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Peter groans from his desk and doesn't even look at you. "You're so annoying." The words come out flat like he's already said them three times today. You know he doesn't mean it. Not really. He's just complaining. As always. It's his nature.

You chuckle, candy still fizzing. "You said I could have them." You roll onto your side just to get a better look at him, your lips pouting as if you're using them against him. His pen is tapping against his notebook while listening to the popping of the Pop Rocks.

"Didn't say I wanted to hear them every five seconds, baby." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes you wonder how he can even manage you. Maybe he's praying for patience and not getting any divine assistance.

You shift a little, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his bed. "You can't even hear me over there," you say before scoffing and chewing deliberately, just to make a point.

"I can. It's like... background music. In my head." He spins slightly in his chair, just enough to throw a look at you over his shoulder.

You snort. "Dramatic." You drag the word out, milk it, trying to piss him off. Then you toss another handful of candy into your mouth like a kid.

He finally turns around the chair creaking. His hair's a mess, and there's a pencil tucked behind his ear like he forgot it was there. He crosses his arms and damn... those muscles are flexing. "I'm trying to study, and you're over here sounding like... I don't even know what to call it." His expression is all annoyed, but his eyes are warm. Tired, but warm. Not angry. Honestly? You love it when he gets like this, grumpy and soft around the edges.

You open your mouth real wide and go "Aaahhh," just to make the fizz louder. It's obnoxious. Truly. The kind of noise that would make people glare at you, and you're so proud of it.

Peter squints at you like he's in pain. "Why is my girlfriend like this?" He says it like a curse, like a prayer, like a man at the end of his rope who still wouldn't let go.

"Aw, come on, you love me." You say it too easily. It's not a question—something settled and obvious and unchangeable.

He exhales through his nose and walks over to you anyway, flops down next to you on the bed, elbow bumping yours. You hold out the package of candy. It rustles between you like a peace offering. Or a trap. He hasn't decided which yet.

He eyes it before looking back at you and your lips. "You're gonna shut up if I take some?" There's no heat in it, like the everyday tone he uses when you're being like this. Just a tired sort of fondness, like he's resigned himself to your antics and this weird little life you two have built. Annoyingly lovable, what he always says when you're asking for assurance if he still loves you even though you're playful.

You shrug. "Probably not." And you mean it. You're indecisive, and impulsive, with tendencies to be pushy. He knew that when he let you steal his hoodie the first time, and when you did things just to get his attention.

He sighs but takes a few and tilts his head back to chew. The sound bursts in the quiet like tiny firecrackers, and he physically winces, like he didn't think they'd be that loud. Hates the sounds. Obviously.

He looks at you like you just committed a crime. "Why does it... feel weird?" His face scrunches, and he's trying not to like it but also can't deny that it's kind of hilarious.

"It's fun-weird, not bad-weird." You roll onto your back beside him, shoulder brushing his, voice smug. "It tastes good though!"

Peter turns his head toward you and looks at your mouth. "You're ridiculous," he says softly, barely louder than the crackle. But he's still watching you, still close before he takes the Pop Rocks from your hand, gets enough from inside, and puts it in his mouth.

Then he kisses you.

Like... no warning. One second he's staring at your mouth like it's got all the answers to his questions, and the next, he's leaning in, slow but sure, like he already decided and you just didn't catch up yet. It's not aggressive, not rushed- it's soft, warm, and easy.

Your mouths meet soft at first. Just lips brushing lips, a little sticky from the candy's effect. But then the Pop Rocks crackle between you, loud and sudden, like someone just started a time bomb under your tongues, and everything jumps.

You giggle against him, nose bumping his, but he doesn't pull back. He just tilts his head and pushes in a little deeper. And, well, yeah, maybe that's when it changes.

Because now it's not soft. It's something else.

His mouth opens just enough for your tongue to catch him, and he tastes like cherry- you're sure it's from the candy. The candy's still popping, still snapping under your tongues, and it's a funny feeling. Literally. Your lips part wider, let it get messy, let it get loud. You lick into his mouth a little and feel him suck in a breath right through his nose.

And God, that's all it takes before he's kissing you back harder now, licking the taste of candy right out of your mouth like he's trying to shut it off. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, gently and soft the way he knows you like. It's steady; he's holding you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, yearningly, just barely, just enough to feel it, and you groan, soft and surprised and too into it.

It's clumsy, yeah. Of course, it is. You're both grinning too much, breathing too hard, lips swollen already, and the candy still going off like a fucking broken record. But you don't stop. Neither of you. Because it's fun and silly. Because it's stupid. Because it's so much better than it should be.

Peter pulls back eventually, breathing hard, his lips pink and wet, a little sugar stuck at the corner of his mouth again. He licks it away automatically, and your stomach flips.

"Okay," he says, voice low and just barely wrecked. "That was..."

He doesn't even finish the sentence.

You're already grabbing more Pop Rocks.

"Again," you say, out of breath but grinning. "C'monnn."

He laughs, but it's a little shaky now. "I'm gonna die."

"Mhm," you hum and press your mouth to his before he can say another word.

This time, it's not that gentle. It's full of tongues and teeth and stupid little moans pressed into each other's mouths, sugar and spit and heat all tangled up in a kiss that has no business feeling this good.

You taste like candy, and he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

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𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

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