✨ head in the clouds ✨

It was just your luck that they showed up to your dorm when you were halfway across campus, blissfully unaware and asleep in your boyfriend’s fraternity house, which they don’t even know about. 

You absolutely hate sharing any information about relationships or even your grades with your parents, because they’ll tell your entire family, and there’s nothing you hate more than being the center of attention for two weeks.

You’re awoken to the constant vibrations of your phone, bonnet momentarily obscuring your vision. Pushing it out of the way so you can reach for it, your eyes widen as you see the multiple texts from your roommate, warning you that your parents are looking for you. 

Thankfully, your roommate is a quick thinker and told them that you were in the midst of studying at the library for a test, and it would be best if they came back later, when you were out of the zone.

Sitting up so quickly, it startles your boyfriend, whose arm tightens around your waist instinctively, thinking that something went wrong with you. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He sits up as he watches you scramble across the room. 

Your words tumble out at lightning speed, not a first but still unexpected. “Baby, slow down.” Peter fully gets off the bed to grab your arms to stop what you’re doing. He’s seen you panic like this once, when you thought you were late for a midterm that didn’t start for another hour.

You’re forced to take a big breath, guided by Peter, before announcing the news. “My parents decided to surprise me and they’re here on campus.” The smile that grows on Peter’s face could mimic the Cheshire’s. 

You’d never really talked to him about your family dynamic before; all he knew was that you had a big family, who absolutely adored you. Compared to his home life, it was absolute heaven.

“Baby this is great news!” He chuckles, pulling you closer to him. “I finally get to meet the two people who created the love of my life!” Peter kisses your cheek, which makes you think immediately of your neck. You push past him to the sink to observe how bad it is—wrong choice.

Dark red and purple splotches form a ring around your neck, and your concealer is all the way across campus in your room. You groan loudly as you regret coming over to Peter’s in the first place, but god forbid you be able to resist your otherworldly hot boyfriend.

Speaking of Peter, he’s lost in fantasy land, thinking of all the ways he’ll win over your parents. He has good grades, a good major, is good-looking, loves their daughter, what's not to like? 

You catch him off guard when you’re grabbing your backpack and heading out the door without him. “Where are you going?” He shuts the door as you try to leave.

“I have to wash off the boyfriend scent before my parents come back, hide the hickies, and try to figure out which test I was supposedly studying for.” You kiss him goodbye before hurrying out the door, leaving behind a very confused Peter Parker.

By the time you get back to your room, your roommate has already helped you out. She’s picked out an outfit that’s weather-appropriate and hides the love bites on your neck. 

What she didn’t expect was that Peter’s passion didn’t stop at just your neck, but rather your thighs and lower legs too. It was even a bruise on your ankle! “I don’t know whether to be scared or to be impressed?”

You roll your eyes, slipping on the denim. “Neither.” Thankfully, it’s quite chilly outside, which gives you enough legroom to wear a thin turtleneck paired with a long-sleeved sweater over it, hiding the bruises so well that you don’t have to worry about attempting with concealer. As soon as you’re done adjusting your outfit, there’s a knock on the door, and you’ve never moved faster.

Pretending as if you’ve been studying, you whip out a book from one of your English classes, paired with your laptop. You feign surprise when your parents file in, “Oh my god! What are you doing here?” You ask, sliding off your bed to hug them both. 

Your parents, none the wiser, fuss over your outfit, planting kisses on your forehead and observing the room. “Oh we just decided to surprise you with a visit, kiddo.” Your dad answers your question.

“Your roommate told us you were studying for a test, so we didn’t want to bother you.” You nod at your mother’s insistence as you all walk the streets of the campus. The cool October air blew through campus, your outfit providing you with much-needed warmth. You three decide to stop at a restaurant you’ve come to love during your years on campus.

Your parents hadn’t asked about boys yet, only asking how your classes were going. The vibrations coming from your pocket alerted you to the fact that Peter had been trying to figure out what you guys had been doing for the past half an hour. You were so distracted that you’d been ignoring him. Whipping out your phone to text him, which alerts your mother. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s what?” Your response is immediate and defensive, as you shut your phone off. Her eyebrow raises before directing her gaze to your now face-down phone.

 “The person you were texting?” You nod before picking the device back up. “Just my roommate, she was asking if I knew if we were out of paper towels.” The lie came out of your mouth so easily, a skill you honed ever since they dropped you off freshman year.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want your parents to know about Peter; it was that you didn’t want to be hounded and interrogated about him and your relationship for months on end by them and your extended family. 

Telling your parents about Peter meant that you would also have to disclose the fact that the two of you were also having sex, unprotected sex at that, and that was a lecture you weren’t mentally prepared to have.

You listen to the two of them fill you in on some of the things that have been happening back home. One of your cousins was getting married, your grandmother’s house needed renovations, and the same old drama. Your server’s been gone at this point as well, and your food is just about done in the kitchen.

Anxiety and stress fill your body, and in an attempt to calm your nerves, you absent-mindedly play with your necklace. The necklace Peter got you for your six-month anniversary, the same necklace that features a rhinestone-studded p pendant. 

It had been sitting underneath your shirt all this time, so it slipped your mind, and truly, it was something you did a lot unknowingly with all your necklaces. It was just your luck that it happened to be this one.

Unfortunately for you, your mother takes notice of this, slowly piecing everything together. The whole day, you’d been acting completely strange since they’d appeared at your door, and your roommate’s behavior was also weird. 

Confirming her suspicions was your phone. You hadn’t been paying attention when a notification caused your phone screen to light up, allowing her to see your lockscreen, which was a picture of a Polaroid featuring two individuals hugging while staring at a sunset.

Your attention is drawn towards your mother when she calls your name. “Who’s the special guy?” She asks, and your heart drops to your ass. You’re a thousand percent sure you stop breathing for a second, as your brain processes the question. 

“W-what do you mean mom?” Anxiety on ten, with no doubt. You can practically hear your heartbeat as your dad now begins staring at you. “The man who gave you that necklace.”

There was no way to lie about it. It was a known fact in your family that there was nothing you hated more than initial-themed jewelry, so the initial had to belong to someone else. 

It doesn’t help your case that Peter can’t read the room and calls you, showing the whole table a picture of you two kissing by the beach. “That would be her boyfriend I’m assuming.” Your father answers for you.

You’re stuck, unable to say anything in response. Your parents don’t say anything either, instead waiting for you to answer the insistent call. “Hi Peter.” Voice flows out soft and quiet, and a little shaky. Peter knows you so well that he’s able to tell something’s wrong. “Are you okay do you need me to come get you?”

Goddamn him, he’s sweet. “No, I’m just at lunch with my parents, um but I’ll text you when we’re on our way back to the dorm.” You can feel your parents’ glare on you as the waiter drops off your food. You’re waiting on the inevitable, the burning questions about Peter, who is he, what’s his major, how’d you meet, etc., etc., etc.

“So, what about this Peter? I mean obviously it's serious, you’re wearing his initials around your neck.” Your dad only takes a bite of his food before interrogating you.

“He’s the same age as me, in the same grade. Biophysics major from Queens. We’ve been dating for almost a year.” You say that last part quietly, in hopes of not eliciting more surprise and rage from the duo. 

Mission failed, as they both put their utensils down to focus on you. Your mother calls your name, making you make eye contact with both of them.

“Almost a year and this is the first we’re hearing about him?” She’s pissed, and it's evident in her face. Your dad’s the epitome of nonchalance, but you know he’s upset as well. “Explain yourself young lady.”

It’s hard to find the words to express how you truly feel in this moment. Any and all lies you’ve told at this point are coming crashing down around you. “I- um.” Your mother suddenly turns to face your father like she’s been hit with a revelation.

“Was he one of the boys who went on your spring break trip with you?” You facepalm yourself mentally.  “One of them, we’re all friends mom.” You mutter. Honestly, you wish you could say it’s not that big of a deal, but you know it is to them. “I didn't want it to be a big thing.” You finally say after what feels like an eternity.

“He’s not normal, he’s not used to families like ours and when you guys find everyone finds out.” Playing with the necklace, once more to cease the horrible panic erupting in your body. 

“I just wanted something for myself, not something I would be questioned and interrogated about for the foreseeable future.” You could stick up for yourself easily in an academic setting, but when it came to speaking up against your parents, it was something you struggled with badly.

“What do you mean he’s not normal?” Your dad interrupts.

“He only has his aunt, he doesn’t have a big family to rely on only her. He works crazy hard everyday and he still has time to be a good boyfriend. I don’t wanna overbear him with my problems and twenty questions that you guys have for him. I barely wanna answer your questionnaires.” You lean forward, ginger curls bouncing as you do.

Your parents had a tendency to be a tad dramatic, so there was another reason why you didn't tell them anything. You’d dyed your hair, and they’d texted and called a million times asking if you did it, or if you got it done professionally. What reviews the salon you went to had, if they were experienced and reputable.

It seems like your parents are understanding what you’re trying to say, but they are not offering any apologies. Not that you expected one, but accountability would still be nice to hear. The walk back to your dormitory is silent, but you’re thankful for no more questions. 

As your building comes into view, your boyfriend holding a bouquet becomes visible as well. His smile widens as he sees you three, putting his phone away.

Hugging and kissing you on the cheek first, he turns his attention to your parents. “Hello, I’m Peter Parker, your daughter’s boyfriend.” You can tell he’s a little nervous as he waves and hands your mother the flowers, and shakes your dad’s hand.

Your roommate is out of the room, so it gives you four some time to play catch-up. “So Peter.” Your dad begins giving him a one-over. “You’re in a fraternity?” Eyes falling to the sweatshirt, he decided to wear, which has not the letters, but the entire name of it, embellished on. Peter nods, “Yes sir, I pledged my freshman year.”

“And you like it?” You grimace at the start of the questioning. You wonder how long it’ll take before Peter gets annoyed and fed up as you do. “Yeah, it’s an interesting experience for sure, but I love it.” He handles their questions with grace, as expected. Thankfully, none of them are about your relationship so far, all focusing on who he is as a person.

You’re observing your parents' facial expressions, and thus far, you can tell they approve of him. No answers have given them the impression that he’s a horrible person unworthy of their daughter. “So how did you two meet?” Your mother asks.

“I tutored her in Organic Chemistry,” Peter remembers the memory very fondly, but alas, that was a story for another day. You know for a fact that Peter could go on and on about how you two met; it was his favorite topic of all time. However, he could tell that wasn’t something you wanted to hear at the moment. To be completely honest, you looked like you wanted everyone in the room to blow up, him included.

Maybe it was the stress or the fact that you were tired from the day’s events, but he could tell that your social battery was at an all-time low. The room’s temperature intensifies, and he can feel the sweat on his brow. He removes his sweatshirt to reveal, to your horror, a big fat ass hickey on the left side of his neck.

The moisture in your mouth evaporates as your parents immediately turn their attention to you. “So you two are having sex?” You make a face of confusion. While they were technically correct, that was a big jump. “You got that from a hickey?” Peter asks, voice now at a high pitch. A glare from you and your dad silences him. Crazy genetics. 

“I think that’s a conversation for another day Mom.” You answer. You can hardly look at your parents, you’re so embarrassed. Step one down at least, now for possibly the most awkward things a child has to hear from their parents. 

“No, it’s a conversation for now? Are you all being safe? How long have you been having sex young lady.” Your hands cover your face as you can hardly fathom that this is your life right now. Everything you didn’t want to happen today ended up happening. 

Like the good boyfriend he is, Peter decides to answer the questions. “This is so awkward, but we are completely safe, and this is more of a recent thing.” You’d never understood how Peter could read you so easily; you also never understood how he could lie so convincingly. What he said was so far from the truth, but your parents believed it?

The room is engulfed with silence for a moment before your Mom grabs her purse and phone. “I think we’ve learned enough today.” She grimaces. “We just popped over for a quick visit but I think it’s time we get on the road.” Your dad nods in agreement. 

You hug them goodbye and watch them peel out of the parking lot. Your head falls onto Peter’s shoulder. There’s a feeling that the sex conversation would be revisited in a very embarrassing fashion, and you can only start to dread it. 

Peter’s arm wraps around your waist as he kisses your forehead. “My place and I’ll put on Trolls?” He leans down, gently rubbing your arms. You give him a slight nod, gathering your things to leave.

He was involved in his frat and the science department. You were quiet, working on multiple executive boards, and hanging out in the English department. So how exactly did campus’s most interesting couple get together?

​Well, it all started at the beginning of sophomore year. You’d decided to get your science requirement over with, and your advisor royally fucked you over by making you take Organic Chemistry. Apparently, you had the background for it or whatever he said. So on the first day of classes, you sat in the middle of class, horrifically confused and way out of your league.

​Normally, you were able to grasp concepts quickly, but when it came down to this class, you had no idea what you were doing. Enter the star member of Kappa Sigma, Peter Parker. He just happened to sit next to you during class and saw you fervently scribbling notes, how you sighed whenever the teacher quickly moved through the slides.​

The day your teacher announced the first test of the semester, you knew you were done for. You’d gone to her office whenever you could; nothing was working. You were too shy to ask someone for help, and it didn’t help that none of your friends had taken the class before.

​As you sit in the library shuffling over the heaps of notes and books, there’s a tap on your shoulder. You flinch at the touch before turning to face Peter. “C-Can I help you?” The bespectacled genius genuinely melts at the sound of your voice. It’s so soft and anxiety-riddled. A true reflection of your character.

​“I’m Peter, I sit next to you in Orgo.”

​“I know. I meant, what do you need from me?” Peter gestures to the seat next to you and places his bag down. He opens his own notebook and points to a concept. “I noticed you had a hard time, and was wondering if you needed help?” A huge weight feels like it has been lifted off your shoulders. It’s like someone had answered your pleas for help and sent this man down to you as a gift.

“Is it that obvious?” Peter nods before laughing. “It’s okay, I understand, I was like you once.” You shake your head. “I find that hard to believe, you’re like a genius.” Peter can’t deny that. He stretches, giving you a slight glimpse of his lower abs.

“I had a rough time with chem in high school. Somehow, I finally conquered it, and you can do the same.” Peter was very committed to your tutoring sessions. Every day at 7:00, being mindful of your club meetings and other obligations, he retaught and helped you understand four chapters' worth of organic chemistry in the span of two weeks.

He had watched you struggle in class for far too long. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he watched sheer horror appear on your face as you desperately tried to understand what the hell was going on.  

During this timespan, the two of you got closer. Moments where you two were meant to be discussing Stereochemistry, were spent talking about your family and things you liked to do. It had never been this easy for you to open up to someone before. 

When it came to making friends, it wasn’t your strong suit. Often refusing to branch out and only taking classes that you knew for sure, one of your friends was in. Being with Peter felt like a breath of fresh air. He was funny, smart, and so so so patient with you. 

At one point during your study sessions, you’d become so irritated and overwhelmed with anger that you burst into tears. You covered your face as soon as it happened, preventing Peter from seeing your tear-stricken face. “Hey, it’s okay.” His soft voice pierces your ears. A hand is laid on your shoulder as he gently rubs it, trying to calm you down. 

“It’s so simple and I’m just wasting your time.” Your hands are dragged away from your face. “No you’re not, I volunteered to help you, so that’s what I’m doing.” He wipes your tears with the rough pads of his thumbs, feeling like heaven on your skin. “I’m sorry.” 

With the position you two are in, you’re forced to keep eye contact with one another. “Don’t apologize for crying. You’re human, and you’re allowed to be frustrated. You’re not the only person Organic Chemistry has made cry before.” His hands leave your face to push the books on the table back. “Wanna go grab something to eat?” You nod, following his lead, to leave the study room. 

Your nerves were at an all-time high when your teacher passed out the tests. Your hands were still shaking as you filled in the answers and calculated the problems. Lips felt raw from the amount of biting you did to them. When you turned in the test, you leaned against the wall of the classroom. A hand on your shoulder brought you out of your mind.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and you nod as he walks you down the hall. He brings you to a water fountain, “Drink some water, calm your nerves.” You follow his instructions without question. Letting the water cool your throat and take away your anxiety, you take a long, deep breath. “Thanks.”

​He lightly rubs your shoulder, “No problem, how’d the test go?” You bite your lip and shake your head. “It wasn’t as awful, but I probably bombed it.” You sound upset. The test was truly awful, and despite Peter tutoring you, you still felt as if you had failed it. “I doubt it went that horrible, you did amazing.”

Peter had to be some sort of psychic because he was right. You’d scored a ninety-two on the exam, way higher than you’d ever expected. Peter watches you flounce into the study room, white skirt swishing around your thighs, bright blue cardigan hugging your frame. Beautiful brown skin illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and ginger hair bounced with you. “I did it!”

You set all your belongings down and envelop him in a large hug. As quickly as you hugged him, you pulled away. Peter savored the quick action for as long as he could, engraining it in his brain forever. “Sorry, but thank you for tutoring me.” You’re messing with your hands, interlocking and unlocking fingers constantly. Peter’s mesmerized by everything you do. “I seriously don’t know how I can than-”

“Friday, at seven, we go to this diner near the library. Then the movies.” He says without thinking. He’d been thinking about this scenario ever since he tapped your shoulder in the library. You’re taken aback at his bluntness. Since you started college, no guy had ever asked you out, and you’d never imagined Peter would come out to everyone. “Are you fucking with me?” You whisper, face filled with horror.

Peter shakes his head, laughing at you swearing. “Never. I want to go out with you.” After that day, you two were inseparable. He walked you to class and back to your dorm, despite his frat house being on the complete opposite side of campus. In the span of two months, he’d practically abandoned any and all frat duties in favor of attending your club events, tutoring you in orgo, and just spending time with you.

No one was ready for the multiple pictures Peter posted of you on instagram, just randomly, a mere claim: his. 

​Your friends described Peter as the perfect boyfriend ever. He truly had no flaws, which made him seem too good to be true. However, he lived beyond their expectations. 

Every time they knocked on your room door, he was sitting on your bed, going over your orgo homework, delicately marking which problems you got wrong, preparing a detailed explanation so you’d better understand.

Still, people question why you even got with Peter, and thankfully, you answered the question. Two things truly didn’t mix: you and alcohol. Specifically, you after five rounds of shot o'clock. You’d gotten roped into a crowd that all had the same question on their mind, and were more than ready for you to answer their questions.

Eyes glassy and movements wobbling, you look the crowd dead in their face. “He cares about me. Peter wants me to succeed, and that’s honestly all I could ask for.” You say firmly, which was unlike you. Normally, if someone asked you about Peter, you stuttered a sentence and walked away, not wanting to talk about your relationship to other people. However, as you were learning, liquid courage was very much a thing.

​It all started after your meeting for the literary society. You’d had an eventful meeting and were thrilled that you found people you could genuinely converse with and have a good experience.

​Enter Bryson: tall, dark, and undeniably handsome. Coincidentally, the literary society's brand new member. Unbeknownst to you, he’d spent the majority of the meeting ogling you rather than focusing on the book and what everyone else had been saying.

​You’re packing up when he approaches you, tapping you on the shoulder to compliment you. “I just wanted to say that you were absolutely phenomenal today.” His comment makes you smile as you thank him. “Thank you, I tend to get really passionate about things like this.” 

It’s not a secret that you’re absolutely gorgeous and viewed as something of a secret gem of the English department. Long curly ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, a flowy white blouse accentuating your breasts, and a short black skirt, hugging your thighs. Bryson can’t help but look up and down, beauty and brains, you were his dream girl. 

​However, a dream girl who was more than taken. Peter creeps around the corner, surprising you with a bear hug and kissing you on the cheek. The smile that graces your face is big and wide and takes up your whole face. “How’s my baby doing today?” His deep voice tickles your ear. 

“Peter!” You giggle before turning to hug your boyfriend. He grips you tight, as if as soon as he lets go, you’re gonna disappear. Peter can’t help but notice the way Bryson’s looking at you, more so how he’s glaring at him. “Who’s this sweetheart?” He asks.

“Oh, Peter, this is Bryson, he’s just joined, Bryson, this is my boyfriend, Peter.” They awkwardly smile at each other, and you pick up on the tense mood. “Well, Bryson it was nice chatting but I’ll see you at the next meeting.” You go to grab your bag off the floor, which is taken by Bryson, who hands it to you. Peter then snatches it from the man, quickly guiding you out of the room. 

​

In Peter’s room at the frat, you’re raving on and on about how the meeting went, and Bryson’s name comes up too much for his liking. Now Peter’s more than aware that you’re not the greatest when it comes to picking up on when people flirt with you. However he can’t believe that Bryson flirted with you so openly and shamelessly. You’re wearing his initial on your neck for Christ’s sake!

You’re sitting on his bed, looking absolutely gorgeous. Peter grabs his TV remote from his desk and throws it onto the side of his bed. Peter’s lips find yours in the middle of your sentence, his hand gently grazing your neck as he pulls you in undeniably closer. 

He shifts so that you’re lying down, and he’s resting over you. Your eyes shine with confusion and want. His kisses turn desperate and messy, but you can feel the smirk. He pulls away briefly to tug at your skirt. “Mhmm.” You nod as well, letting Peter know you’re fully comfortable with what happens.

He tugs the fabric down in a swift motion, making quick work of your panties. You’re wet, absolutely soaking, and dripping. His pupils turn pitch black with want and lust as he observes, sitting back. “Fuck I forget how wet you get.”

​His voice sends tingles straight to your pussy. Peter leans down, kissing your clit before making out with your folds. His tongue leaves no spot unchecked, eating you out with precision and efficiency. “Oh fuck Peter.” You moan softly, being cautious of how loud you are. Hand grips the back of his hair, pulling him closer. “Fuck don’t stop.”  

“Wasn’t planning on its sweetness.” He chuckles, sticking one of his long, thick fingers into your sopping hole. Peter loved to take his time with you, but he still adored being rough. Making sure his finger reached the hilt before pulling it out, only to immediately slam it back in. He spits on your pussy watching as it slowly drips from your clit to your hole. 

If there were a class for eating pussy, Peter would be the top student. Another finger pushed into your hole, as you let loose a loud whimper. He doesn’t pause his movements; instead, reaching for the remote, he haphazardly threw it on the bed earlier.

Without missing a beat, he turns on the TV and turns it up so you can moan freely, the sound of whatever show is playing in the background concealing the desperation you’re letting out. “Fuck, ah,” Your chest heaves up and down heavily as your head falls back to the pillows.

Your thighs tremble around his head as a familiar pressure builds up. Peter smirks in your pussy before intensifying his pace and eating more fervently. Sucking on your clit, before flicking it with his tongue.

That’s all it takes for you to be gushing absolutely everywhere. You can hear the obscene slurps and gulps coming from Peter as your grip on his hair goes slack. When he emerges from between your legs, you’re embarrassed to see liquid dripping from his chin. “You taste so good, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, though. A light slap to your thigh has you opening them and refocusing on the glorious form of your boyfriend. He’s standing on his knees as his face becomes conflicted. “What’s wrong?”

Your wrecked voice comes out in a whisper, “I don’t know whether to fuck this pussy or have you suck me off.” Peter sounds so conflicted, and normally you’d shy away from something so vulgar, but you’d figured he deserved a reward for making you squirt everywhere.

You sit up before slowly removing your shirt, teasing him. He groans when your fingers glide over your sensitive, hard nipples. “Can’t believe I neglected these beauties.” Peter murmurs, taking it in his mouth, sucking hard and kissing all over, leaving dark bruises in his wake.

A pillow is set on the floor for you to rest on, as you kiss his abdomen. Peter’s body is shaking as he eagerly waits for you to pull his throbbing hard out of his pants.

Delicately undoing his jeans, you smile as his cock springs out of his pants. “You’re bigger than normal.” You whisper, smacking his dick against your tongue before fully taking him in. “You miss me sucking your dick?”

Peter groans, hands clutching the side of your bed. When it came to you pleasuring him, he let you take charge. He didn’t care how you sucked his dick, because he was getting off solely because it was you sucking him off.

Your tongue licks his tip, swirling on the top, as your hand gently strokes his base. Keeping eye contact with him as it fully enters your mouth. “Fuck baby.” He whines, not an uncommon sound.

Your head bobs as you speed up. Peter can see you squirming as your pussy leaks on the pillow. He gently pulls you off his dick, dragging you onto the bed.

“Wanna cum in you.” He murmurs, kissing you deeply, mixing both your juices together. His hand travels to play with your dripping hole, and he can’t stop himself from chuckling.

“Sucking dick gets you really wet, huh?” You gently slap his shoulder, glaring at him. “Okay, my bad, my bad.” He lays another gentle kiss on your lips, taking his cock in his hands and guiding it in your pussy.

Nothing compares to the feeling of your warm pussy tightly hugging his cock as it slides in. Natural lubricant allows him to slide in one go. He rests as his pubic bone gently bumps against your clit. “Oh fucking hell, sweetheart.”

His hands grab the headboard as he hikes your legs up around his waist. “Are you ready for me?” Peter asks. All you can do is nod, every brain cell you have focusing on his huge cock resting in your gummy walls.

Peter pinches your waist to focus you back on him. “Baby, if you’re not gonna answer, I’m gonna stop.” His voice is serious. Peter always prioritized your wants and needs over his, especially during sex.

If you weren’t able to give him verbal answers, he’d stop until you were able to. So his threat brought you back to earth a little bit. “Fuck me hard, Peter, please.” You look up at him to beg, holding one of your tits in his hand, squeezing and playing with the mound.

Peter can’t hold back anymore, thrusting in and out of you quite harshly. Now, something you’ve come to learn and love about Peter is that he’s not just long, he’s so incredibly thick, too. It’s a miracle he was able to fit in your tight pussy in the first place.

Peter loves the missionary because he can see everything. The way your perfect brown spit-slicked tits bounce at each of his thrusts, the way he can see the imprint from his dick, and finally, how he can watch your face contort in pleasure. A nice addition was seeing the P necklace you wore gleam against your tits.

“Such a good girl for me, taking my dick.” He says bullying your poor pussy. Reaching down to suck on your titties some more, bruising them. “Fuck ngh Peter ahh.”

You can hardly mutter a sense as your brain turns to mush, and all you can focus on is Peter and his big dick. He laughs at how gone you are, wrapping his hand around your neck and pulling up so he can kiss you.

When you and Peter first had sex, he never would’ve imagined that you’d be an undercover freak. You love getting choked, him spitting on your pussy or in your mouth. Boy, did he love you even more because of it. His secret little freak. 

Your moans become more erratic, louder as Peter’s thrusts quicken. “Baby don’t squeeze relax and come, just come.” He coaxes, his happy trail running against your clit.

He releases his hold on your neck as you start to tremble. Your tits heave up and down as you bite your lip. “Cumming, cumming!” You whine, but his thrusts don’t slow.

“That’s it cum on my cock, baby.” He looks down at a white ring forming around his base. For a moment, he is still, taking a deep breath as he watches you go through the aftereffects of your orgasm. Dark skin glistening from sweat, pretty titties, slightly jiggling as you catch your breath.

You whine as Peter pulls out, slapping his tip on your poor, abused pussy. He looks you deep in the eyes, “You want some more?” You kiss him as a response, hips bucking up to him.

His tongue swirling around in your mouth as he devours you. The kiss leaves you dizzy, “Fuck me some more.” You slur so lost on his cock. Peter lightly slaps your ass before turning you over.

He grabs both of your wrists to place them behind your back, forcing you into a mean arch. Your chest flushes against the damp sheets, ass wiggling as you wait for him to put his cock back in.

“Naughty girl,” Peter says, slamming into you all at once. Resuming his brutal pace from before, the bedframe slammed against the wall. If his frat brothers didn’t know what was going on before, they definitely did now.

You’re meeting his thrusts eagerly, slamming your ass back on him, and Peter’s mesmerized watching the way your ass ripples, and it meets his thighs. “You’re such a nasty girl, aren’t you, baby? Such a nasty girl for me.” He murmurs, his grip on your hands tightening as his thrusts become erratic.

“Gna cum, Petey, gonna cum.” Peter laughs at how desperate you sound, leaning over to see tears leaking on the bed. “This pussy mine hmm? It belongs to me right?”

His freehand moves to play with your clit, sending you into a euphoric state, “It’s all yours, it’s all yours.” You repeat like a mantra as he fucks you through it.

Soon he’s stilling inside of you, white creamy load painting your walls. Peter waits for a minute before pulling out and grabbing a wet towel from his bathroom to wipe you down.

He can’t help but lick a long stripe up your pussy as it oozes a mixture of cum. You shriek into the covers, pussy shaking and too sensitive. Peter smirks before cleaning you up and changing you into a long t-shirt and some clean panties.

By the time he’s done, you're out, and he pats himself on the back for fucking you to sleep again. Peter’s grin grows larger as he sees the dark bruises on your neck; if you looked in the light, you’d be able to make out a handprint.

Restating his claim, reminding everyone that you were his. Peter slips on some pants before walking downstairs to grab some water.

“Holy shit dude she destroyed you.” One of his brothers commented. In the mirror, he can see dark red scratches along his back; he hadn’t even felt them. “By far she looks worse.” He says, leaving the astonished brother behind, and climbs up the stairs back to his room.

The next literary meeting, Bryson’s staring, not because of how gorgeous you look, but because of how marked you are. Making a mental note to never flirt with you again ge watches as Peter possessively wraps his arm around your waist.

His.

Peter is scribbling down some notes for his chemistry class when he hears your loud groan. Turning around quickly in his chair, he immediately is by your side, stroking your hair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

“I’m being forced to go to this stupid party.” Your voice is muffled by the pillow you’ve stuck your head in. All Peter can do is chuckle and continue stroking your hair, gently combing through it. 

“I hear it’ll be fun, plus you deserve a night out after how hard you’ve worked.”

“But you won’t be there.” Peter sighs at that. He knows that you hate going out more than anything, and even worse, you hate going out without him. However, although he loves it when you cling to him, it’s just not healthy. 

“We’ve talked about this baby.” His words elicit a sense of calm, letting you drift away from the chaotic storm that is your mind. Lifting your head up from the pillow to meet his warm brown eyes. 

“Fine. You win. I’ll tell MJ I’ll go, but I’m only going out for an hour!” 

An hour you thought, and boy, were you horrifically wrong. You can hardly stand up in the shoes you’re wearing, using the wall for support. The drunken call from your friends distracts you from your phone. 

Unknowingly, you’ve pressed the call button on Peter’s contact, who picks up immediately. Peter sat in his bedroom, the booming sounds of Sigma Chi’s music reaching down the street to his own house. Leaning back in his chair, his gaze falls upon the framed picture he has on his desk. 

It’s a picture of you that you can’t stand, but he insists it’s the most beautiful picture he’s ever seen. You’ve just woken up from a nap, and are wearing his NYU sweatshirt that swallows you whole. A dreamy smile sits on your face, small dark curl pieces that escaped from your bun frame your face. 

Just looking at the photo makes him fall in love all over again. Directing his attention back to his computer, he hits the submit button and smiles. The paper had taken up his entire week, time he could’ve spent with you. Peter was more than glad to be free from his academic duties. 

As soon as he closes his computer, his phone lights up. Picking up the device, he sees he’s missed several texts from you. 

Lover <3

MJ gave me a mysterious concoction and told me to drink

Should I be scared? 

Ok im ngl it was good, but it’s really loud here

Its unbearably hot 

I miss you

Like a lot

He’s about to respond to your texts when you call him. Peter answers immediately, putting you on speaker. “Hi Peter!” Your drunken voice echoes over the speaker. Internally, he groans, he should’ve known MJ and your friends would take this opportunity to get you absolutely wasted, like how they get.  

“Hi sweetheart, where are you right now?” Concern laces his voice, leaning in his chair, he prays they didn’t let you wander off. 

“Outside the bathroom. A girl named Syd’s arguing with her boyfriend, so we’re standing outside to make sure nothing goes wrong.” You say matter-of-factly. 

“We? You’re with MJ and everyone?” 

“Of course I am. I’m not even that drunk!” A thud can be heard from your side. He shakes his head and takes a long sip of water, already knowing what happened. 

“Sorry, I dropped my phone. Can we have sex?” Peter’s taken off guard, leaning forward in his chair. His lungs are on fire, and his desk is now wet, having coughed up drops of water. 

“Baby..I’m coming to get you.” 

“Okay!!!” 

After recovering from what many would argue was an attempted murder, he rummages around his room for his sneakers. Peter keeps you on the phone as he runs out of his house and down Frat Row. 

“Sweetheart can you come outside or do you need me to get you?” Peter asks as he stands in front of the Sigma Chi house. He can hear sounds of ruffling and thumping on your end, only making him worry more. 

“Can you come upstairs?” He sprints. Pushing past the crowd of people and running up the stairs. Peter stops when he sees you sitting against the wall. Hanging up the phone, he gathers you in his arms, pulling down your skirt so as not to flash anyone.

He waves to the other girls, supporting you. “Are you girls okay?” He asks, gently. Peter’s first priority was always going to be you, but he wasn’t going to leave the gaggle of drunk girls by themselves. 

“Oh yeah, we’re good. I’m sober.” MJ tries to quell his worries. Peter at first doesn’t know how to feel about that, but after double-checking, he leads you down the stairs and out the house. Once the two of you are outside on the pavement, he takes your phone and puts it in his pocket, so you don’t drop it. 

“Piggyback sweetheart?” You nod, jumping on his back. His hands wrap automatically around your thighs. As you two walk away from the chaos of the frat party, you lean your head forward. 

“You didn’t answer my question Peter.” Your voice tickles his ear, before you kiss it. Peter’s breath catches, and he picks his pace up a little bit. 

“No we can’t.” He answers, trying to ignore the pleasuring sensations he’s getting when you kiss his neck. “You’re drunk sweetness.” Peter can see the expression on your face. Smeared glossy lips turned up into a frown. 

“I consent. You have my word.”

“No.” His stance is firm, and he refuses. Peter values your trust above all else. Early in your relationship, he refused to kiss you while either of you was drunk, until a sober you gave him express permission to do so. However, even if a sober person gave permission, he wouldn’t do it. 

Back in his home, he pushes past his brother, littering the common area, and slams his door shut. Gently placing you down on his bed, Peter reaches for the makeup wipes you stashed in his drawer. He ties your hair back so it stays out of your face and gently wipes the makeup off. 

Some people would argue that Peter was one of those people who would tell a girl that she didn't need to wear makeup, that she was already beautiful. They couldn’t be more wrong. Peter was the type of boyfriend who loved it when his girlfriend wore makeup. It enhanced your natural beauty, and he adored watching you carefully apply each product to your face.

When he’s done, he discards the wipe and places a kiss on your forehead. Peter picks up one of the shirts you wear to sleep and lifts your arms. You’re quietly compliant, doing everything he asks of you. 

The tiny top and skirt you wore were discarded in his hamper of clothes. Cheetah print silk bonnet placed over your curls. Peter’s clothes join yours, muscular back disappearing into the hallway. 

When Peter returns, he’s carrying three bottles of water. Lying under the sheets, you take the bottle from him and hungrily gulp the liquid down. He takes the now-empty bottle from you and hands you the other one. “Drink the whole thing, you’re gonna be upset if you throw up tomorrow.” 

When you finish your second bottle, he throws both of them away in the trash. Pulling the covers over your head, Peter pulls you in close, kissing the top of your head as he does so. “Maybe I’ll consider your request in the morning.” He whispers, slowly rocking and lulling you to sleep. 

Peter loved moments like this. He never understood why boyfriends made such a big deal about taking care of their drunk girlfriends. He lived to take care of you, and it was moments like this, when he could just lie with you, that he cherished the most. 

The next morning, you awake with a slight headache. Slowly untangling yourself from your lover’s arm, the warming sensation disappears. Peter awakes right away, sitting up to see what’s wrong. When you wince, he quickly goes to fetch the aspirin from his desk.

Peter grabs the other bottle of water on his nightstand, guiding you to swallow slowly. When you’re finished, you lie against him, relaxing. “Did you mean what you said?” His brow quirks up, evidence of his confusion showing on his forehead. 

“Before we went to sleep?” It’s all coming back to him, now. How he gave in and suggested that you two could fuck in the morning. Without saying a word, he’s turning you around in his lap and lifting your shirt over your head. 

The pain from the headache intensified when your professor interrupted anything you said during the quick lecture. Walking out of the lecture hall did not make the headache better; instead, a feeling of dread and sadness filled your senses.

There, sitting on a couch in the hallway, was your boyfriend. He was typing something on his computer, most likely finishing a paper, screen illuminating his lenses. Casually walking up to him, the computer is closed and placed to the side. Peter opens his arms wide for a hug, facial expression dropping when he notices your face and demeanor.

Throughout the course of your five-month relationship, he’s memorized every face you make and your body language. How you were acting now was a blazing red sign saying you were horrifically overwhelmed and overstimulated. Peter acts quickly, shoving everything into his backpack and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

He guides you out of the building and towards his frat house, thankfully it was only a five-minute walk. He ignores the words from his brothers, choosing to quickly usher you into his room. You just stand there, not talking, and your face is now void of any expression.

Peter takes your backpack off for you and turns on the fan in his room. He removes any jewelry you have on, save for the “P” necklace. “I know you probably don’t feel well, but can we change you into something more comfortable.” His voice is comforting, but not sharp.

You nod, but that’s not an acceptable answer. His hand strokes the side of your face, “Words, sweetheart, please.” That was one of his big things. Peter was super big, on verbal consent. Especially when you got like this, it was important that you tried to communicate what you needed from him. “It’s okay.”

As soon as your small voice utters those words, he works off the hoodie, which probably was his, carefully bringing it over your arms and head. Next is your sweats. Peter lifts your foot out of each pant leg. Afterward, he grabs one of his old shirts and pulls it on you. He moves quickly, folding and setting your clothes on his desk, before guiding you to his bed.

Kicking off his own jeans and shirt, he adjusts you, so you’re lying on his bare chest. Pulling the cover over you both, his hand gently stroking your shoulder. He places a kiss on your forehead, gently rocking you to sleep. The fan blows cool air over the two of you, helping you drift off to sleep.

When you awake an hour later, you’re still wrapped up in Peter’s arms. You can’t help but feel like a huge baby when you get into moods like this. Trying to worm your way out of his arms, his grip only tightens. “Where are you going?” His breath tickles your ear.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Cause you have to take care of-” His hand covers your mouth.

“Sweetheart, don’t ever in life apologize for something I’m supposed to do.” His hand falls off your mouth and strokes your shoulder. Peter loved you more than life itself. He would gladly give up whatever he was doing in order to take care of you. Something he viewed as the bare minimum.

The first time you got into a funk like this, Peter had no idea how to handle it and chose to give you space until you felt better. However, while he gave you space, he spent the whole night researching online forums on how to help you work through it. Weighing each option, he decided that the best choice would be to silently support you with physical touch and lull you to sleep.

Peter sits up and reaches for the drawer on the side. Unscrewing the aspirin bottle, he pours two into his hand and gives them to you. After taking them, he hands you a water bottle to wash the pills down with. “Tell me what you want to eat?”

You smile at him. You’d never dated before this, and you were eternally grateful that Peter approached you and asked you to be his girlfriend. It was impossible to imagine a life without Peter, and you he felt the same way.

“Baby,” His deep voice interrupts your train of thought. “You know I love when you get like this but I can’t focus and I need to get this done.” Groaning, you get up from his lap to flop on his bed behind his desk. 

Soon, any sounds heard from his room are typing on his computer. You don’t dare turn around, opting to scroll on your phone. Ten minutes go by with your boyfriend ignoring you for his paper. You understand that he’s busy, but you just really want to be close with your boyfriend. It may be selfish, but you’re really just craving him. Peter can just feel like something's wrong, not with his spidey senses, but with his boyfriend senses.

Turning around his chair, he leans back. Today you had no class, so you just chose to wear some comfy clothes rather than your typical ruffles and skirts. Peter’s seen you in a sports bra and some shorts over a thousand times, and he can’t help but admire you. The shorts are doing a number on you, letting him fully admire your round ass. 

Not being able to help himself, he stands from his chair and walks over to you, rubbing one cheek, leaning over so he’s right above your ear. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” His voice damn near sends you into psychosis. 

Shivers go straight down to your core as you turn on your side. He’s taken his glasses off, so you’re able to see every freckle on his cheeks. Beautiful brown irises stare back at you as he awaits your response. “I miss you.” 

“Is that so? I missed you too, sweetheart.” He lays a delicate kiss on your lips as he continues to rub your ass. Peter moves so that he’s lying on his bed, pulling you on top of him. Immediately, his hands wrap around your waist as he sits back and admires you. “Are you bored?” He asks, thumb rubbing circles into your hip.  

You nod, resting on his lap. It was moments like this you loved and cherished. Like a scene out of a TV show, the picture-perfect couple. A hand moves from your waist to drag your face down to his. Lips interlocking, only to pull away after a mere few seconds. “Then what do you want to do?”

“What do you wa-?”

“That’s not what I asked baby.” Peter had a hidden talent for rendering you silent. You knew what you wanted to do, but you were too embarrassed to say it. It’s not like you can just ask your boyfriend of five months to fuck you into next week. Well, you can, but it’s more complicated when you have to initiate it. 

“I-” His gaze is unmoving, raking over your beautiful form. To him, you’re perfection personified, a true angel landed on earth, his to have and to corrupt.  The lone hand rested on your waist, fingers on the waistband of your shorts. “What do you want to do?” Peter says, demanding an answer from you. 

“I want….I want you to..” You can hardly finish the sentence. It’s almost like your body won’t allow you to finish the statement. Conditioning from years of hiding your own truth and wants. Peter knows this better than anyone. The hand that was resting on your face moves down to your shorts to join the other one. 

“I want you to-Can we have sex?” You blurt out, before hiding your face behind your hands. Warmth fills your cheeks as you shy away from your boyfriend. “Hey.” His response is immediate, and he sits up to properly hold you. 

“Of course we can.” Peter kisses your neck, then tugs at your shorts. “Can we take these off?” You nod as his gaze stops you in your tracks. “Words.” 

“Yes.” Shorts fall down your legs and join his shirt on the floor. He switches positions so you’re lying on your back. Peppering kisses along your bare midsection, stopping right above your pelvic bone. You can feel his breath as he slowly pulls your underwear down. 

The urge to close your legs to hide yourself suddenly invades your mind and actions. He stops you from holding your legs far apart. “Don’t hide from me sweetheart.” Kissing your inner thigh before tentatively swiping your sopping folds. You feel him shudder at this action, utterly obsessed with how wet you got for him. 

“You’re always so wet for me, baby. God I love you.” He murmurs into your pussy, tongue licking from bottom to top, spending an extra second at your clit. Your head falls back onto his pillows as you moan out loud. His head perks up at your moan, shushing you as he does. His frat brothers happened to be home, and he knew how much you hated it when they joked about you guys having sex. “Normally I would be thrilled that you’re so loud for me, but I need you to be quiet sweetheart.” 

Nodding, you try your best to conceal your moans and whimpers as he explores your heat with his tongue. The warmth of his tongue is felt as it caresses your walls, before bullying its way into your hole. Your legs clamp around his head as you grip the top of his hair. 

Slowly, a finger replaces his tongue as he moves upward to suck on your nipple, freeing it from the confines of your sports bra. Lost in a dreamy haze, you hardly notice that he’s added another finger to the sounds of your wetness being heard throughout the room. You can’t help but feel awkward as the sound of your slick just gets awkward, as he speeds up. 

Reaching down to grab his wrist, you can hardly muster a simple sentence. “Loud, it’s so-” A kiss cuts you off, his hand pulling you in by your neck. He understands what you mean; he always does. It’s a part of his charm and allure; he knows you so well. 

His fingers leave you as he licks them clean. Reaching over your sweat-covered body, he grabs his phone and connects it to his speaker. Music blasts from the device, as he smiles down at you and throws his on his dresser. “Is that better?” 

You want to nod, but know it’s not what he wants to see or hear from you. “Yes.” Your voice is like honey in his ears; it has a desperate tone that mimics your feelings. Peter shimmies out of his sweats and boxers and makes you sit up so he can take your bra off completely.  

He’s seen you naked a dozen times before, but he can’t help but admire you. Beautiful brown skin on a gorgeous body, usually hidden away by clothes, shades of pink, blue, and white—his beautiful, gorgeous, amazing girl. Peter lays kisses starting from your face, going all the way down to your feet. 

Carefully guiding his manhood towards your heat, he keeps looking at you. Peter’s quite big, and that’s a humble way of saying it. He’s thick and long, veins running from the base to his tip. It bullies your entrance, as your head falls back into the covers. Looking at his face, it’s easy to tell that he’s holding back from ramming in. 

“Almost there, beautiful, almost in.” Peter murmurs to himself, before fully sheathing himself inside of you. A large moan begins to leave your mouth as his hand clamps down. The other rests right beside your head. 

His thrusts have no rhythm to them, just erratic, and he’s so pussydrunk, so so pussy drunk. Abs clenching as he pounds into you, his own groans and whimpers barely being audible. “You’re taking me so well, you’re so perfect.” At this point, you didn’t know if he was talking to you or your pussy.  

Tears fall down your cheek, coating his hand as he removes it, going to kiss you instead. He flips you over, making sure your head’s not in an awkward position. Peter leans back, slapping your ass not too hard. “Arch properly, please, baby.” He’s not asking, nor is he commanding. He’s begging, and you give in. Turning your head so you can watch him, you adjust how you’re resting, arching deeper, ass playfully rubbing against his pelvis. 

Rewarding you for how quickly you reacted, his cock slides back in no problem. The force of his thrusts has you crying into his pillow. He reaches over to turn the volume of his speaker. His attention doesn’t stay off you for too long, grabbing you by the hips so you can be closer. “Take it, baby, take that dick.” He groans, looking at how you just take him, a creamy ring forming on the base of his cock. 

You start to get close to your climax, eyes rolling back into your head, and you swear you can see stars. Peter, the all-knowing boyfriend, knows the telltale signs of when you’re going to come, drags you up to be flush against his chest. Hand gropes your tit, pinching the nipple. “You gonna come for me, baby?” His voice tickles your neck as he sucks on it. 

Unable to form a sentence because of the sheer pleasure of your oncoming orgasm, you nod. His fingers fly to your clit, gingerly rubbing it, catapulting you into your orgasm. Body shaking as you feel take over you. Peter kisses you to swallow your moans, which have become louder than the music. He’s fucking you through your orgasm just as he’s done before. “That’s it, sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me, that’s right.” 

Falling forward on the bed, his constant praises and reassurances barely heard. Peter’s still fucking you, determined to get off as quickly as possible. You clench against him unconsciously, your body naturally trying to help him get off. “You’re so good to me-fuck!” He pulls out quickly before finishing on your lower back, swearing as he rests his hands on his knees. 

Peter acts quickly, grabbing a tissue to wipe you off and changing you into clean underwear and one of his shirts. He puts on some shorts himself before forcing you under the covers. “You were so good for me. I love you.” He kisses the top of your head as he wraps his arms around your boneless body. 

You drift off into a deep sleep, the comfort of Peter making it easy. When you wake up a couple of hours later, he’s still in bed with you, typing up the ending paragraph for his lap report. You smile, burying yourself in his shoulder.