what PETER PARKER sends back when you send him a risqué photo and a flirty text that tests his patience. . . you know he’s busy right now, he just told you what he’s working on, how he’s got a deadline, and he just can’t come over. you decide to be generous, take a pic of your cleavage in a really cute set with a, “aw really ??:( 💞 but i miss u sooo bad”
it takes him less than a second to respond with this picture. you can see it in the flex of his forearm, the hair standing on end - no doubt tossed carelessly n pulled on, that expression on his face. it’d be indescribable to anyone but you, you can read him like a book. he’s not just interested, he’s frustrated. no one else knows how badly peter hates having temptation dangle over his head, n you’re bobbing it like a carrot on a stick. he doesn’t say anything for a bit, but then you hear your phone ding.
“a quick one okay? will you promise to be good”
you can’t type your consent fast enough, and you hear the familiar thwip outside your window, followed closely by the clambering of his crawl inside, and the hasty unbuckling of his belt. looks like he rushed over in civvies. he flashes a grins at you, “remember we gotta be fast.“ he flicks his shirt up n over his head, the web shooter on his wrist aims at your hip, “c’mere,” her jerks you over by the leash of his web and right into him.