ellie

the words had been swimming on the same page for the last ten minutes, a pool of letters and sentences that your eyes traced but your mind barely registered. your attention was wavering, pulled away from the fictional world by a very real and increasingly aggressive hunger clawing at your stomach.

you were waiting for your takeout, a feast fit for a king or, in this case, one very hungry person with a hope for leftovers. the order was an variety of your favorites, chicken glazed with a sweet sauce, fried rice sprinkled with colorful vegetables, and an array of dumplings, doughiness hiding delicious ingredients within.

the anticipation of the meal had you glancing at the clock every few minutes, each tick echoing in the silence of the room. your mouth watered at the thought of the feast to come, you could almost taste the savory chicken, feel the satisfying crunch of the fried rice, and enjoy the burst of flavors from the dumplings.

your stomach grumbled again, a low growl that seemed to echo around the room. “patience,” you murmured to yourself, “the food will be here soon.”

your gaze wandered from the book to the door then back again, caught in a cycle of hope and disappointment. each creak and groan from the old building had you perking up, only to fall back in defeat when the much-awaited knock didn’t come.

after a long, tiring day, you craved nothing more than to satisfy your hunger and lose yourself in the fictional world waiting within the pages of the book.

knock. knock.

suddenly, there it was, the knock you’d been waiting for. it echoed through the quiet apartment, a sharp noise against the softness of the heater. your heart leapt in your chest, the book you’d been fixed on was quickly set aside, the plot of the novel momentarily losing its excitement to the thought of a delicious meal.

rising from the couch, your feet padded softly against the cool hardwood floor. the floorboards creaked under your weight, a familiar sound that accompanied your journey to the door. the anticipation of the meal had your stomach roaring, its grumbling protests growing louder with each step.

you swung open the door with an eagerness, expecting to see the familiar face of the delivery guy, his cheeks flushed from the winter chill.

instead, you were met with a surprise.

standing in the dimly lit hallway was a stranger, an unexpected twist that made your heart stutter in your chest. he was cute, in a quirky sort of way, he held a bag of chinese food in his hands, and the inviting scent floating from it made your mouth water.

for a moment, you just stood there, surprised. the stranger was tall, his silhouette framed by the dull glow of the hallway light. his hair was tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. he looked as surprised as you felt, his eyes wide, reflecting your own disbelief.

“um, hi,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. his voice was slightly shaky as he held up the bag, like a peace offering. “i think this is yours.” his words hung in the air, a question and an introduction all rolled into one.

your eyes flickered to the receipt attached to the bag, your apartment number scrawled in messy, hurried handwriting across the top. the ink is smudged, but it’s unmistakably yours.

peter, the stranger standing in your doorway, rubs the back of his neck, a shy grin tugging at his lips. his eyes are apologetic as he explains, “the delivery guy knocked on my door by mistake and handed it to me. i didn’t notice until after i’d gone back inside.”

accepting the bag from him, you murmur a word of thanks. the scent of your dinner floats from the bag, a mix of spices and warmth that makes your stomach growl in anticipation.

then, as if struck by a sudden realization, peter’s eyes widen slightly, a moment of awkward silence hangs in the air before he breaks it with a chuckle. “i just realized we don’t even know each other’s names.”

“i’m peter,” he says, shifting the takeout bag into one hand before offering you the other. his palm is warm against yours, his grip firm yet gentle, and there’s an unexpected comfort in his touch that makes you relax a little.

“peter parker.”

you share your name in return, your hand slipping into his with an ease. “nice to meet you,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

“you too.” his smile is genuine and warm, making you feel oddly calm.

a beat passes before your gaze drops to the bag cradled in your arms. “even if you did, technically, steal my dinner,” you tease.

his eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. “well— i’m returning it!”

“after getting caught,” you retort playfully.

he chuckles then, a light-hearted sound that dances through the air between you. “okay, that’s a pretty serious accusation for someone i just met.” his eyes twinkle with amusement, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, you find yourself smiling back.

he extended the bag towards you, as you reached out to take it, your fingers brushed against his. the contact was brief, but it sent a shock of warmth up your arm, a contrast to the chill of the night seeping in from the hallway.

his smile widened into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. he nodded slightly, an unspoken acknowledgment of the strange yet oddly comforting encounter you both had shared.

“hope you enjoy it,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, a playful challenge that made you chuckle. his smile was infectious, lighting up his face and making the dimly lit hallway seem a little less gloomy.

peter began his retreat, his shoulders hunched, and with each step he takes, a beat pounds in the otherwise silent hallway, a noise of that highlights the awkward silence that has fallen between you like a cloud.

then, a spark of realization flickers in your eyes, fueling a question that had been brewing in the back of your mind.

“wait.” the word slices through the silence, a command that freezes peter mid-step. he turns on his heel, his eyebrows arched in a silent question that keeps him curious. “did you order food too?” you ask, your gaze dropping to the paper bag crinkled in your hands.

“yeah.” peter’s response is immediate, his expression morphing into one of confusion. his brows furrow, casting shadows over his eyes.

your own eyes narrow in response, mirroring his confusion. “then... where’s yours?”

peter pulls out his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he checks his order status. the same restaurant, the same delivery driver, but his food is still en route. the estimated delivery time has jumped another fifteen or twenty minutes.

a sigh escapes him, deflating his posture. now he’s standing there, his food is still on its way while yours sits in your hands, its scent drowning the air like a taunting promise of a meal he won’t be partaking in anytime soon. the unfairness of the situation fills the space, adding another layer of tension to the already nervous atmosphere.

he takes it as a sign, to leave.

peter’s farewell is a simple nod, a casual wave of his hand as he turns to leave. his silhouette, lit by the dim light of the hallway, begins to head towards his apartment down the hall. the soft shuffle of his footsteps on the worn carpet is the only sound that breaks the silence.

you hesitate, your hand still resting on the cool metal of the door handle. the silence of your apartment seems to echo around you, a reminder of your loneliness, inviting a stranger inside is not something you do lightly.

but peter isn’t exactly a stranger, is he?

he’s your neighbor, and he just went out of his way to return your misplaced food delivery. his own dinner is apparently lost somewhere in the maze of queens, and despite his towering height and broad shoulders, there’s a feeling of gentleness about him that puts you at ease.

“peter?” your voice cuts through the quiet hallway, like a knife through butter.

he halts mid-step, again, and turns around, his eyebrows slightly narrowed from the situation. the light casts shadows on his face, highlighting his sharp, yet gorgeous, features.

“you can wait in here, if you want.” you gesture faintly towards the warmth of your apartment, a soft glow spilling out from the open door. his eyebrows lift high, surprise stitching itself onto his face. “oh.”

“for your food,” you quickly clarify, feeling embarrassment creep up your cheeks at the potential misunderstanding.

“right— yeah. obviously.” he rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, adding a touch of warmth to his expression.

“obviously.” you echo, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the fluttering in your stomach.

there’s another pause, filled with nothing but the distant hum of city life outside and the soft ticking of your wall clock. the silence stretches between you, annoyingly so.

“unless you enjoy standing in hallways.” you add, hoping to chase out more of that smile, the words settle into the silence, a playful challenge.

that earns you a chuckle and a shake of his head. “not particularly.”

he steps inside your apartment, bringing with him a gust of cool air that sends a shiver down your spine. his presence fills the space, bringing a sense of company that your four walls haven’t seen in a while. the loneliness fades, replaced by an unexpected warmth that has nothing to do with the heating.

the realization hits you like a sudden gust of wind, there’s a man in your apartment. a man you met just four minutes ago, standing in your living room, looking slightly lost and out of place. peter, on his part, seems to be very aware of his unfamiliar surroundings, his gaze darting around the room as if trying to memorize every detail.

you carry the takeout into the kitchen, the deliciousness of spices wandering through the air. the rustle of the paper bag seems unusually loud in the silence that has settled upon you. peter lingers near the entrance of the kitchen, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

you catch him in the act of studying your bookshelf, his eyes scanning over the titles with a curious intensity. you can’t help but smile at his obvious discomfort. “you can sit down, you know.”

peter’s gaze flickers towards the couch, a loved piece of furniture that has seen better days. “oh. yeah. i just didn’t want to…”

“what?” you prompt when he trails off.

“i don’t know-- make myself at home?” his voice is soft, almost apologetic.

“you’re allowed to touch the furniture.” your tone is light, teasing.

a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “good to know.”

he moves towards the couch then, lowering himself onto it with a sigh of relief. the cushions sag under his weight, and he looks almost comically out of place amidst the throw pillows and knitted blankets.

you join him after setting your food down on the coffee table. the clink of plastic containers and rustle of paper bags fill the silence that stretches between you. it’s not an uncomfortable silence, but rather a thoughtful one, two people realizing you’re strangers in a shared space.

peter’s gaze lands on the book you had abandoned on the coffee table. “what’re you reading?” he asks, breaking the silence.

you tell him, your voice a soft echo in the room, the title of the book. it’s a worn paperback, the spine creased from multiple readings, cover faded. you watch him as he takes it in, his fingers tracing the title raised, on the cover. maybe he recognizes it, maybe he doesn’t, his face gives nothing away.

it sparks your first genuine conversation. the words flow easier now, like a river that has finally found its path. peter asks whether it’s good, his voice laced with genuine interest.

his eyes meet yours, a tint of curiosity lighting them up.

you lean back against the couch, your fingers playing with the frayed edge of a throw pillow. you ask if he reads much, tone casual but gaze intent on his face, you’re trying to study him, to understand what he's about.

he admits he hasn’t lately, his gaze dropping to his hands as he speaks. his fingers are still tracing the title on the book cover, an absentminded action that betrays his interest. his voice is soft when he speaks, almost regretful.

he seems to be a man who carries regret, often.

slowly, the awkwardness starts to disappear, replaced by a genuine curiosity. the silence that had once felt heavy and intense now feels comfortable, a shared understanding between two strangers navigating an unfamiliar relationship.

the lamplight stretches across the room, onto your faces, adding an intimate warmth to the surroundings.

the conversation between you and peter began to drift as naturally as an ocean. the air between you was filled with a comfortable ease, the kind that made it feel as though you’d known each other for years rather than mere minutes. your mind, curious and persistent, nudged you to ask the question that had been lingering on the edge of your mind.

“so, when did you move in?” you asked, your voice carrying a hint of interest.

peter shrugged, a lift of his shoulders that seemed to mirror his nervous demeanor. “about three weeks ago,” he replied, his voice boyish.

you blinked, surprise etching lines onto your forehead, “three weeks? you’ve been living across from me for three weeks?” the words tumbled out in a rush, his answer leaving you stunned.

“apparently,” peter replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. the word clings to the space, a calmness that seemed to echo in the comfortable silence that followed.

“i’ve never seen you before,” you countered, your words carrying a note of disbelief that crept into the sentence.

peter’s lips curled into a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling with humor as if he held a secret. “maybe you’re not very observant,” he suggested, his tone light and playful, accompanied by a toothy, smile.

“or maybe you’re never home,” you shot back, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness that matched his own.

peter paused, his smile fading slightly as if your words had struck a chord. his eyes clouded over for a moment, a tick from the clock, before he responded. “ …that too.” his voice was softer now, the playful tone replaced by something much less cheerful.

the silence of the apartment was shattered by a second knock, a rhythmic tap that echoed through the compact space, bouncing off the bare walls and furniture. peter’s eyes flickered to his phone, the screen displaying a bright glow on his face, a difference from the low light in the room.

“that’s mine,” he declared. he pushed himself off the couch, his muscles protesting against the sudden movement. you rose with him, your movements copying each other in an unspoken motion of familiarity.

as peter opened the door, deliciousness flooded in, a heavy mix of sweetness and heat, proof of peter’s meal. it was a scent that spoke of happiness and mouth watering goodness, of something he’d regret later on. he accepted the bag from the delivery driver with a grateful nod, his fingers brushing against the cool plastic.

“thanks,” he said, his voice carrying through the open door. the driver nodded and disappeared into the darkness, leaving peter standing in the doorway. he turned back into the apartment, his gaze sweeping over the room as if searching for something he’d left behind, his phone, his jacket, maybe some small piece of himself.

but something had shifted in the shared space. the invisible thread that had kept peter connected there was severed, he had his dinner now, protected in its plastic bag, you had yours, ready on the coffee table.

strangers again, your brief connection fading like the warmth from the food. the interaction should end now, yet, neither of you seemed particularly eager to let go.

peter gathered his belongings, his movements slow and deliberate as if each step was a decision. “well… thanks for letting me wait,” he said, his voice softer than before, slight reluctance oozing into his words.

you responded with a small smile, a simple curve of your lips. “thanks for rescuing my dinner.”

peter chuckled at that, a low sound that filled the room, bouncing off the walls and filling the silence. “i feel like rescuing is a strong word.”

“you carried it twelve feet, very heroic.”

his eyes met yours at that, amusement twinkling in them. “yeah— that’s me, heroic.”

it was a tiny joke, a shared moment of sarcasm that seemed to linger. you walked him to the door, your footsteps echoing in the quiet apartment.

“it was a pleasure meeting you,” peter says, his voice a soft murmur that vibrates subtly in the hushed room. “i could say the same, peter,” you respond, your voice a gentle mirror of his own, a whisper of sweetness against the quiet of the room.

a smile dusts peter’s face then, a small, genuine curve of his lips that reaches all the way to his eyes. it’s a smile that speaks volumes, hinting at a tie that goes beyond your brief encounter.

there’s a pause then, a moment of silence that stretches out like a stretchy band. he looks as if he’s about to say something else, his mouth opening slightly as if to form words, but they never come. instead, he swallows them back, leaving behind an echo of unspoken thoughts, curiosity of what might have been.

“goodnight,” he finally manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. it’s a soft farewell, a delicate sound.

“night,” you reply just as quietly, a quiet noise.

with a final nod, you close the door gently behind you. the soft click of the latch echoes in the silence, highlighting the quiet with its motion. peter is left standing alone in the hallway, the faint scent of your perfume refuses to fade, like a ghostly reminder of your presence.

you return to the shelter of your couch, sinking into the familiar plush cushions that holds your body in a comforting embrace. the evening resumes its rhythm, a soothing calm that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you peel open the cardboard flaps of your takeout, the sparkle of delicious dumplings gazing up to greet you.

your book lies abandoned on the coffee table, it’s a silent companion in the quiet apartment, proof to many nights spent in its company. you pick it up, thumbing through the pages until you find your previous place. you read a paragraph, the words blurring together as your mind begins to wander. you read it again, and again, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

because you’re thinking about peter.

a small, shy grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you shake your head, dismissing the thought. he’s just peter, the cute neighbor from across the hall. nothing more.

knock. knock.

the sound echoes in the stillness of the apartment, a sudden interruption. your brows furrow in confusion as you rise from the couch, annoyance prickling at your mind.

now, who could it be?

you open the door.

peter.

again.

this time he’s holding his food, the scent of his own takeout mixing with yours in the narrow hallway, creating an unexpected combination of food.

“hi.”

you stare at him, a question forming on your lips. “did you get the wrong food, again?” peter laughs, a warm sound that seems to fill the space between you. “no, this one’s definitely mine.”

“then what are you doing here?”

and now peter gets nervous. his confident attitude fades, replaced by an endearing uncertainty, because this time he doesn’t have an excuse to be standing at your door.

he looks down at the bag in his hands, then back at you. his eyes are sincere, hopeful.

“i was just thinking…”

“would you maybe want to eat together?”

you look at him, studying his hopeful expression, then at the bag in his hands, the promise of shared food, then across the hall toward his open apartment, a silent invitation.

“didn’t you just spend twenty minutes trying to get away from me?”

“i was waiting to get my food.”

“seems like a convenient excuse.”

“so is that a no?”

you let him squirm for another second, enjoying the anticipation in his eyes. then you step aside, gesturing for him to enter.

“come in, parker.”

peter’s smile is immediate, a radiant burst of happy that transforms his face. his eyes crinkle at the corners, the dimples on his cheeks deepen, and his lips stretch into a grin so wide it seems to reach his ears.

it’s as if a switch has been flipped, illuminating him from within. he steps back inside your apartment, crossing the boundary with an air of victory.

the words had been swimming on the same page for the last ten minutes, a pool of letters and sentences that your eyes traced but your mind barely registered. your attention was wavering, pulled away from the fictional world by a very real and increasingly aggressive hunger clawing at your stomach.

you were waiting for your takeout, a feast fit for a king or, in this case, one very hungry person with a hope for leftovers. the order was an variety of your favorites, chicken glazed with a sweet sauce, fried rice sprinkled with colorful vegetables, and an array of dumplings, doughiness hiding delicious ingredients within.

the anticipation of the meal had you glancing at the clock every few minutes, each tick echoing in the silence of the room. your mouth watered at the thought of the feast to come, you could almost taste the savory chicken, feel the satisfying crunch of the fried rice, and enjoy the burst of flavors from the dumplings.

your stomach grumbled again, a low growl that seemed to echo around the room. “patience,” you murmured to yourself, “the food will be here soon.”

your gaze wandered from the book to the door then back again, caught in a cycle of hope and disappointment. each creak and groan from the old building had you perking up, only to fall back in defeat when the much-awaited knock didn’t come.

after a long, tiring day, you craved nothing more than to satisfy your hunger and lose yourself in the fictional world waiting within the pages of the book.

knock. knock.

suddenly, there it was, the knock you’d been waiting for. it echoed through the quiet apartment, a sharp noise against the softness of the heater. your heart leapt in your chest, the book you’d been fixed on was quickly set aside, the plot of the novel momentarily losing its excitement to the thought of a delicious meal.

rising from the couch, your feet padded softly against the cool hardwood floor. the floorboards creaked under your weight, a familiar sound that accompanied your journey to the door. the anticipation of the meal had your stomach roaring, its grumbling protests growing louder with each step.

you swung open the door with an eagerness, expecting to see the familiar face of the delivery guy, his cheeks flushed from the winter chill.

instead, you were met with a surprise.

standing in the dimly lit hallway was a stranger, an unexpected twist that made your heart stutter in your chest. he was cute, in a quirky sort of way, he held a bag of chinese food in his hands, and the inviting scent floating from it made your mouth water.

for a moment, you just stood there, surprised. the stranger was tall, his silhouette framed by the dull glow of the hallway light. his hair was tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. he looked as surprised as you felt, his eyes wide, reflecting your own disbelief.

“um, hi,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. his voice was slightly shaky as he held up the bag, like a peace offering. “i think this is yours.” his words hung in the air, a question and an introduction all rolled into one.

your eyes flickered to the receipt attached to the bag, your apartment number scrawled in messy, hurried handwriting across the top. the ink is smudged, but it’s unmistakably yours.

peter, the stranger standing in your doorway, rubs the back of his neck, a shy grin tugging at his lips. his eyes are apologetic as he explains, “the delivery guy knocked on my door by mistake and handed it to me. i didn’t notice until after i’d gone back inside.”

accepting the bag from him, you murmur a word of thanks. the scent of your dinner floats from the bag, a mix of spices and warmth that makes your stomach growl in anticipation.

then, as if struck by a sudden realization, peter’s eyes widen slightly, a moment of awkward silence hangs in the air before he breaks it with a chuckle. “i just realized we don’t even know each other’s names.”

“i’m peter,” he says, shifting the takeout bag into one hand before offering you the other. his palm is warm against yours, his grip firm yet gentle, and there’s an unexpected comfort in his touch that makes you relax a little.

“peter parker.”

you share your name in return, your hand slipping into his with an ease. “nice to meet you,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

“you too.” his smile is genuine and warm, making you feel oddly calm.

a beat passes before your gaze drops to the bag cradled in your arms. “even if you did, technically, steal my dinner,” you tease.

his eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. “well— i’m returning it!”

“after getting caught,” you retort playfully.

he chuckles then, a light-hearted sound that dances through the air between you. “okay, that’s a pretty serious accusation for someone i just met.” his eyes twinkle with amusement, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, you find yourself smiling back.

he extended the bag towards you, as you reached out to take it, your fingers brushed against his. the contact was brief, but it sent a shock of warmth up your arm, a contrast to the chill of the night seeping in from the hallway.

his smile widened into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. he nodded slightly, an unspoken acknowledgment of the strange yet oddly comforting encounter you both had shared.

“hope you enjoy it,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, a playful challenge that made you chuckle. his smile was infectious, lighting up his face and making the dimly lit hallway seem a little less gloomy.

peter began his retreat, his shoulders hunched, and with each step he takes, a beat pounds in the otherwise silent hallway, a noise of that highlights the awkward silence that has fallen between you like a cloud.

then, a spark of realization flickers in your eyes, fueling a question that had been brewing in the back of your mind.

“wait.” the word slices through the silence, a command that freezes peter mid-step. he turns on his heel, his eyebrows arched in a silent question that keeps him curious. “did you order food too?” you ask, your gaze dropping to the paper bag crinkled in your hands.

“yeah.” peter’s response is immediate, his expression morphing into one of confusion. his brows furrow, casting shadows over his eyes.

your own eyes narrow in response, mirroring his confusion. “then... where’s yours?”

peter pulls out his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he checks his order status. the same restaurant, the same delivery driver, but his food is still en route. the estimated delivery time has jumped another fifteen or twenty minutes.

a sigh escapes him, deflating his posture. now he’s standing there, his food is still on its way while yours sits in your hands, its scent drowning the air like a taunting promise of a meal he won’t be partaking in anytime soon. the unfairness of the situation fills the space, adding another layer of tension to the already nervous atmosphere.

he takes it as a sign, to leave.

peter’s farewell is a simple nod, a casual wave of his hand as he turns to leave. his silhouette, lit by the dim light of the hallway, begins to head towards his apartment down the hall. the soft shuffle of his footsteps on the worn carpet is the only sound that breaks the silence.

you hesitate, your hand still resting on the cool metal of the door handle. the silence of your apartment seems to echo around you, a reminder of your loneliness, inviting a stranger inside is not something you do lightly.

but peter isn’t exactly a stranger, is he?

he’s your neighbor, and he just went out of his way to return your misplaced food delivery. his own dinner is apparently lost somewhere in the maze of queens, and despite his towering height and broad shoulders, there’s a feeling of gentleness about him that puts you at ease.

“peter?” your voice cuts through the quiet hallway, like a knife through butter.

he halts mid-step, again, and turns around, his eyebrows slightly narrowed from the situation. the light casts shadows on his face, highlighting his sharp, yet gorgeous, features.

“you can wait in here, if you want.” you gesture faintly towards the warmth of your apartment, a soft glow spilling out from the open door. his eyebrows lift high, surprise stitching itself onto his face. “oh.”

“for your food,” you quickly clarify, feeling embarrassment creep up your cheeks at the potential misunderstanding.

“right— yeah. obviously.” he rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, adding a touch of warmth to his expression.

“obviously.” you echo, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the fluttering in your stomach.

there’s another pause, filled with nothing but the distant hum of city life outside and the soft ticking of your wall clock. the silence stretches between you, annoyingly so.

“unless you enjoy standing in hallways.” you add, hoping to chase out more of that smile, the words settle into the silence, a playful challenge.

that earns you a chuckle and a shake of his head. “not particularly.”

he steps inside your apartment, bringing with him a gust of cool air that sends a shiver down your spine. his presence fills the space, bringing a sense of company that your four walls haven’t seen in a while. the loneliness fades, replaced by an unexpected warmth that has nothing to do with the heating.

the realization hits you like a sudden gust of wind, there’s a man in your apartment. a man you met just four minutes ago, standing in your living room, looking slightly lost and out of place. peter, on his part, seems to be very aware of his unfamiliar surroundings, his gaze darting around the room as if trying to memorize every detail.

you carry the takeout into the kitchen, the deliciousness of spices wandering through the air. the rustle of the paper bag seems unusually loud in the silence that has settled upon you. peter lingers near the entrance of the kitchen, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

you catch him in the act of studying your bookshelf, his eyes scanning over the titles with a curious intensity. you can’t help but smile at his obvious discomfort. “you can sit down, you know.”

peter’s gaze flickers towards the couch, a loved piece of furniture that has seen better days. “oh. yeah. i just didn’t want to…”

“what?” you prompt when he trails off.

“i don’t know-- make myself at home?” his voice is soft, almost apologetic.

“you’re allowed to touch the furniture.” your tone is light, teasing.

a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “good to know.”

he moves towards the couch then, lowering himself onto it with a sigh of relief. the cushions sag under his weight, and he looks almost comically out of place amidst the throw pillows and knitted blankets.

you join him after setting your food down on the coffee table. the clink of plastic containers and rustle of paper bags fill the silence that stretches between you. it’s not an uncomfortable silence, but rather a thoughtful one, two people realizing you’re strangers in a shared space.

peter’s gaze lands on the book you had abandoned on the coffee table. “what’re you reading?” he asks, breaking the silence.

you tell him, your voice a soft echo in the room, the title of the book. it’s a worn paperback, the spine creased from multiple readings, cover faded. you watch him as he takes it in, his fingers tracing the title raised, on the cover. maybe he recognizes it, maybe he doesn’t, his face gives nothing away.

it sparks your first genuine conversation. the words flow easier now, like a river that has finally found its path. peter asks whether it’s good, his voice laced with genuine interest.

his eyes meet yours, a tint of curiosity lighting them up.

you lean back against the couch, your fingers playing with the frayed edge of a throw pillow. you ask if he reads much, tone casual but gaze intent on his face, you’re trying to study him, to understand what he's about.

he admits he hasn’t lately, his gaze dropping to his hands as he speaks. his fingers are still tracing the title on the book cover, an absentminded action that betrays his interest. his voice is soft when he speaks, almost regretful.

he seems to be a man who carries regret, often.

slowly, the awkwardness starts to disappear, replaced by a genuine curiosity. the silence that had once felt heavy and intense now feels comfortable, a shared understanding between two strangers navigating an unfamiliar relationship.

the lamplight stretches across the room, onto your faces, adding an intimate warmth to the surroundings.

the conversation between you and peter began to drift as naturally as an ocean. the air between you was filled with a comfortable ease, the kind that made it feel as though you’d known each other for years rather than mere minutes. your mind, curious and persistent, nudged you to ask the question that had been lingering on the edge of your mind.

“so, when did you move in?” you asked, your voice carrying a hint of interest.

peter shrugged, a lift of his shoulders that seemed to mirror his nervous demeanor. “about three weeks ago,” he replied, his voice boyish.

you blinked, surprise etching lines onto your forehead, “three weeks? you’ve been living across from me for three weeks?” the words tumbled out in a rush, his answer leaving you stunned.

“apparently,” peter replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. the word clings to the space, a calmness that seemed to echo in the comfortable silence that followed.

“i’ve never seen you before,” you countered, your words carrying a note of disbelief that crept into the sentence.

peter’s lips curled into a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling with humor as if he held a secret. “maybe you’re not very observant,” he suggested, his tone light and playful, accompanied by a toothy, smile.

“or maybe you’re never home,” you shot back, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness that matched his own.

peter paused, his smile fading slightly as if your words had struck a chord. his eyes clouded over for a moment, a tick from the clock, before he responded. “ …that too.” his voice was softer now, the playful tone replaced by something much less cheerful.

the silence of the apartment was shattered by a second knock, a rhythmic tap that echoed through the compact space, bouncing off the bare walls and furniture. peter’s eyes flickered to his phone, the screen displaying a bright glow on his face, a difference from the low light in the room.

“that’s mine,” he declared. he pushed himself off the couch, his muscles protesting against the sudden movement. you rose with him, your movements copying each other in an unspoken motion of familiarity.

as peter opened the door, deliciousness flooded in, a heavy mix of sweetness and heat, proof of peter’s meal. it was a scent that spoke of happiness and mouth watering goodness, of something he’d regret later on. he accepted the bag from the delivery driver with a grateful nod, his fingers brushing against the cool plastic.

“thanks,” he said, his voice carrying through the open door. the driver nodded and disappeared into the darkness, leaving peter standing in the doorway. he turned back into the apartment, his gaze sweeping over the room as if searching for something he’d left behind, his phone, his jacket, maybe some small piece of himself.

but something had shifted in the shared space. the invisible thread that had kept peter connected there was severed, he had his dinner now, protected in its plastic bag, you had yours, ready on the coffee table.

strangers again, your brief connection fading like the warmth from the food. the interaction should end now, yet, neither of you seemed particularly eager to let go.

peter gathered his belongings, his movements slow and deliberate as if each step was a decision. “well… thanks for letting me wait,” he said, his voice softer than before, slight reluctance oozing into his words.

you responded with a small smile, a simple curve of your lips. “thanks for rescuing my dinner.”

peter chuckled at that, a low sound that filled the room, bouncing off the walls and filling the silence. “i feel like rescuing is a strong word.”

“you carried it twelve feet, very heroic.”

his eyes met yours at that, amusement twinkling in them. “yeah— that’s me, heroic.”

it was a tiny joke, a shared moment of sarcasm that seemed to linger. you walked him to the door, your footsteps echoing in the quiet apartment.

“it was a pleasure meeting you,” peter says, his voice a soft murmur that vibrates subtly in the hushed room. “i could say the same, peter,” you respond, your voice a gentle mirror of his own, a whisper of sweetness against the quiet of the room.

a smile dusts peter’s face then, a small, genuine curve of his lips that reaches all the way to his eyes. it’s a smile that speaks volumes, hinting at a tie that goes beyond your brief encounter.

there’s a pause then, a moment of silence that stretches out like a stretchy band. he looks as if he’s about to say something else, his mouth opening slightly as if to form words, but they never come. instead, he swallows them back, leaving behind an echo of unspoken thoughts, curiosity of what might have been.

“goodnight,” he finally manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. it’s a soft farewell, a delicate sound.

“night,” you reply just as quietly, a quiet noise.

with a final nod, you close the door gently behind you. the soft click of the latch echoes in the silence, highlighting the quiet with its motion. peter is left standing alone in the hallway, the faint scent of your perfume refuses to fade, like a ghostly reminder of your presence.

you return to the shelter of your couch, sinking into the familiar plush cushions that holds your body in a comforting embrace. the evening resumes its rhythm, a soothing calm that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you peel open the cardboard flaps of your takeout, the sparkle of delicious dumplings gazing up to greet you.

your book lies abandoned on the coffee table, it’s a silent companion in the quiet apartment, proof to many nights spent in its company. you pick it up, thumbing through the pages until you find your previous place. you read a paragraph, the words blurring together as your mind begins to wander. you read it again, and again, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

because you’re thinking about peter.

a small, shy grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you shake your head, dismissing the thought. he’s just peter, the cute neighbor from across the hall. nothing more.

knock. knock.

the sound echoes in the stillness of the apartment, a sudden interruption. your brows furrow in confusion as you rise from the couch, annoyance prickling at your mind.

now, who could it be?

you open the door.

peter.

again.

this time he’s holding his food, the scent of his own takeout mixing with yours in the narrow hallway, creating an unexpected combination of food.

“hi.”

you stare at him, a question forming on your lips. “did you get the wrong food, again?” peter laughs, a warm sound that seems to fill the space between you. “no, this one’s definitely mine.”

“then what are you doing here?”

and now peter gets nervous. his confident attitude fades, replaced by an endearing uncertainty, because this time he doesn’t have an excuse to be standing at your door.

he looks down at the bag in his hands, then back at you. his eyes are sincere, hopeful.

“i was just thinking…”

“would you maybe want to eat together?”

you look at him, studying his hopeful expression, then at the bag in his hands, the promise of shared food, then across the hall toward his open apartment, a silent invitation.

“didn’t you just spend twenty minutes trying to get away from me?”

“i was waiting to get my food.”

“seems like a convenient excuse.”

“so is that a no?”

you let him squirm for another second, enjoying the anticipation in his eyes. then you step aside, gesturing for him to enter.

“come in, parker.”

peter’s smile is immediate, a radiant burst of happy that transforms his face. his eyes crinkle at the corners, the dimples on his cheeks deepen, and his lips stretch into a grin so wide it seems to reach his ears.

it’s as if a switch has been flipped, illuminating him from within. he steps back inside your apartment, crossing the boundary with an air of victory.

then he crosses the room and puts both arms around you, still damp, still warm, pressing his face into the side of your neck. you feel his heartbeat against your skin, still going hard. feeling the coolness of the air, his broad frame towers over you, the post match fire turning into something hotter and more possessive.

“every practice,” he says, his voice is muffled. “every single one.”

he grabs your face in both hands, his palms still hot, tipping your head back to look at you, with his chest still heaving.

“you were there,” he says, quieter now, like he’s just remembering it. “i kept looking up and you were just—” he shakes his head. his thumbs move along your jaw.

he kisses you slowly at first, almost careful, his fingers sliding back into your hair. then he makes a low sound against your mouth and pulls you in harder, and you feel the full weight of him, the heat still radiating off his skin, the locker door cold at your back.

“fuck, baby, you don’t know what it did to me seeing you out there clapping like that,” he growls, his voice low and rough. his hands are already under your shirt, palms hot and damp from the ball, sliding up to cup your tits. “all that training, all those late nights, i did it for this. just for you.” he yanks your shirt off, mouth crashing onto yours, tongue demanding and wet. you taste the salt of his sweat, feeling the hardness of his cock straining against his shorts as he grinds into your hip.

he drops to his knees without warning, dominance taking over, tugging your pants and panties down in one impatient pull. the cool air hits your bare skin, but his breath is warming. “spread for me. let me taste how proud you are of me.” his tongue drags through your folds, slow and filthy, lapping at your clit like he’s starving. you moan, fingers twisting in his curly hair, the wet sounds of his mouth filling the empty room. he groans against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you. “so fucking sweet. been thinking about this the whole match— how i’d get you dripping on my tongue.”

“yes,” you gasp out, your hips bucking against his hand. “don’t stop, jobe. please.”

your thighs shake around jode’s head, the heat of his tongue dragging merciless circles over your swollen clit while two thick fingers plunge deep, curling to reach that throbbing spot inside you. the wet sounds of his mouth fill the locker room, mixing with his scent. your own arousal coats his chin, dripping down to soak the bench beneath you as your hips jerk forward, chasing every filthy lap.

“fuck, jobe, baby p-please don’t stop,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers twist into his damp hair, yanking him closer. he growls against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight through your core, and sucks your clit harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your vision blur.

his dark eyes flick up, hungry and feral. “this pretty pussy’s squeezing my fingers like it’s asking for my cock,” he rasps, voice muffled against your folds. “soaking my face, begging to be filled.”

your walls flutter and clench, the pressure building until your back arches hard against the cold metal. he doesn’t ease up, his fingers pumping faster, and his tongue flicking in tight strokes, until the orgasm rips through you in pulsing waves. your thighs clamp around his ears, a cry tearing from your throat as fresh slick gushes over his tongue. he drinks it down with greedy laps, fingers slowing but never stopping their deep, curling thrusts, egding every last shiver from your trembling body.

jobe rises, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, a wicked smirk curling his lips. he fists the back of your neck and drags you into a bruising kiss, tongues tangling so you taste your own tangy sweetness mixed with his. the flavor floods your senses, heat starting fresh between your legs.

he stands and spins you, the roughness of the bench scraping your palms as he bends you over it. his shorts rasp down your ass cheeks, fabric whispering against sweat-slick skin before his cock springs free, thick and veined, with his swollen head slick with precum that smears hot across your thigh. he slaps it against your dripping slit, once, then twice, the wet smack echoing off the locker room tiles, the sharp sting of contact making your clit throb. “so wet, baby. so perfect for me.”

jobe pushes in slow, the blunt head stretching your entrance wide, the burn blooming deep as inch after inch fills you, your walls fluttering and gripping every ridge. the fullness punches the air from your lungs, your vision sparking white at the edges while the musky smell of his sweat and your arousal floods your nose. “god, this pussy’s gripping me like she missed me. you’re mine, please say it.” his hips snap forward, deep and steady, one hand clamping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding around to circle your swollen clit with rough fingers.

“yours— m’ yours.” whimpers came from your throat, as the slap of skin on skin rings out, wet and filthy, your moans tangling with his grunts as the bench creaks beneath you.

sweat drips from his chest onto your back, hot trails sliding down your spine, the sharp salt taste of it hitting your tongue when you lick your lips. he picks up speed, pounding harder, the wet squelch of his cock driving into your soaked cunt filling the air with every thrust. “fuck, you feel incredible. all that cheering, you always show up for me.” his fingers work faster, pinching your clit just shy of pain, the pressure building tight and hot in your core while his cock drags relentless against that spot inside you.

jobe’s voice cracks, the dominant edge fading into desperate need. “please, baby— cum on my cock. i need it. need to feel you squeeze me. ah— g-god, i love you.” he leans over you, teeth grazing your ear, breath hot and ragged, his free hand fisting your hair to yank your head back. the sound of his cock squelching into you grows frantic, the scent of sex thick and overwhelming, your inner walls clenching tighter around him with every thrust.

your body shakes, thighs trembling around his hips as your orgasm crashes through you in relentless pulses. your cunt clenches tight, gripping his thick shaft like a fist, milking every inch while hot slick floods out and coats his balls. the wet slap of skin echoes off the concrete walls, mixing with the sweetness of love that hangs heavy in the air. your nipples scrape against the rough material of the bench, sending shivers straight to your core.

he growls low, hips jerking in broken thrusts. “fuck— yes, just like that. squeeze that pretty pussy around me. please— milk every drop.” his fingers dig into your waist, bruising, yanking you back onto him as he slams quicker. the bench creaks under the force, your knees scraping the edge while his cock pulses deep inside. thick ropes of cum surge into you, hot and heavy, overflowing in sticky ropes that trickle down your inner thighs and drip onto the floor below.

his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark, tongue quieting the sting as his hands roam frantically over your damp skin. he can’t stop touching, can’t stop grinding, pushing his release deeper while the distant roar of the stadium crowd fades beneath the wet sounds of your joined bodies and the frantic beat of your hearts. the taste of him lingers on your tongue from earlier kisses, sweet and addictive, as the last vibration rips through you both.

the bench beneath you both creaks, it scrapes against your bare skin, a big contrast to the slick heat of his body against yours. squeaking and groaning under the pressure of your movements, the rhythm that mixes the pounding of your hearts. the world outside the small room fades into insignificance, the stadium long forgotten.

his love coats your skin, evidence of the passion that has just unfolded between you. it’s the way his fingers draw lazy patterns on your sweat coated back, the way his breath goes hot and ragged against your neck, and the way his lips press soft kisses to your shoulder. it’s the way he murmurs your name, like whispers that send shivers down your spine.

the taste of him dances on your tongue, a mix of salt and desire that you can’t help but want to savor. his scent fills you, musky and overpowering, paired with the sweetness of sweat and sex. his body is a furnace against yours, radiating heat that seeps into your body. his heart pounding against your back, a steady rhythm that matches the pulsing ache between your thighs. his arms wrap around you, holding you close as if he fears you might slip away.

the room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the occasional creak of the bench beneath you, and the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts his hold on you.

jobe has won matches before, but he has never looked at a trophy the way he looks at you.

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“fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice low and rough. “already dripping down my balls.” he pulls back and drives in again, the slap of skin loud in the dim room, the headboard knocking the wall. your nipples drag against the sheets with every punishing stroke, the contact sharp and perfect. you moan, the sound strangled by the metal collar around your neck, and bucky answers with a dark chuckle. “that’s it— take it. my good little slut.”

he sets an evil rhythm, hips snapping forward so his cock punches deep, stretching you wide on every thrust. the wet squelch of your cunt around him fills the air, mixed with the creak of the bed and his heavy breathing. his metal fingers flex, tightening just a fraction more, making your vision blur at the edges. the pressure makes everything sharper, the drag of his cock along your walls, the way your clit throbs untouched, the way your inner muscles flutter and grip him like you’re trying to keep him inside.

“ты такая красивая,” he mutters in russian, the words rough and filthy. “so fucking tight for me— squeezing my cock like you were made for it.” he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, metal arm still locked under your jaw. his breath is hot against your ear, “you love this, don’t you? love when i choke you while i wreck this pussy.” another hard thrust rocks you forward, your fingers claw at the sheets. pleasure building tight in your belly, rising frantic and mean.

you can’t answer with words, only broken whimpers, but your body does it for you, pushing back to meet him, cunt clenching greedily. bucky groans, the sound raw, giving you another reason to squeeze around him. “yeah, that’s it— milk me. gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it tomorrow.” his flesh hand slides between your legs, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. the overwhelming feelings, his cock pounding your g-spot, his fingers working you, makes your thighs shake. the metal arm squeezes again, just enough to make your head swim, and the lack of oxygen turns every movement dangerous.

he fucks you harder, pace turning wild, the mattress squeaking under the force. sweat drips from his chest onto your spine. you taste salt when you lick your lips. your orgasm crashes without warning, a rush that locks your muscles and forces a desperate cry from your throat. your walls spasm around him, pulsing, sucking, and bucky curses in russian, hips stuttering as he chases his own release. “Бог— fuck— take it,” he snarls, burying himself to the root and grinding deep. hot pulses of cum flood you, thick and endless, leaking out around his cock with every tiny thrust as he empties himself.

he doesn’t let go right away. the metal arm stays hooked, holding you pinned while release drives through you both. his breathing slows against your neck. finally he eases the pressure, metal fingers stroking your throat almost gently as he pulls out. cum trickles down your inner thighs, warm and slick,and you collapse forward, weak, with your heart still hammering. bucky’s flesh hand smooths down your spine, possessive and heavy.

“still so tight,” he murmurs, voice softer now but no less filthy. “gonna keep you like this all night.”

a heat crept up your cheeks, flooding straight down to your core. the conversation between frank and peter was like a bomb, sparking and crackling in the air, making your skin tingle with anticipation. it was no secret you had a little infatuation with peter, after all, with him staying with you and frank, you’d gotten to know him better. frank being frank, wasn’t clueless to your new-found obsession, in fact, he wholeheartedly welcomed it.

the bulge in peter’s pants showed he didn’t mind either.

your thighs trembled where frank held them apart, the cool air of the room brushing over your slick folds, making the wetness there feel even more obvious. you could smell your own arousal, sweet and musky, mixing with the faint scent of gunpowder from frank and the clean soap on peter’s skin. the scents mixed together, creating an intoxicating scent that made your head spin.

peter stepped closer, eyes locked between your legs, his breath already coming faster. “oh wow— that’s all for me?” his voice was shaky, filled with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. his hands were warm as they slid up your calves, a little shaky but determined. the sight of him on his knees before you sent a thrill through your body, want pooling tight in your belly.

frank’s fingers tightened on your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of your panties. “don’t just stand there like a pussy, you gotta eat her, you understand?” his voice was a rough command, the words rolling off his tongue with a raw, desirable tone. “get on your knees, kid. taste what she’s been saving for you.”

a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest, frank was pushing peter to touch you, to taste you. the thought sent a rush of heat straight to your core, your pussy clenching in response.

peter dropped to his knees without another word, his hands sliding up your body. his touch was soft against your skin, filled with an eagerness that made your breath hitch. the first brush of his tongue was purposeful, flat and wet as it dragged from your entrance up to your clit. you gasped at the wet heat of it, the slick sound filling the quiet room and echoing in your ears. your hips twitched forward on instinct, seeking more of that pleasurable contact.

“fuck, she tastes good, doesn’t she?” frank’s voice was thick with encouragement, a low growl that sent another wave of heat flooded through you. he reached down and spread your lips wider with two thick fingers, exposing you completely to peter’s eager mouth. “lick her proper. suck on that clit like you mean it.”

his words were an order, a mission that sent a thrill of excitement racing through your veins. you swallowed hard, heat tightening in your belly as you waited for what would come next.

peter’s groan vibrated against your sensitive bud, the sound shaking through your body and lighting your senses. he dove in deeper, his tongue pushing past your slick folds to explore the depths of your cunt. the sensation was addicting, his tongue exploring your wetness before circling back up to suck your swollen clit between his lips. the wet, nasty sounds of his mouth working you over filled the room, slurping and sucking, the soft scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh when his eagerness got the better of him. your hands clenched the sheets beneath you, knuckles white as your thighs shook around his head, the pleasure building fast and hot within you.

every stroke of his tongue was shocking, each flick and lap at your juices sending vibrations of pleasure rushing through you. his chin glistened with your juices, evidence of his want. frank’s hand remained firm on your hip, holding you open for peter’s eager mouth. his other hand pressed down on the back of peter’s head, guiding him, encouraging him.

“that’s it,” frank growled from behind you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “make her moan for you. she’s been wet thinking about this cock of yours for weeks.”

peter pulled back just enough to draw in a ragged breath, his lips shiny with your slick. “she’s so fucking wet ... i can’t stop.” his words were muffled as he dove back in, two fingers sliding into your tight heat while his tongue worked your clit in fast, messy, little circles. the stretch of his fingers inside you burned sweetly, his knuckles brushing against that spot inside that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids. you whimpered, the scent thickening in the air, the taste of your own arousal on his tongue when he moaned again.

frank’s body towered behind you, a force that sent a throb of need through you. his hard cock pressed against your lower back through his jeans, a reminder that he was there, watching every second, taking in the sight of peter between your thighs.

your orgasm hit sudden and sharp, walls pulsing around peter’s fingers as you cried out. your hips ground down on his face, seeking more of the addicting pleasure he provided. he didn’t stop, licking you through it, drinking every drop until you were shaking and oversensitive. frank finally pulled him back by the hair, his voice rough with want. “good boy. now fuck her. she’s ready.”

peter rose from his position between your thighs, his body trembling. his hands, slick with your juices, fumbled clumsily with the button of his pants. with a swift, impatient shove, he pushed the fabric down, revealing his cock, thick and flushed, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip like a promise of what was to come.

he lined himself up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your sensitive hole, sending a wave of pleasure through you. then, with some smooth, desperate thrusts, he buried himself deep inside you. the sudden fullness forced a loud moan from your lips, the wet slide of him inside your soaked pussy both nasty and perfect.

from behind, frank’s hand wrapped around your throat, not choking but holding you steady as peter began to move. his thrusts were hard and eager, each one highlighted by the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. each stroke dragged over that sensitive spot inside you, your juices coating his shaft and trickling down your thighs. you could hear frank’s breathing grow ragged behind you, feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the intoxicating mix of sweat and pleasure.

peter’s voice, rough and husky, broke through the pleasure that had drowned you. his words, raw and real, spilled out between grunts that echoed in the room. “so tight ...” he groaned, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “fuck, you feel so good around me.”

his hands, gripped your hips tighter, as he adjusted his angle, driving deeper into you with a force that made you gasp. the sensation was overwhelming, the lovely stretch of him inside you sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your body.

your orgasm was building fast, a wave of pleasure threatening to crash over you. it was a sensation so intense it stole your breath away, leaving you stumbling on the edge of heaven.

and then it hit, the wave crashed over you, tearing a broken sob from your throat as pleasure coursed through every part of your body. your inner walls clenched around him in response, milking him as he groaned out his own release. his hips stuttered against yours, his movements becoming frantic as he spilled hot and thick inside you. the sensation of him coming undone within you was mesmerizing, proof to the raw passion that had overtaken you both.

his breaths came out in ragged pants against your skin, his body trembling with the aftermath of his climax. his fingers dug into your flesh as he held onto you, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

the room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the ragged breaths, the soft moans, and the whispered words of satisfaction.

frank’s grip on your throat loosened, but his voice remained commanding. “clean her up, kid. use that mouth again.” peter dropped back down without hesitation, his tongue lapping at the mess he’d made. the sensation of him tasting his own cum mixed with your release sent one last shudder through you. you were left weak and panting, the room heavy with the echo of every filthy sound.

frank’s low laugh rumbled against your ear. “told you she’d be dripping for you.”

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“fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice low and rough. “already dripping down my balls.” he pulls back and drives in again, the slap of skin loud in the dim room, the headboard knocking the wall. your nipples drag against the sheets with every punishing stroke, the contact sharp and perfect. you moan, the sound strangled by the metal collar around your neck, and bucky answers with a dark chuckle. “that’s it— take it. my good little slut.”

he sets an evil rhythm, hips snapping forward so his cock punches deep, stretching you wide on every thrust. the wet squelch of your cunt around him fills the air, mixed with the creak of the bed and his heavy breathing. his metal fingers flex, tightening just a fraction more, making your vision blur at the edges. the pressure makes everything sharper, the drag of his cock along your walls, the way your clit throbs untouched, the way your inner muscles flutter and grip him like you’re trying to keep him inside.

“ты такая красивая,” he mutters in russian, the words rough and filthy. “so fucking tight for me— squeezing my cock like you were made for it.” he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, metal arm still locked under your jaw. his breath is hot against your ear, “you love this, don’t you? love when i choke you while i wreck this pussy.” another hard thrust rocks you forward, your fingers claw at the sheets. pleasure building tight in your belly, rising frantic and mean.

you can’t answer with words, only broken whimpers, but your body does it for you, pushing back to meet him, cunt clenching greedily. bucky groans, the sound raw, giving you another reason to squeeze around him. “yeah, that’s it— milk me. gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it tomorrow.” his flesh hand slides between your legs, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. the overwhelming feelings, his cock pounding your g-spot, his fingers working you, makes your thighs shake. the metal arm squeezes again, just enough to make your head swim, and the lack of oxygen turns every movement dangerous.

he fucks you harder, pace turning wild, the mattress squeaking under the force. sweat drips from his chest onto your spine. you taste salt when you lick your lips. your orgasm crashes without warning, a rush that locks your muscles and forces a desperate cry from your throat. your walls spasm around him, pulsing, sucking, and bucky curses in russian, hips stuttering as he chases his own release. “Бог— fuck— take it,” he snarls, burying himself to the root and grinding deep. hot pulses of cum flood you, thick and endless, leaking out around his cock with every tiny thrust as he empties himself.

he doesn’t let go right away. the metal arm stays hooked, holding you pinned while release drives through you both. his breathing slows against your neck. finally he eases the pressure, metal fingers stroking your throat almost gently as he pulls out. cum trickles down your inner thighs, warm and slick,and you collapse forward, weak, with your heart still hammering. bucky’s flesh hand smooths down your spine, possessive and heavy.

“still so tight,” he murmurs, voice softer now but no less filthy. “gonna keep you like this all night.”