of his dick gently nudging her clit. Embarrassingly, she clenched around nothing. “Just like this,” she mumbled as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing in inch by inch. It was slow and teasing, and when she tried to reach back to grab at his hip, he took her hand and pinned it to the wall. 

“Don’t be greedy,” he crooned, pulling back for a torturous second before thrusting all the way in, and it made her breath falter, the way he filled her up so completely. “I know what you want.”

He was big, and she refused to say it. There was no way he didn’t already know, and she certainly didn’t need to feed his ego by moaning about it. The way he was stretching her out was near criminal, some kind of sweet agony that pulled a breathy whimper from her. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” he purred in her ear, and she gritted her teeth to keep any sort of flattery from leaving her mouth. “See how easy it is for me to tell you that?”

She shook her head as words scrambled around in her skull, and he pinned her other hand to the wall. “Why do you need to hear it so badly?” she managed to ask as she ground back into him. “Your work doesn’t stand on its own?” 

Peter chuckled, his hot breath floating across her shoulder. “You already came twice. Maybe you should try to pull your weight.”

He let go of her left hand to ghost his fingers against her clit as he thrust up hard, and it was nearly too much. Biting down on her lip, she slumped back but he was whispering in her ear again, poor baby you want it so fuckin’ bad huh, and she did.

“Parker,” she muttered as his hand came up to spread across her throat, his thumb against her collarbone as he nudged her knees farther apart. She arched into him as he cupped her breast, teasing her nipple through the thin material of her bra. 

“Did you ever think about this? Me fucking that attitude out of you?” 

She tried to roll her eyes but couldn’t. Everything he said was in a low, even voice and it was like a dagger every time, spearing through her, sending her out of her mind. It was a strange thing, to feel lust and irritation side by side, but the lust was beginning to outweigh it.

“No.” That wasn’t a lie. Months ago, she’d dreamed about him kissing her in an elevator, but it had ended with her slapping himself across the face, and when she’d woken up, she didn’t remember it until he’d walked past her in the break room and given her a too-nice grin that was for his own enjoyment. But wanting to fuck him? Never. Not until that broken sign had lit his face up and something had twisted hot and sharp in her belly. “Told you, I d— don’t think about you.”

“I thought about you a couple times,” he admitted without a shred of embarrassment as he licked at the juncture of her neck, teeth cutting against her in a quick sting that he kissed away with a filthy sound. “Thought about how pretty you’d look riding me.”

Jesus, he knew how to get to her. Weirdly, she didn’t know if she should be offended or flattered that he’d thought about fucking her. The fact that she wasn’t sure made her think that she liked it, and that was a hard thing to contend with. “You’re unbelievable.”

He took her arms and pulled them back so they were looped around his neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he replied, his hands rough against her tits, squeezing and caressing appreciatively until she yanked at his hair. 

It made him laugh, but he stopped moving and she pushed back desperately, trying to find that delicious rhythm again. “You said you were plenty nice, this isn’t…”

“Take what you want.” He nuzzled at her temple, planting a sugary-fake kiss there. “Be a big girl and take it.”

She huffed. Her legs were unsteady and she wasn’t tall enough to get what she wanted without her heels. “I can’t.”

He thrust again, slow this time. “You’re usually so sure of yourself. What happened, baby?” he asked softly, his thumb gentle against her throat. It would be easier if he’d just bruise a mark against her neck instead of this, this quiet sweetness that she knew was just building up into him getting the upper hand again.

She shook her head, refusing to give him more than she already had. “Stop— stop calling me that,” she said, because that was the problem, not the fact that he was fucking her into a wall with sharp snaps of his hips, filling her up so well it was making her brain blur. Pleasure rippled through her body as he kissed the side of her neck, and she cried out when he sucked another mark there, quickly soothing it with his tongue. 

“How about princess?” he grunted harshly, and she shivered, pressing her warm cheek to the off-white plaster. “Sweetheart? Angel? Kitten?”

“Stop talking, you n— never shut up,” she ground out, lacking any kind of authority because he felt so fucking good inside her that it was making her eyes droop shut like she was drunk on him. 

He hummed against the crown of her head, stilling his movements again and she pushed back against him greedily. This impulsivity she’d gotten herself twisted up in was going to ruin her for anyone else, because fuck he knew what he was doing. Maybe she had left the restaurant and gotten hit by a bus on the way to the subway and this was some circle of Hell that Dante had neglected to mention: divinity at the hands of Peter Parker. 

“Poor girl,” he cooed, honey dripping off his tongue. “So eager for my cock.”

“You’re rock hard over me so I guess we’re both—”

He spun her and scooped her up, briefly tracing her hip bones as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “What can I say, I like mouthy girls.”

She barely had time to reorient herself as he thrust into her again. There was no room between her and the wall, forcing her to either look at him or rest her chin on his shoulder. What thrilling little head games he was playing, trying to pull sweetness from her with his words and touches. But she was beginning to realize that something in her liked this, maybe even liked him. Maybe she did like arguing, maybe she was as predictable as some stupid eighties movie—

“Where’d you go?” he asked, burying his face against her neck and nipping at her, the sharpness of his teeth yanking her back to the present. “Thinking about how good it feels?”

Weakly, she pushed at his chest, tapping the borders of the bruise. “Where’d this come from?” she muttered as he hitched her up higher. “What’d you do?”

He shook his head, his once-neat hair falling messily across his forehead. “Kiss it and make it better,” he deflected with a smirk. Instead, she clenched around him and he groaned, thumbs digging so harshly into her waist that she could imagine the bruises blooming under his touch. It was the first time she’d managed to catch him completely off-guard, and it thrilled her to have the upper hand, only if for a moment. One of his hands came up to caress her neck, tracing and teasing, following her carotid as he slowed his hips to a dreamy grind. 

“Tired?” she asked, and he just grinned that pearly self-assured grin. 

“Aren’t you?” He was pulling almost all the way out each time and then filling her back up languidly, his thumb pressing agonizingly against her clit. “You get this dizzy look on your face when you come—”

With a moan, she kissed him hard so he couldn’t finish telling her about how desperate she was for him, but he was still smiling as he cradled her cheek and pressed his tongue into her mouth. In retaliation, she dragged her nails across his shoulders and earned an atta girl that made her melt. 

No matter what she tried, it felt like she couldn’t gain control over him. Maybe she should just be sweet like he said. It wasn’t really giving in, was it? It was enjoying. She could admit that it was fucking divine, the way he bottomed out with every stroke and kissed her totally stupid. She could even admit that she was glad he’d found her in the hallway and that one of them had pushed the other into the bathroom. She still wasn’t clear on who had done that; it had just been a neon red whirl of hands and irritation and pent-up lust. 

Be a sweet girl. 

It dawned on her: that was her move. That was how she played his game. 

“Harder,” she asked, tugging him close to kiss his jaw, and she watched his brows knit together in slight confusion. “Please?” she added before he could prompt her. 

“Yeah?” 

She nodded. “I want you to fuck me harder,” she repeated, tracing his bottom lip, his beard scratching at her palm.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he thrust so hard she saw silvery stars. He kissed her harshly, and she rolled her hips up to accommodate him as he sank in deeper. “You look so pretty when you ask for my cock.”

“Parker…” she trailed off, and she was rewarded with another rough thrust, and she wondered if the wall would hold her weight. In the very back of her mind, she had no clue how she was supposed to get to the subway, because he was fucking her so hard she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to walk afterwards.

“What?” he asked, inhaling raggedly when she leaned forward to work a mark into his collarbone. Playing nice was easy, especially when it turned the tables. Maybe she should have figured it out sooner, but he’d made it difficult to focus. 

“Wanna ride you,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders, circling her hips as best she could but it was hard to do in her current position. “Like you said.”

Peter set her down and sure enough, she stumbled on jello legs. The room spun and tilted like a carnival ride under her feet and she shook her head to try and clear her vision as she pressed herself against the wall for some kind of support. Suddenly, he was holding her wrists and gathering her close. Her pulse fluttered under his touch. “I’ve got you, whoa. You okay?”

She nodded. Without thinking, she leaned her temple against his chest, listening to the thump of his heart to try and ground herself. “Can’t feel my legs.”

She expected a self-satisfied grin from him, all glowing and grandiose, but it didn’t appear. Instead, there was a softness in his expression that was foreign to her, and it made her knees even weaker. 

“Come here,” he said, holding his hands out to help her into his lap. Tentatively, she took them, studying how easily they engulfed hers. Maybe this was the peace offering she’d refused earlier. “Don’t want you knocking yourself out.”

They sank to the floor on top of his rumpled sports jacket. His grip was gentle as she straddled his thighs, a departure from how he’d been pinning and manhandling her for however long they’d been locked away. “You always know what to say, huh?” she murmured as he stroked her knee soothingly, a too-intimate move from the man who’d been calling her baby as he fucked bruises into the backs of her thighs. “You and your clever mouth.”

“You seem to like my clever mouth.” He grinned at her as she sank down onto him, closing her eyes as she adjusted to the stretch of his cock again. “You’re messing with me.” His words were intended to be good natured, but there was a flash of uncertainty in his dark eyes, and she knew that he didn’t have a clue where he stood with her. For some reason, it didn’t feel as good as she thought it might. What a time to grow a conscience about this. About him. 

“How?” she asked innocently as she tried to shake that feeling off, tracing a long white scar that was etched deep into his chest, like he’d lost a fight with a sword. What the hell kind of hobbies he had, she’d never know. 

“Being sweet.”

He had her number. She shrugged as she bucked her hips, and he groaned, knocking his head back against the wall. “What else do you want from me, Parker? A certificate that says you fucked me until I couldn’t think straight?” She leaned forward and kissed the hollow of his throat, grinding down hard onto his cock as she pulled another strangled noise from him, and fuck if that didn’t turn her on. “Make up your mind, baby.”

“You feel incredible,” he grunted, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to drag her mouth to his, and she bit his lip before running her tongue across it to soothe away the sting.  

“What do you want?” she asked sweetly as she draped her arms around his neck, pressing her chest to his. “You want me to cry about how good you feel inside me? Want me to call you daddy?”

Oh, that got him. He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut at her questions. “God, you’re…”

“Use your words,” she reminded him softly, and he snapped his hips into hers hard, nearly unseating her. “Want me to beg you to suck your cock?” Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she meant any of it or if she was still playing along with the strange power struggle they’d been locked in for months. Whatever it was left her feeling just a little power drunk. 

“Sweet of you to ask,” he muttered as he gripped her jaw, his tongue pressing into her mouth in a dizzying slide. She secretly liked when he held her face like that, all demanding and rough, and she wondered what that said about her. Maybe she did want him to fuck her until she was sweet. 

“Knew it,” she panted triumphantly as she broke away from him, raking her nails down his shoulders, jagged pink lines trailing behind her red nails. “I knew you wanted me to blow you.”

“No.” He shook his head, hands tight against the tops of her thighs, setting the pace he wanted as he guided her hips. “Keep riding me just like that. God, we should do this more often.”

“Hatefuck each other?” she blurted out as she sank down to the hilt with a blissed-out sigh. “Parker, that’s really deep—”

He stopped moving, his grip loosening slightly, the harsh dig of his fingers dissipating.“You really think I hate you?” he asked, blinking in confusion as he pulled back to look at her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think his feelings were hurt. This wasn’t supposed to be something meaningful between them, what the hell was he doing? 

She trembled as her arousal pushed at her. “It’s just a phrase.” 

His soft brown eyes were serious, glittering with something that tried to break her heart. She had hurt his feelings. “I don’t hate you.”

She shifted with a gasp, feeling small under his gaze. Yesterday she wouldn’t have given a shit if she’d disappointed him and now she felt like an asshole. “I know. I shouldn’t have— that was stupid.”

There was a long strange moment of limbo where neither of them moved. At least they had one thing in common: she couldn’t figure out where the hell she stood with him either. She wondered if she’d somehow wrecked the situation she shouldn’t have gotten herself into in the first place. 

“What about a grudgefuck?” she hedged. 

The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly. “Maybe.” He reached to toy with the small lace bow on her bra, and she leaned forward, gently kissing the bruise on his chest as an apology and he let out a hiss of pain. 

“Sorry.” She hadn’t meant to hurt him. It wasn’t like she actually enjoyed seeing him in physical pain, no matter how many times she’d fantasized about whipping a stapler at him after some stupid comment he’d flung her way. 

“It’s okay.” Peter cupped her cheek, studying her for a moment, and that made her feel more vulnerable than the fact that he was buried inside her. His eyes swept over her: the bridge of her nose, the Cupid’s bow of her mouth, her pleasure-teary eyes. “You are a soft little thing, aren’t you?”

Something had shifted between them, and she realized that they’d both been pretending it hadn’t. It wasn’t something she could pinpoint— maybe it had been when she’d struggled to stand and he’d helped her without so much as a joke, or when he’d looked disheartened at the idea of her believing that he hated her. What a pair they made. 

Her mouth twitched at his declaration, and she buried her face against his neck while he rocked up into her steadily. “Feels good,” she told him as heat spiraled up in her belly. 

He pulled her knees tighter against his hips, splitting her open in a way that was making her eyes roll and flutter. “Gonna come for me?”

She nodded jerkily as he hit that deep part of her again, setting her on a path to fall apart for the third time. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please d— don’t stop.” He smelled good, cologne and clean sweat and something spicy that swirled around her head as he pushed her over the edge. Shuddering hard, she dug her nails into his shoulders. “Don’t hate you either,” she panted against his neck, shivering when he stroked her hip as he fucked her through it. 

His fingers trailed down her spine and it was too tender to think about. But when she tried to say his name, he swept her into a kiss that spun her out completely. It was slow and sweet, with his hands all over her throat and when his tongue pressed against her lips, it was like he was asking what she needed rather than telling her. 

“I know you don’t,” he said, but it lacked the arrogance from when he’d insisted on it earlier. 

“Don’t— don’t get all soft on me, Parker,” she muttered, because whatever gentle thing was trying to bloom between them wasn’t welcome. This was not the start of something, it was not some movie meet-cute, it was months of immaturity coming to a head. 

“I’m anything but,” he replied pointedly, and God, was there a polite way to tell someone to come because she’d never been waiting on a guy like this before. He tilted his head, that scrutinizing look crossing his face again. Like he could somehow hear what she was thinking. “You okay?”

She nodded, and he dipped his head to kiss her breasts, murmuring pretty as he tugged one of her bra straps down her shoulder so he could take her nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing and licking until she whined. He’d slowed down, like he knew that she needed him to, moving with deep drags of his cock, and she let him do what he wanted, because it wasn’t giving in, it was enjoying. He wrapped his long fingers around her neck again and pressed his forehead to hers. “Gimme another one,” he urged, his nose brushing hers. “Wanna see those dizzy eyes one more time.” 

He sounded like he was underwater; she was so overstimulated that everything was blurring together. But his words cut through the fog and a hazy orgasm rolled over her, and she couldn’t believe she’d just come on command. It made her chest tight and she grabbed his shoulder to anchor herself. “Can’t do it again, it’s too much,” she panted, her nails slipping against him.

He groaned her name at her words. It made sense that praise set him off— someone as talkative as him would want it back so he could relish in it. She’d gotten to him earlier with all her little questions; her backhanded compliments must have cut him straight to the bone. 

“Peter,” she tried, because she never called him that— only ever sneering and biting out his last name like a curse— and she was desperately curious to know what it would do to him. 

“Sounds so good when you say that.” His words were broken, shattered little syllables that she snatched up for herself. The smack of his skin against hers was deafening, and she couldn’t even hear what else he was saying to her. For a moment, she just watched his mouth move, and it was so stupidly pretty and why hadn’t she noticed that before?

“Peter,” she said again, not because she was trying to get into his head this time, but because she didn’t know what else to say other than his name. Peter Parker and his pretty mouth and his sinful hips and his big shoulders and his scarred chest, Peter Parker who was looking at her like she knew the secrets of the universe. 

“Where do you want me to come?” he asked desperately, his thrusts turning mind-numbingly hard and sloppy and Jesus Christ she was still coming, shaking against him uncontrollably from the rush of watching him crumble. “Tell me.”

“Come inside me,” she said hoarsely. She was exhausted, her body humming and too sensitive, and the only reason she was upright was because he was holding her in his strong arms. 

He searched her eyes, looking like he wanted to ask if she was sure, but an aftershock hit her and sent her cunt fluttering around him. With a groan, he shoved his face in her shoulder as he came, his hips slamming into hers. “Fuck,” he hissed, and his fingers were so tight against her that it ached, but she was too tired to push them away. Instead, she would take home ten little souvenirs from their indiscretion, if not more. He thrust again helplessly, muttering her name, and she was acutely aware of how sore she was, and how sore she’d be for days after. He’d gotten both of his wishes. “Sorry, fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

That little bit of praise lodged itself firmly in her brain and she exhaled shakily as it echoed in her head. It was the first time she’d ever wanted to hear that she’d pleased him, and it had to be from the euphoric high she was experiencing, right?

She was collapsed against him, sweaty and drained, and his pulse thrummed against her nose. Curiously, she darted her tongue out to lick at the tendon in his neck and he twitched inside her. 

“You gotta stop that,” he said brokenly, his mouth hot against her collarbone. “Jesus Christ, what the hell did you do to me?”

“Picked a fight,” she mumbled as he shifted her carefully, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over her breasts, leaving a trail of goosebumps under his tongue. He’d turned her into a rag doll: pliant and boneless with a brain full of nothing. Moving was too hard, and they stayed tangled as a sailor’s knot. Out of sheer curiosity, she ran her fingers down his back to stroke and explore the hard muscles she found there, wondering if she ought to climb out of his lap. Peter didn’t move either, his knuckles trailing over her trembling calves, and she took that as an invitation to remain. 

“Which was it?” he asked after a moment, planting a kiss against the hollow of her throat and nuzzling a tender spot he’d left behind. Eleven souvenirs, although she knew there were far more than that. 

“Which was what?” she asked, her head still spinning wildly. 

“Were you messing with me or did you like it?”

“I don’t know,” she said as she traced his bottom lip. 

She did know. It was unquestionably both: messing with him had turned into liking it. Without thinking, she brushed his messy hair from his face, studying the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she’d never noticed. Maybe it was because she was full of endorphins and had just been fucked thoroughly, but she thought they were cute. Ugh, cute? That was the millionth mistake she’d made tonight. He had her all turned around and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

“Well,” he said after a moment as he fixed the twisted strap of her bra, his fingers lingering against her flushed skin for a moment too long, “maybe I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve. Maybe you’ll know by then.”

She sighed as he kissed the side of her neck gently, the scratch of his beard making her squirm. “Maybe I will.”

~

Title comes from Love Me Dead by Ludo. 

Obviously this could have all been solved by talking things out like adults as soon as they left the office but then how would they have angry mindgame sex with someone in a Cuban restaurant? Also, I’m incapable of writing a trope in a traditional sense so uhhh that’s what happened here. The more I thought about the title, the more I knew the direction it would take. 

This spawned when Rae and I were talking about how I had intended my sex pollen fic to be more rival-based but about 800 words in, I couldn’t stand the vibe I’d created. Naturally, we started discussing hate sex and it went from there. So thanks for putting this idea in my head, Rae! I threw in a P alliteration in your honor. 

Taglist: @rae-gar-targaryen @mrshipsmcgee @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @silkspiderstuff @abibliophobiaa @summertimestyles @letmeplaytheliontoo @xbamboowishesx @squiddtheekidd @mortwig

Music thundered overhead, some kind of trap remix of a Tears for Fears song that was war-crimes awful, and she ducked into the thankfully empty kitchen to collect herself before heading back home. She considered the jungle juice for a moment before grabbing a bottle of water and angrily unscrewing the cap before chugging half of it in one go, because she was not gonna have a hangover for some jag she’d met at a party a few weeks ago.

With a sigh, she perched on the counter and thunked her temple against the fridge, hoping it would knock some sense into her. Why did she have the worst douchebag radar on the planet? Who had she pissed off in another life that this was happening to her?

Somewhere to her right, ice shifted suddenly in the cooler and she jumped. There was Peter Parker, who sat in a permanent slouch in front of her in their Analytical Chemistry class. They’d talked a lot, starting on the first day of the semester with a loudly whispered can you believe this guy from him when their professor had said something wildly sexist. At first, she’d figured it was just an attempt to be slick, easy points for a bare minimum comment. But at the end of class, when their professor asked for questions, he’d raised his hand and asked if science was such an easy field for women to advance in, why wasn’t Mary Anning allowed to join the Geological Society of London? The room had gone dead silent, and when Peter brought up Rosalind Franklin next, class had been quickly dismissed. She’d caught up with him to introduce herself, and had been so relieved to learn he wasn’t full of shit. From there, they’d joked about how glad they were to live off campus, away from all the freshmen and traded tips on the best nearby dive bars. At least once a week, one of them would pick up an extra coffee for the other and somewhere on her desk, she had his notes from when she’d ditched class to go to a Valentino pop-up last week. She would consider them friends. As far as she could tell, he was pretty cool, although his bleached hair made him look like a total fuckboy, which apparently she was into. But if that was the worst thing he had doing on, he was a fucking dream of a guy. 

“Hey, you,” he said coolly as he straightened up to his full height, setting his red solo cup on the counter. His brown eyes swept over her, and dare she think he was checking her out? Maybe she just wanted it to be true, because maybe she’d wondered once or twice or seven times what kissing him would be like. At least she looked good in her too-short black skirt and Springsteen tee with a too-wide neckline. Apparently not as good as a giggly redhead, though. “Who’re you hiding from?” 

She shrugged carelessly, letting her feet swing and bump loudly against the cabinets below her. “Bad music.”

He nodded, his mouth twitching into a slow smile, like they were sharing a secret. “You sure? You tore outta there pretty fast.”

“I get really bummed out when eighties music is disrespected,” she replied, crossing her legs and not bothering to pull her skirt over her thighs. His eyes were glued to her bare knees, and for some reason, that pleased her. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, and she was not imagining it, his eyes were tracing her mouth like he was memorizing the shade of lipstick she was wearing, “I’m sorry your evening took such a bad turn.”

Peter Parker was stupid hot. She knew it, and he definitely knew it. Even with the messy boy band hair, he had warm eyes and a deadly jawline and currently, a hungry grin. And it wasn’t the beer she’d had earlier that was putting those ideas into her head. It was plain facts. 

“Me too,” she mumbled, shelving her racing thoughts as she slid off the counter carefully, just in time for Kyle to finally come barging in. 

“Hey! Hey, hang on—” he began frantically as she sidestepped him as best she could, but he grabbed her anyway. His hand was sweaty and his fingers were too tight around her bicep, like a claw in a toy machine had escaped and latched onto her. 

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, tugging out of his grip and squeezing her water bottle like it was his neck. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“No, listen— listen, it wasn’t a big deal. I’ve known Emma since high school, it wasn’t anything.”

She wanted the floor to inhale her Kirby-style. This wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have, especially in front of her friend that she was pretty sure had been flirting with her. Someone needed to leave, whether it was her or Kyle or Peter, who was watching the trainwreck unfold with wide eyes.

“Hey, man,” Peter began, taking a step toward them, but it did nothing to deter Kyle. “I don’t think she—”

“Can you just go?” she mumbled to no one in particular, heading for the door, but Kyle grabbed her arm again, bruisingly hard. Without thinking, she squeezed her open bottle directly in his face. 

Peter snorted. Meanwhile, the noise Kyle let out was as if she’d sprayed him with a riot hose, and she couldn’t believe this loser had talked her into giving him a blowjob. 

“You fucking bitch, I’m soaked,” he cried angrily, flicking water out of his eyes indignantly. It was only half a bottle and he was acting like she’d waterboarded him. Every single thing he did was pissing her off, and she was beyond furious that she’d wasted her time on someone like him. Worst of all, that he’d managed to make her feel sad, even if it had only been for a few minutes. 

“At least one of us got there,” she shot back and Peter snorted again and oh shit she hadn't meant to blurt that out and she was just digging a huge hole for herself, huh? 

Her mouthiness immediately twisted into apprehension, because Kyle’s face had gone from pathetically pleading to stone-cold mean. His blue eyes were flinty and he lunged at her as she took a step back. 

It turned into a strangely slow ballet: Peter pulled her behind him and threw a punch all at once, like he could predict the future and had seen it coming a mile away. Kyle staggered back with a bloody nose, Peter shook his hand out, and she peered over his shoulder nervously, because holy hell, she was pretty sure she’d just technically been in her first fight. “No one ever told you not to pick on someone smaller than you? That’s a dick move, don’t you think?”

Kyle was too embarrassed to do anything but stumble away with blood running down his chin, soaking into the collar of his awful lime green Lacoste polo. All the signs really had been right in front of her. Lacoste? So preppy. 

“I,” she breathed, adrenaline pumping through her body, sending jittery half-breaths out of her mouth as he turned to face her. “Um, sorry. Sorry, shit, I’m really sorry, Peter.”

“You okay?” he asked, handing her a fresh water bottle that she just held awkwardly, the condensation cold against her palm.

“Yeah. Yeah, um. Yeah.” Sound stupider, Jesus Christ. He was gonna think she was a complete idiot. “I’m okay. Are you? Your hand–”

“Was that the bad music?” he asked, taking the bottle and removing the cap for her.

She laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

He turned on the sink to wash the blood off, and she caught sight of his other hand. Two of his knuckles were busted, and she wondered who else he’d had a run-in with recently. She didn’t really have him pegged as a troublemaker. Maybe he was a trouble solver. She didn’t believe in violence, but sometimes she was glad other people did. 

“You sure you’re good? You look a little shaky.”

“Yeah.” Heavily, she leaned against the door and took a sip of water. “Thank you for, um, getting him to leave.”

“No problem. Did you finish the paper for Langston?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, which only made it more wild. 

She knew he was trying to distract her and she appreciated it. “I certainly have some words in a Google doc that are dreaming of becoming sentences,” she replied sheepishly, because it was a disorganized mess of notes and bracketed sarcastic comments to herself that she needed to delete before submitting. “But I don’t know if he really cares what girls write, given that he thinks women are treated better because of their looks.”

“Send him a selfie and get yourself an easy A,” Peter suggested with a devilish wink, and Jesus, why was the kitchen so warm? A drop of sweat snaked its way down the back of her neck, surely just from the excitement of what had happened. 

“Mmm, I don’t like the idea of him having a picture of me,” she replied, tossing her now-empty bottle into the giant black trash bag that sat between two bar stools. 

He hummed in agreement, his eyes lingering on her exposed shoulder. “That’s fair.” Christ, she was gonna slide down the door into a puddle if he didn’t quit looking at her like she was some kind of prize.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked down at the rounded toes of her boots, wishing she’d stomped on Kyle’s foot. That wouldn’t have been violence, more like… justice. “I…” she hesitated, wondering if she should explain it to him. “Um, there was this— this girl in his lap, and we’ve gone out five times and it was in front of everyone and it was embarrassing.” A lump formed in her throat because she was oversharing like some bubbleheaded high schooler and she needed to zip her mouth. Peter probably didn’t want to hear about—

“He’s a dick,” he informed her distastefully, like Kyle was something he’d found on the bottom of his scuffed sneaker. “I’ve known him since freshman year. He was on my dorm floor. Total piece of shit.”

“Wish I would have known,” she said wistfully. “ I could’ve spent so much more time worrying about finishing some papers instead of trying to figure out when to reschedule dates with him.”

“He’s got that Jekyll and Hyde thing going on.”

“Ah,” she scoffed. “A secret identity. Love that in a person.”

“Gotta steer clear of those, although… it’s hard to avoid a secret,” he teased, and wow, he was really hot. And nice, on top of it, but she’d known that for ages. However, it was a deadly combination that she was not immune to. 

“That’s true,” she agreed. There was a sudden commotion outside, shouting and cheering and splashing, and through the kitchen window she could see that furniture had made its way into the pool. She scoffed, tucking her chin against her chest. “Stupid.”

Peter nodded. “So why are you here?” he asked, leaning on the wall opposite her while she was still trying to process the fact that he’d punched an asshole for her, going out of his way to protect her. Who did stuff like that? “Doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”

“What, a frat party? Because I make bad choices, obviously.”

He playfully seesawed his head. “Wanna go make another one?” he offered, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulled the material of his green t-shirt tight over his chest and what the hell, was she hearing him correctly? There was no way he was asking what she thought he was asking. A hook-up with her hot friend from chem class? Dream the fuck on, girl. And stop staring at his arms. His beautifully muscled arms, and definitely stop looking at the veins—

“With— um, with you?” she managed to stammer out, wishing she sounded cooler than she actually was. Spit it out, for the love of God.

“Yeah,” he grinned wolfishly, “with me.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously, instead of shutting the hell up and letting him drag her upstairs immediately. Guys didn’t usually toss indecent proposals at her like this, but honestly, it would be nice to be stupid for a night with someone and blow off some steam. 

He shrugged, all easy grace and broad shoulders. “Why not? You’re cute, I’m cute. Besides, that whole soaked thing? That’s a real shame, sweetheart.”

Her brain was a whirlpool. Fucking what, Peter Parker? Who on Earth just casually said things like that? “I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, a boyish grin dancing on his lips that shot through her embarrassingly fast. “He should know how badly he fucked things up with you.” He extended his hand toward her. She stared at it, then up at him. He wiggled his fingers enticingly, jerking his chin in a come on move, and she took it hesitantly, but it was big and warm and reassuring against hers and it put her at ease instantly. Gently, he pulled her closer, until she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “You wanna let me treat you better than him?”

Nine simple words. Still, her brain took a millennium to process them, buffering like bad WiFi. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears, and she didn’t have a cool girl response for him. There she was, undeniably flustered and there was that beautiful grin of his, an I’ll eat you up if you’d like lazy twist of his mouth that sent heat spiraling between her thighs. 

She wanted to ask why again, but she just nodded wordlessly and he laced his long fingers through hers and quietly led her out of the kitchen, weaving through drunken party-goers. The skunky smell of weed curled in her nose, followed by the hoppy scent from a pool of spilled beer that she carefully stepped over, not letting go of Peter’s hand for a second. Briefly, she wondered if anyone was watching them, and then immediately realized that she didn’t care one bit about what anyone else might think of her. They could be going to get burgers or work on an assignment or feed ducks or any number of things. 

They weren’t. But they could be. 

She followed him out the back door, her heart racing with the unknown. It wasn’t like she was trying to get back at Kyle; she was truly intrigued by Peter. He’d made her feel positively electric just talking to her, and if that’s what he could do with just his words, then she’d be a fool not to find out what else he was capable of. 

The house let out into an alley that meandered through Fraternity Row. They were a few streets over from her apartment, which meant they were close to his place as well because she knew he was in the complex across from her. She’d seen him out on the weekends, with a board tucked under his arm or his backpack slung over his shoulder on the way to the library. Always with headphones in, blocking out the world, but he always returned the little wave she gave him as they passed each other. 

It was cool outside, the March air still clinging to a sliver of winter chill. The stars seemed to be hiding, and the only thing above them was a perfect crescent moon. 

“So are you taking anal chem for fun or your major?” he asked, and she tore her gaze from the inky sky. He was still holding her hand, as though they did this all the time, sneaking around in the middle of the night with nothing but very specific designs on each other.

“You think someone would take that for fun?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. It was a miserable class, and it was only made better knowing that it didn’t have a final. “It’s like putting your brain in an iron maiden.”

“Masochists, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not that,” she assured him, and he tugged her close to his side so she didn’t step in a puddle.

Until that slick little move, she’d managed to relax about what they were up to, because he made it easy to put things on a back burner and make her feel like they were just out with him getting some air. Just talking with her friend about a class they both hated, and not headed somewhere to go be impulsive together. 

They turned onto a side street behind his building, tall and brick and imposing, stretching up to meet the moon. Most of the windows were dark, because it seemed like every frat on campus was having a spring break is over party on the same night. Lucky her that she’d gone to the same one as Peter Parker. 

“You remember I sat behind you on the first day of class?” She nodded, and his thumb slid up the center of her wrist, sending a shiver up her spine. “I moved in front of you so I’d actually pay attention, because you…” he trailed off, pressing her against the brick wall, “are distracting. You know that?”

She didn’t even mind the roughness of the building against her back because he was melting her down with those pretty brown eyes of his. “No,” she replied, hyper aware of his hand coming up to rest on her hip, fingers slipping under her shirt to just barely caress her hip. His hands were calloused, but he touched her like she was something delicate— a music box ballerina or a pressed flower petal. 

“Well, you are.” He trailed his thumb along the rise of her cheekbone, achingly gentle in a way that turned her knees weak and set her body ablaze. Just from a simple thing like that, how absolutely ridiculous. “You wanna come up with me?”

She liked that he was checking in, gauging her to make sure she felt comfortable. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” she teased as his nose brushed hers, and she stood on her toes so she could reach him better. 

“Awfully sweet of you.” His mouth slanted over hers, and wow, she had been wasting time talking about qualitative analysis with him, because Peter Parker kissed like pure sin. She’d never been so glad to be against a wall, because she was absolutely dizzy from how he was holding her, his thumb tucked against the hinge of her jaw as his other hand inched up to her rib cage. If he went much higher, he’d know she’d forgone a bra. 

A ragged gasp left her when he pushed his knee between hers, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She could feel the pleased curve of his lips when she grabbed the front of his shirt to anchor herself, her nails scraping against his chest as she pulled back, because she was not about to make her private life public. “Peter, I think we should—”

“Go upstairs so I can treat you like a princess?” he crooned, trailing his lips maddeningly along her jaw with a contented sigh. “You want that?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes fluttering as his thumb grazed the swell of her breast, and he inhaled sharply. 

“Distracting,” he muttered with lust-lidded eyes, and he took her hand again and led her into the lobby. The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive. She waited for her nerves to convince her that this was a bad idea, but they stayed silent. His thumb tripped over the back of her hand as he traced some nonsense shape against her skin, and she tried her hardest to ignore how her heart sped up. 

Peter’s place was small, the kitchen and living room only separated by a high counter. To the right was a single half-closed door covered with various posters of local bands, and she figured the bathroom must be inside his room, just like hers was. Wobbly stacks of textbooks decorated a coffee table that appeared to be half of a repurposed door, if the brass knob was anything to go by. His laptop and Hydro Flask were covered in stickers, spiders and goofy science memes and logos she didn’t recognize, curled up at their edges from being handled frequently. 

Oh, to be handled frequently by him, her sly brain whispered, and she blinked, trying to shake that out of her head. Although, that was the reason she was at his apartment in the first place. 

The click of the lock brought her back to where she was— Peter Parker’s tidy living room, and then his hand on the small of her back as he slipped past her really drove it home. It was all of half a second of contact, but the pressure lingered, and the too-warm feeling from earlier returned, although now she knew it wasn’t adrenaline from watching someone getting their ass handed to them. 

Nerves caught up with her, and she adjusted the hem of her skirt as she sank down next to him, leaving a respectable amount of space between them. His couch was a nice green that reminded her of the rainforest, kapok trees and goliath water lilies and tree boas. 

Ever aware of her surroundings, she realized he was studying her. Stubbled cheek propped against his fist, elbow planted against the armrest of the sofa, and a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t seem to be scrutinizing or judging, just taking her in like he was at an art gallery. She watched as his eyes drifted along the curve of her hip, as they cataloged and made mental notes of her clavicle, as they lingered on her half-bare thighs. 

“What?” she asked, clearing her throat as she clasped her hands on top of her knees, wondering again for just a moment why he’d asked her to come to his place. 

He shook his head playfully, jostling his forearm— his very nice forearm. “You’re pretty.”

“Thought I was cute,” she breathed. He’d thoroughly flustered her again, and it sent butterflies flitting through her belly, ticklish and lovely.

“A person can be both.” He swiped his blond hair from his eyes, but it still curled stubbornly against his forehead. “How’d he blow it with someone like you, huh?”

His words were genuine, whiskey-smooth and wondering, and she pressed her thighs together as subtly as she could manage. “I mean, I told you what happened. He wasn’t, um… very reciprocal. Didn’t want to make any effort.” Ugh, she tried to ignore the memory of him lazily shoving his hand between her thighs like he was doing her some kind of selfless favor, and she was so glad she hadn’t slept with him. And she didn’t know who the hell she was that she was telling him this, but it felt like an easy thing to do. Opening up to Peter, with his bruised knuckle secrets and warm hands and burnished golden crown; it was reflexive. “But it doesn’t really work on me anyway, so I guess it was kind of a blessing in disguise.”

Peter made a disapproving noise, a tsk that made her dig her shiny red nails into her palms. “What doesn’t work on you?”

Her face went hot. How many times had she told someone not to bother eating her out because it didn’t feel good? Enough that it made her feel like she was a broken toy with faulty wiring. Some kind of signal had never made it from Point A to Point B, and it was embarrassing. All her girlfriends talked about how nice it was, and she was envious. And she’d been with people much more enthusiastic than Kyle, which led her to believe that it was just something that didn't work for her. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I try?” 

It wasn’t arrogant, the way he asked her. It was thoughtful. Earnest. And that knocked her for a loop more than an inflated ego would have. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to let him, but the idea of nothing happening was humiliating. It would ruin the night. Why did he have to be considerate? She figured they’d just make out and fuck, because that’s how it always seemed to go, in her experience. And she was more than fine with that. “You don’t have to do that.”

He raised his dark brows. “If you think I feel that eating you out would be a chore, you are so deeply wrong, sweetheart.” He leaned forward, and her body buzzed in anticipation as he invaded her space. “I’m gonna kiss you again, and I want you to think about it, okay?”

His mouth was just inches from hers, and she was so distracted by how good he smelled that she forgot he’d asked her a question until he made an expectant noise, a soft yeah? that had her nodding obediently. 

“Okay,” she agreed helplessly as his lips found hers again, honey-slow and just as sweet. Tentatively, she nipped at his bottom lip until he opened his mouth with a groan that spun her around. His fingers were against her neck, firm but not painful, and he was gathering her close, pulling her into his lap easily. 

It wasn’t really a question of whether she wanted to accept his offer, because her brain had gone carnal pretty much the moment she’d seen him in the kitchen. She realized then that he’d come to check on her— he’d even said he’d seen her leave the room— and from there, his concern had softened her until she was nothing but a wide-eyed wanting thing. But she didn’t want to deal with the disappointment again, and she didn’t want to fake anything with him. She was firmly pinned between a rock and a hard place, and she tried to push that conundrum away for a minute so she could enjoy herself.

Peter was deceptively solid under his usual hoodies and plaids, and it was a delightful thing to discover. She pushed him back on the couch, eager to touch him back as his hands roamed up her thighs, fingers dancing under the flutter of her skirt, tracing those little shapes again, maybe writing his name. He hooked his thumb under her chin and brought her close, running his nose along the underside of her jaw until she sighed. “That’s really pretty, sweetheart,” he encouraged her between kisses, his chapped lips creating a desire path down to her bare shoulder. “I’m so sorry he wasted your time.”

“Me too,” she whispered, sinking her fingers into his thick hair as he nibbled at her collarbone. “You can, um, leave a mark, it’s okay.”

He chuckled against her shoulder, shifting under her until she was straddling him properly, her knees vice-tight against him. “I’m gonna take you up on that.” His big palms settled against her waist, warm though her clothes like the sun was simmering under his skin. “Move your hips for me.”

He was already guiding her, slow rolling motions that were pushing her skirt up until it was indecent, but she didn’t care. Instead, she ground down shamelessly, finding him already half-hard between her thighs. “Like that?” she asked, but the way his thumbs were digging stamps of approval into her hips answered her question.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” he grinned as she leaned down to kiss him, sliding her palms slowly under his shirt. 

“He didn’t want me to touch him except how he wanted,” she mumbled petulantly, freezing for a second when he grabbed her ass and rocked his hips into hers. Stars raced over her skin at the sensation, and she tugged at the soft green material, desperate to see more of him. 

“He’s a fucking clown,” Peter informed her roughly, pulling his shirt off in one fluid movement and tossing it away before he dragged her close, sliding his tongue into her mouth with a satisfied groan. “You’re too good for him, angel.”

Maybe it was vain, but being told something like turned her on way too much, and in that moment, she knew she’d let him do what he’d asked.

“I wanna try,” she admitted in a rush, as though saying it quickly would stop her from losing her nerve.

He didn’t tease or ask her to say it again, instead nodding solemnly like she’d told him something sacred. A holy string of words, delicate as a rosary. “Yeah?”

She nodded as she slipped her hand into his. But instead of leading her to his room, he scooped her up so effortlessly that it made her laugh before he chased it away with a searing kiss, and her mirth faded into a needy moan. 

Shouldering the door open the rest of the way, he smacked the nightstand light on and kicked his shoes off, somehow holding her up with one strong arm banded around her waist. His mouth was all over her neck, whispering pretty against her skin like the word might tattoo itself there in delicate black script, sweeping along her shoulder to let everyone know what Peter Parker thought of her.

She kissed a pale scar on his chin as her back met the bed and he sat back on his heels. “You gotta lose one,” he informed her, tugging at her skirt and shirt, dark in his fist like a handful of oil. 

“You pick,” she said, tilting her head teasingly as he gently pulled off her boots, letting them clunk onto the carpet. “It’ll all be off soon anyway.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to focus with The Boss staring at me.” Slowly, he raised the hem of her tee, his fingers almost too gentle against her skin as she arched her back so he could take it off, pulling it carefully over her head so he didn’t mess up her hair. “Fuck,” he mumbled appreciatively, and she was glad she’d been lazy and not worn a bra, because the expression on his face made her feel priceless. 

She didn’t feel self-conscious, not with him. If anything, she felt bold, like it was okay to ask for whatever she wanted. He’d made it clear that he wanted to spoil her, and the way he kept looking at her was more than enough. And the way he spoke to her wasn’t some dumb damn babe you’re so hot bullshit; it almost felt like some sort of piety. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her sternum, letting his palms ghost across her breasts. Goosebumps rippled across her skin and she shivered when he flicked his tongue across her nipple before taking it in his mouth, humming against her. “You doing good?” he murmured, giving her hip an affectionate squeeze. 

She nodded, blinking rapidly when his teeth scraped against her for a split second before switching to her other breast. “You’re really nice,” she said softly, brushing his hair from his forehead, toying with the golden strands for a moment. 

“Yeah, well, you make it easy.” 

She was gonna be nothing but a wreck if he kept talking to her like that, and she pulled him close so she could kiss him again. Tracing her fingers down his stomach, she found the perfect vee of his hip and exhaled in anticipation, hoping she could leave a mark of her own there. There wasn’t a bit of fat on his body, no matter where she touched. Maybe it was all that skateboarding he did. 

“Easy,” he gently scolded when she slid her hand dangerously close to his thigh, curious to feel how she’d affected him, even though his hard cock was already pressing insistently against her belly. 

She huffed. “Even if I want to?” she asked, because she truly did want to touch him. 

Peter shook his head, pushing her eager fingers away. “Tonight’s for you.” His hand slipped under her skirt, long fingers trailing along her inner thigh.

Flatterer, she wanted to tease, but he was so sincere that saying something like that even as a joke would make her feel like a jerk. That was a good word for him, sincere. It was in his eyes and the warmth of his voice and when he spoke with her, whether it was the time in class he’d assured her up and down that no one could tell she was hungover but maybe she shouldn’t participate in the discussion that day, or outside when he’d called her distracting. It wasn’t a slick line. He’d never given her one.

“If I do something that you don’t like, just tell me to stop, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. I’m pretty tough.”

Tough indeed. The light from his nightstand was enough that she could see some extensive scarring on his chest, but it wasn't something she wanted to bring up and possibly kill the mood with. “Okay.” She was twitchy with nerves, because she knew nothing was gonna happen other than a sore jaw for him and disappointment for her. But the fact that he wanted to try was sweet. 

“I’m gonna touch you… just like this.” His hand was inside her black boy shorts, cupping her gently as he slid one finger through her folds. It made her shiver— his confidence and his touch were an intoxicating blend. “Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart.”

She just nodded, because she wasn’t sure what else to do with a declaration like that. Here you are and here I am and I want to give you everything because I think you should have it. She tried to think of a response but she had nothing. Tabula rasa. 

He kissed her as he touched her, soft little bits of praise falling from his lips like sugar, telling her how well she was doing and calling her sweetheart. She whimpered when his thumb pressed against her clit, and then again when he began to circle it slowly. She could hear how turned on she was, and she whispered his name as he began to work a bruise into her skin, sucking hard as his stubble burned her neck, scratchy and sweet all at once. 

“You need more?” he asked, kissing away the bite of pain he’d left behind. “You need me to set you straight, angel?”

“I want more.” The words had barely left her lips before he was pushing a finger inside her, and she closed her eyes, tossing her head to the side at the feeling of him filling her up like that. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he cooed, hand tightening against her cheek. It made her feel small, the breadth of his palm against her, the way his thumb rested just at the corner of her mouth because it had nowhere else to fit. “I’m gonna make a mess outta you. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, I promise.”

Her reply was to lift her hips, following the movement of his wrist as he began to pump his finger slowly. It was just enough to give her a taste of what was to come, but at the same time it was a terrible tease. “Peter...”

He added another finger and she clenched around them with a low moan. “Who’re you so wet for, huh?” His words were so soothing that they didn’t register at first, and then he crooked his fingers just enough to get her back on track. 

“You.” His face lit up, his brown eyes going dark with pleasure as he withdrew his hand from between her thighs. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long, because he pecked her mouth and began to kiss his way down her body, teeth scraping and tongue flicking cleverly across her sensitive skin until he was on his knees before her.

“You ready?” he asked, running his palms up her shins soothingly, past her knees to the tops of her thighs. She reached down and wiggled out of her skirt, although it had been yanked up practically the entire time and didn’t make much of a difference. 

“You now,” she prompted, not sure if she was stalling just a bit. 

He stood and shucked off his jeans so fast that she was confused by it. His boxers did nothing to hide how hard he was, and she wanted so badly to have him inside of her that for a moment she considered telling him to forget going down on her and to just get between her legs until she couldn't see straight. “We good?” 

“Uh-huh,” she said, and he sank to his knees, pulling her forward easily. “You’re good.”

She watched the lazy spin of the fan for a moment as he kissed his way up the inside of her knee, his hot breath making her squirm. “We’re getting rid of these,” he informed her, hooking his thumbs under the elastic of her shorts and tugging them down, and now there was no separation. But it still didn’t make her feel nervous, to be laid bare to him. The only thing she was worried about was her traitorous do-nothing body. A cold feeling spread through her chest, ugly nervous dread that zigzagged up into her brain.

Peter interrupted her nasty train of thought with an appreciative noise as he planted a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and when she looked down all she saw was messy gold hair and an easy smile that left her boneless. But watching him felt like too much, and when he swiped his tongue through her folds, she let her head fall back against his pillow, staring intently up at the ceiling. The room smelled like him, masculine and comforting, and it made something warm curl through her body. 

He did it again, a slow slide of his tongue that actually felt nice. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

“That feel good?” he asked when her knee jerked involuntarily, and she imagined a reflex hammer, shiny and small. 

“Uh-huh, yeah.” She inhaled so sharply it stung her lungs, and he pulled her closer, helping her drape her thighs over his big shoulders as he began to eat her out in earnest, groaning against her cunt as he devoured her. One of his hands was spreading her open, and she jumped when his tongue dipped inside her. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered, because this didn’t feel bad or obnoxious or like a complete waste of time, this was glorious and divine. Everything in her body felt quivery and perfect, drawing tight like a bowstring. Her hips were moving without her permission to meet his tongue, rocking up against his mouth, and all she could think was that her body wasn’t broken and she should take him on a date for showing her that. “You’re really good at this,” she told him, shocked at how unsteady her voice was. 

He hummed against her and then slid a finger inside, still working her clit with his clever mouth, and she nearly came off the bed at the overload. All she could think to do was to grab his hair, and in return, he added another finger. It wasn’t retaliatory, but her chest tightened all the same and her heart was a jet engine in her ears. Her breathing went jagged, almost comically breathy as he worked her open with his long fingers, curling and thrusting faster and faster until all she could hear was the embarrassingly wet sounds of his hand and mouth all over her. 

That elusive feeling that she’d doubted rose fast in her belly like smoke, thick and stifling until it overwhelmed her, and she let go of his hair to cover her face because she didn’t know what else to do as she fell apart. Her hips were still moving of their own volition, and she ground herself against his pretty jaw while he continued to lap at her until it bordered on too much and she twisted away only because she didn’t want to burst into tears in front of him. 

“Peter,” she mumbled, touching his cheek reverently, and oh, she was gonna get lost in his big brown eyes if she wasn’t careful, “I wanna kiss you.”

He crawled over her, slow and lean and spring break tan, almost like a cat stalking a mouse, and it sent a shocking rush of arousal through her. 

“You feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips skimming hers as he cupped the back of her head. “You did so well, coming on my face like that.”

“I didn’t think anything would happen,” she confessed between kisses, his slick mouth hungrily stealing her words away. The soft material of his boxers was in the way of what she wanted, and she grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Whining in frustration, she shifted under him impatiently as he kissed her neck, hooking her knee against his hip as she tried to find friction. 

“What do you want, huh?” he asked, deadly soft as she planted her heels so she could feel more of him, thick and hard between her thighs. He felt big and all of a sudden, he laughed and flushed pink. She realized she’d said it out loud, but she had no reason to apologize. 

“You do,” she insisted, reaching between them again as he sat back on his heels, just out of reach. Before she could complain, he pulled his boxers down his hips and her words died on her lips, other than a blurted out Jesus, Peter. His grin was just a little bit arrogant but she didn’t care because it was warranted. “Do you think I can take it?”

“You wanna try?” He interlocked his fingers with hers, pinning her hands next to her head as he loomed over her. She let her gaze wander up the muscles of his arms and chest, down to his lean waist that she’d wrapped her legs around. 

She nodded eagerly, and he let her pull him down, immediately rocking against her while she somehow managed to mumble that she was on birth control. The head of his cock bumped her clit and she groaned, trying to get him to do it again. “Peter, come on.”

“You feel what you did, baby?” he purred, continuing his slow assault with a sweet kiss. “You didn’t even put your hands on me.”

“You wouldn’t let me and I wanted to,” she pointed out breathlessly, and he let go of her hand to squeeze her breast, taking his nipple in his mouth until she arched into him. Her body didn’t know which way to move, brain swirling like a top. “I’m gonna pull you out of class next week and— fuck, Peter—”

“Gonna pull me out of class and fuck me?” he grinned wickedly as he continued to rut against her. “Fuck, you’re so wet I didn’t even need your mouth.” 

His fingers were between her legs again, gathering her slick and spreading it all over his cock, watching her with dark eyes. How the hell was she supposed to sit behind him in class ever again and not remember what he’d done to her? She’d take one look at his hand curled against his cheek and fall to fucking pieces. Grabbing his wrist with a huff, she dragged him close so she could lick herself off his skin, and his pupils blew out. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbled, bracing himself over her. 

“Show me,” she begged as he lined himself up with her. A yellowish bruise on his bicep swam into her line of sight and she kissed it gently. “Treat me better.”

He thrust into her slowly, giving her time to accept him. Even though he’d spent more than enough time between her thighs, it was still a lot. But she didn’t mind, because he was so fucking sweet to her that it was all worth it. “Sweetheart, I might find you first,” he groaned, kissing the tip of her nose, and why did he have to do a thing like that?

“Find me first?” she echoed blankly. Butterflies raced through her and she blinked rapidly, his face blurring for just a moment as he pulled almost all the way out of her. A bizarre panic filled her chest; she didn’t want to lose the closeness and she tightened her grip on his biceps, digging her nails in a bit harder than she meant to. But he thrust into her again, giving her a little bit more this time and she relaxed, enjoying the flex of his muscles under her palms. 

“I’m gonna drag you out of that lecture hall first,” he promised, kissing her neck roughly, “and I’m gonna see if I can’t make you come with just my mouth. Find an empty classroom and wreck you.”

She didn’t get to say anything else, because he bottomed out with his next thrust and a tremble ran through her body like he’d electrocuted her. It was intimate, the way she was curled around him and how he returned it to her, settled heavily between her thighs like this was how they always spent their weekends, tangled like vines and trading filthy promises. Maybe they should start. 

He rocked back but she clenched around him, looping her arms around his neck. “Wait, just— just stay like that, please.”

Peter pressed a kiss to her cheek and pushed forward, slowly dragging his palms up the sides of her thighs, blazing hot handprints tattooing themselves into her skin. “You just wanna feel me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. She liked that she couldn’t really move, with his strong thighs pressed behind hers and his body pinning hers helplessly to his bed. He clutched her face like he was holding a fistful of jewels, shiny and delicate and worth the world. 

Tucking his face against the crook of her neck, he began to whisper to her, asking what do you feel so good for, sweetheart? and telling her that she was a pretty fucking girl and he was gonna treat her like gold, just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, baby, kissing her slowly all the while. She’d heard stuff like that from other men, and every time it ended with zero follow-through. But she didn’t doubt him for a second. 

A tremor struck her calves and she turned her head to the side as it made its way to her hips. He wasn’t even moving and she felt like she was gonna shatter apart again from how he was stretching her. 

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” he said quietly, running his nose along the column of her throat, still not budging. Like he didn’t know how fucking thick he was, like he couldn’t feel her fluttering around him. “You gonna come just like this?”

“Yeah,” she said weakly, pulling him close so she could kiss him, but he rocked forward ever so gently and all she could do was gasp against his mouth as he pushed her over the edge. “Peter, fuck—”

“Take it,” he told her gently, her hips powerless under his. “Take what’s gonna make you feel good.”

This was just supposed to be a Friday night fling, something to be stupid about with a friend. What were they now? She couldn’t for the life of her imagine how he spoke to someone he was actually in a relationship with, because everything he was saying to her was verging on cataclysmic. Ruinous. Why would she ever want to sleep with anyone other than him again?

Her orgasm rolled over her, crashing like thunder through every part of her body, and she was vaguely aware that she was kissing his face aimlessly, his stubble harsh against her lips but she liked it. It could match how he’d scratched up her thighs. She wanted reminders of what they’d done, and when those faded, maybe she’d just have to find him again. 

“You want more?” he asked as she slowly drifted back into herself. “You need me to keep going?”

“I want more, I want you,” she sighed blissfully, letting her eyes fall shut. “Keep going.”

A growl rumbled through his toned chest and it made her shiver. He rolled his hips into hers and she struggled to breath for just a moment before he began to move in deep strokes that felt hypnotic. Her brain was deliciously empty and all she really knew was him and his mouth on hers and the torturously sweet press of his cock inside her. “You don’t need to think about anything,” he assured her as he ground against her just right. “Just focus on how you feel.”

He kept kissing her while he fucked her, and something about that was so nice that it was messing with her head. She’d thought it was supposed to be two friends using each other to get off, and here he was doing all sorts of extra work. He didn’t make sense. He wasn’t like anyone else she’d ever been with and he was setting the bar way too high for the future. And he was vocal, something she’d always found irritating during sex because it was all smoke and cheesy lines. But Peter was genuine, and everything he was whispering to her in that low voice of his was locking into her head, filed away neatly in little folders. 

“You keep making these sweet little sounds,” he grunted before sucking another mark into the juncture of her throat, and she shuddered when his teeth scored her skin. 

“Because you feel good,” she mumbled, digging her heels into the small of his back. “You feel so good, Peter.” She wanted to thank him for propositioning her but wouldn’t that sound pathetic? Thanks for not letting me get hung up on a loser and for making me feel like my heart’s gonna climb out of my chest? Ugh, that was stupid. All she could do was try to meet him halfway, even though she felt dumb with pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

She smoothed his hair out of his face and nodded, watching his eyes darken in satisfaction, all the honeyed bits fading away as he pulled out of her, kissing her harshly as he lifted her legs up. Both ankles were resting on his shoulder, leaving her bent like a sunflower in a storm. “You good like this? It’s gonna feel good, I promise.”

He’d stated his intentions and stuck to them so far, giving her all his attention and not letting her do anything for him. So if he told her that this would be heaven, she had no choice but to believe him. “I’m good.”

Carefully, he crossed her legs, and plunged back into her with a vulgar groan, somehow stretching her even more around his cock, pressing against something deep inside her that made her calves go rigid. “You’re fucking perfect, aren’t you?”

She was starting to feel sure that this was where she’d die, overloaded with pleasure until she dropped. He could twist her into a pretzel at this point and she’d let him, because somehow he knew her body better than she did. “Right there, like that,” she begged when he hit that spot again, unleashing something powerful inside her; a riptide, a whirlpool, a cyclone. Destructive and relentless and all-consuming, rising in her chest until she began to shake uncontrollably. 

Peter caged her in, his big hands holding her face gently while he fucked her through it. “You feel so good, don’t you?” he asked sweetly, kissing her cheek. “I can feel you tightening up, fuck.”

She had to know. It was killing her. “Why’d… why’d you ask me…” she trailed off, preoccupied by how he’d pulled out and was kissing his way down her stomach, his blond hair catching the light as he made his way between her thighs again, kneeling on the floor and pulling her close. “Peter, wait.”

“What?” he asked distractedly as he kissed her cunt before licking into her, sending a shockwave through her body. 

But she sat up before she could lose her nerve and scooted back, tucking her wobbly legs under her as she tried to catch her breath. “Why’re you doing this?” she blurted out. Her body felt pleasure-heavy, syrupy and humming with electricity and she wanted so badly for him to make her come until she couldn’t take it anymore but she couldn’t stop wondering. “Why’d you ask me to go home with you?”

Peter crossed his arms on top of his rumpled comforter and rested his chin on his wrist. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he admitted quietly, tracing his finger along her knee, and she couldn’t help but wonder again who had been on the receiving end of his busted knuckles. And then his words registered, smacking into her— maybe I’ve been thinking about you lately— and it made her heart flutter a bit. 

“Oh,” she breathed. Flustered again by Peter Parker. She should start a tally.

“Yeah,” he grinned, rising up to kiss her. “Oh.”

Before she knew it, he had her all turned around and she was straddling him, braced against his chest, her fingers spread wide across a big white scar. She jerked back, not wanting to touch something that couldn’t have been anything other than traumatic, but he gently guided her hand back, pressing it over his heart. 

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” he assured her. “And you can’t hurt me anyway.”

Kissing him felt indulgent and rich, like a luxurious meal she couldn’t afford on her waitress salary, and she got lost in it each time. The sweep of his tongue against hers, the way he nipped at her, the pleased groan that rumbled out of him, all of it was utter sin. And the way he held her face, like she was someone special and deserving. She was so busy melting into him that for a moment, she forgot that he was hard between her thighs and that she was rocking against him shamelessly. 

“Whenever you want it,” he whispered, reaching down to rub a tight circle against her clit, “go ahead and take it.”

“What if I just wanna kiss you all night?”

Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around her, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Then kiss me all night, sweetheart.”

“And what if I want this?” she asked, her words catching between her teeth as she sank down onto him, closing her eyes at the fullness. 

“Smart girl,” he chuckled, grabbing her ass and pulling her forward, setting a quick rhythm that she had no control over. His hands and mouth were all over her tits, kissing and pinching and sucking until she was lightheaded with sensation, collapsing against his chest so she could hide her face in his neck. Any noises she was making were muffled against his shoulder, and she was glad because she wasn’t trying to be quiet. 

“You don’t want my neighbors to hear you?” he teased, thrusting up hard enough that she made some kind of weak sound that she had no control over. “They don’t get to hear those pretty sounds?”

“Just you,” she sighed, enjoying the way his arms were still tight around her, holding her still as he picked up speed. She loved how much he talked, little half-phrases and praise and filth all mixing together, there you go, feel fuckin’ perfect, taking me so well, huh?, fuck, you’re beautiful, and she giggled at that one. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Started at cute and got to beautiful.”

“You’ve always been beautiful,” he replied, kissing the rest of her thoughts away. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her things like that, like it wouldn’t flip her world upside down? She was only human, and it was hard to ignore a guy like him. And if she was honest, she didn’t want to ignore him. She wanted to be selfish and hang onto all his sweet words, make a scrapbook of testimonials from her very good friend Peter Parker. 

Obnoxiously, her thighs began to shake again, from riding him and from nearly painful pleasure. He was gonna have to carry her home if they went much longer.

“Want you to come too.” She dug her nails into his shoulder as a hazy feeling began to sweep through her. “Please?”

“You first.” He cradled her cheek, his palm hot and huge against her. “Will you look at me?”

It was difficult to focus, between the sound of his hips smacking into hers and their harsh breathing. And his eyes, so warm and easy to get lost in, like a gorgeous hedge maze. His thumb dug into her cheek slightly with a gentle hey, you and she blinked rapidly. Everything in her fell apart, her hips going erratic as she tried to ride it out, gasping and clenching and dripping all over his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, holding her hard against him so she couldn’t move, gripping her waist too tight. “Stay just like that, lemme feel you.”

As if she had any control over the aftershocks rolling through her body, to the point where she couldn’t tell which one of them was twitching more. “Come on,” she urged, kissing his neck harshly before returning the mark he’d given her. 

He snapped his hips hard, and she could feel him pulsing inside her as his forehead dropped against her shoulder, his blond hair sticking to his sweaty temples. He slowed down a bit, still fucking her, still hard somehow, and a thread of exhaustion tugged at her but it was overshadowed by the want to stay in the bubble they’d created for just a little bit longer. 

“Keep going,” she whispered, trying to match her hips with his. “Take what’s gonna make you feel good.”

Peter flushed, looking almost embarrassed for a moment before shaking his head ruefully. “Using my own words against me?” He leaned in to kiss her and didn’t stop, keeping her where he wanted as she ground down onto him as best she could. Even though her body ached fiercely and she was sweaty and absolutely soaked between her thighs, she felt so comfortable with him that she didn’t mind. 

She took a page out of his book and encouraged him softly, come on don’t you wanna give it to me again, you feel so good inside me, Peter I want it. She wanted him to be a mess too, groaning and shaking and just on the outskirts of losing his mind. But she didn’t have to wait long this time, and before she knew it he was holding her too tight and kissing her too roughly, his hands squeezing her ass too hard as he came again, mumbling her name against her chest as she kissed the crown of his head, running her fingers through his hair.  

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” he mumbled, gratitude evident in his tone. 

“I wanted to.” She carded her fingers through his thick hair, realizing that he was the only guy she’d met who hadn’t let bleach turn him into a dick.

He kissed her shoulder gratefully, and gently pulled out of her. “Hang on, stay there,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a washcloth. “Sorry about… all of that,” he apologized sheepishly. “I’ve got it.”

Carefully, he pushed her knees apart and began to clean her up. How he still had an ounce of energy left in him was baffling. He was gentle with her, and it turned her into putty. Unsurprisingly, she was sore, and she winced as his fingers brushed against her stubble-burned thigh. 

“Sorry,” he said again, bending in half to press a kiss to her knee before disappearing back into the bathroom for a few minutes. 

Glancing around, she let her eyes wander over some movie posters pinned by the window. His mini fridge was covered in various ticket stubs, and more stacks of books sat next to his bed. Smart guy. Although that wasn’t a surprise to her. 

The question of what now? entered her mind. Should she get dressed and take off and text him in the morning? Or wait to see him in class on Tuesday? Exhaustion whispered to her, and she shook her head, because passing out definitely wasn’t an option.

There wasn’t a lot of time to weigh it out, because he reappeared in a pair of boxers covered in snowflakes, totally inappropriate for March but it somehow worked for him. Grabbing an ESU t-shirt off the top of his dresser, he sat down and handed it to her. She pulled it over her head, and she was sure if she stood up, it would reach her thighs. His arms were tucked against his chest, and he rolled his golden head to the side playfully. “So,” he began, his eyes tracing over her mouth the same way they had in the kitchen, “If you want this to be a one time thing, I totally respect that. I’ll walk you home, and it’s all good between us.”

Her heart sank, just a little. She tried not to let it show. She had a habit of letting pretty words influence her heart, and she felt foolish for putting stock into all the things they’d said to each other. 

“Or,” he continued, spanning his palm against hers, and that or made her breath catch, “It’s my turn to buy coffee. So maybe you spend the night and tomorrow we’ll do that, figure out the rest of your paper, and then figure out each other a little more.”

Disarming was another good word for him. But he was looking very firmly at their joined hands, and it occurred to her it was the first time she’d seen him unsure all night. This was what rattled him: emotional intimacy. 

“I mean,” she began slowly, “you should probably come over to my place this weekend. I still have all your notes, you know.”

He leaned forward with a grunt, rolling his neck. The muscles in his back rippled and she took the opportunity to stare shamelessly. Her fingers twitched and she reached out to gently trace the reddened lines she’d left behind. “You want me to come pick up my notes?” he teased, and she was pleased when he leaned into her touch, like a cat might. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Maybe I’ve been thinking about you too,” she whispered, feeling shy for the first time the whole night.

“Ah,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her. “And here I thought you just liked me for coffee.”

“It’s mostly that,” she replied, jumping when he goosed her playfully. “And the sex was a ten, but I grade on an eleven point scale.”

“Okay, so there’s room for improvement. Anything else?” he asked as she curled up against him.

“Thanks for treating me better,” she said quietly, closing her eyes as he slung an arm around her. “That was really nice of you.”

“I told you, sweetheart,” he yawned, kissing her temple. “You make it easy.”

~

Title comes from Good Looking by Suki Waterhouse. 

Me, writing normal friends to lovers with nothing extra thrown in? Imagine that.

Also, do you know how all my one-shots start? I make a joke about an idea and then I go, “haha ohhh wait” so @liz-allyn pulled this one out of me when we were having a group think about Peter Parker, because Blondrew Garfield is out to get us all. Thanks, you talented angel!

Comments and reblogs make my heart sing 💚 I love hearing what you connected with and enjoyed!

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