Sophiaaa

The only alone time you ever got was at school, and even then you weren’t alone with the thousands of students and hundreds of staff.

When you did hangout one on one, it had to be monitored, either by F.R.I.D.A.Y. or another member of the team.

You preferred F.R.I.D.A.Y. because it was far less embarrassing and you could be alone in your room, but the door had to be open. She’d warn you guys to keep space between you when you’d lay in your bed, watching a movie. As soon as Peter’s arm even dared to wrap around you, she’d beep and tell him to remove his arm or else lethal action would be taken.

Peter would pull his lips into a tight line and cross his arms over his chest with a huff, no longer even interested in the movie on the laptop.

Out of all the babysitters who’d been tasked to watch the two of you, you and Peter learned who you liked best and who you despised the most.

You both mostly liked it when Natasha was in charge of watching you.

She’d let you both go into your room with the door shut because truth be told, she didn’t care.

On one occasion, however, she was banned from ever watching you two again.

The door to your bedroom was shut, the first rule already broken. Music played softly from behind the door and Natasha was sitting in the living room, legs kicked up on the coffee table, book in hand.

She checked her watch, noting that there was about another hour before Tony got back.

Unfortunately for her, you, and Peter, he was coming back earlier.

In your room, Peter sat at your desk, fixing his web shooters as you sat on your bed finishing up some homework.

Peter called you over to get your opinion on the altered design. You shot out of the bed and walked over, leaning against the desk beside him as he explained it.

You smiled. “Web grenades,” you said in awe. “That’s super cool, Peter.”

Peter’s face warmed up. “You think so?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The room went quiet, the only sound being the music.

Peter slowly leaned in as did you. Your eyes fluttered shut, nose brushing against the tip of his when-

“Parker! Out! Now!”

Peter jumped back, the desk chair falling from beneath him. He hit the floor with a loud thud, panic racing through his body.

Your eyes widened, seeing your dad in the doorway who looked like he was about five seconds away from shooting him with his repulsor.

“Mr. Stark! I-”

“Save it,” Tony lectured. “Get up and get out of here.”

Peter almost tripped trying to stand up. He grabbed his stuff and tugged his shoes on, the laces untied. He was about to leave, but stopped.

He raced over to you. “Bye! See you tomorrow!” He pecked your cheek, earning him a near death sentence.

“Oh, you little shit!” Tony yelled. “I swear, I’m gonna-!”

Peter yelped, racing out the door where you found Natasha giving you an apologetic look.

After Natasha got fired from babysitting duties, she was replaced mostly by Bruce who still gave you and Peter space, but ensured there were still boundaries that Tony wanted.

You were no longer allowed to have the boy in your room, but Bruce allowed it, so long as the door was open.

He’d swing by and check in on you both every once in a while, asking if either of you were hungry or needed anything.

The first time he babysat you both, he came by to check in on you and found you both sitting on the floor going through Peter’s comics.

Peter was flipping through one, yapping your ear off about it as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Bruce stood in the doorway for a moment, a small smile on his lips. He cleared his throat and immediately you both jumped back, pretending that you weren’t so close.

“Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “You don’t have to worry about me telling Stark,” he laughed. “I was just going to order a pizza. What kind do you kids want?”

And that was the moment you two started to prefer it when Bruce was on patrol.

Then, there was the worst of the worst.

Sam and Bucky.

The first time you realized they were the ones on watch for the day, you told Peter to just not come over.

He insisted on coming over because he wanted to ‘spend time with his girlfriend’, which he unfortunately ended up regretting.

For starters, they heavily enforced the rules. You and Peter weren’t allowed in your room under any circumstances.

You had to sit on the couch, at least two cushions apart while Sam and Bucky monitored from the chairs directly across from you.

It was so incredibly awkward for two teenagers, but they seemed entertained by it.

At first, neither you nor Peter spoke, you just glared at Bucky while Peter stared at the floor, too nervous to meet the gaze of either men.

And it stayed like that for about twenty minutes until Sam spoke up.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you two want to hangout so bad if all you do is sit in silence? Aren’t you gonna do something?”

“What are we allowed to do?” you asked. “I feel like I’m in prison on a monitored visit.”

Bucky shrugged, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Talk, watch something, play with those stupid legos you guys like,” he suggested. “I don’t know. Just stop staring at me, it’s getting weird now.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous,” you grumbled.

Peter turned towards you, trying to make the best of the situation. “I was talking to Ned about Homecoming and we were thinking that-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “Absolutely not.”

Peter pressed his brows together, slowly turning to face Bucky with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“No,” Sam chimed in, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You blinked. “No, what?”

“No!” Bucky and Sam shouted at the same time as if it were obvious.

Peter sank back into the couch, face flushed pink.

You pulled your lips into a tight line, shifting awkwardly.

If you could blow up the entire tower as revenge, you would. You couldn’t understand why your dad had these stupid rules in the first place and you certainly couldn’t understand why Sam and Bucky felt the need to even enforce them.

You supposed they just enjoyed watching you and Peter suffer.

It was dead silent again until you made a suggestion.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, sure!”

You got up and grabbed the remote, turning the T.V. on. You and Peter both settled on Star Wars and before you could even hit play, Bucky snatched the remote from your hand.

“Hey!” you exclaimed. “Give that back!”

“We’re not watching that,” he said, exiting out of the screen. He stood beside the couch, right where you were standing, one hand on his hip as if he were watching an intense match of Sunday night football. “We’re watching something else.”

You groaned and threw your head back. “You know, you don’t have to watch it if you leave.”

“And leave you two alone?” Sam chuckled. “No way.”

Bucky clicked a few buttons and suddenly a new movie was playing.

“What the hell is this?” you asked as both men moved their chairs to either side of the couch.

“A real movie,” Bucky said plainly, and suddenly you recognized the movie he had played on numerous occasions.

Some old war movie from what you thought to be a hundred years ago. It probably predated the dinosaurs which was when you thought Steve and Bucky were born.

“I don’t wanna watch this,” you whined. “Put it back on Star Wars.”

“No,” Bucky said. “Now be quiet and watch. This is important historical stuff.”

Your jaw tightened as you side eyed him from beside you. You turned your gaze to the screens and immediately started to grow bored.

You were about thirty minutes in and Peter was starting to grow antsy too.

He glanced over at you and you smiled softly at him.

His fingers slowly slid across the cushions, yours doing the same until you met halfway.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you both looked back to the screen.

It stayed that way for about two minutes because Sam glanced over to check on you. He leaned forward in his chair and did a double take before he shot up from his seat.

“Oh, hell no!”

Sam and Bucky forced you both apart and ended up kicking Peter out, telling an over exaggerated story to your father about what happened.

And that was when you decided you hated them as babysitters.

Wanda and Loki came along and because of their powers, they always knew what was going on, no matter how sneaky you thought you were, which started to grow annoying.

Wanda didn’t necessarily care what you were doing, but she did start to care when all she could hear was the sounds of you two kissing behind closed doors. That was when she said you weren’t allowed to kiss anymore.

Loki told the entire tower a long while ago that he ‘despised the Stark witch with purple powers’, so naturally when he came along, it felt like you were under house arrest. Sometimes Peter could try to sneak a kiss from you and end up blasted twenty feet away from you. Other times, Loki wouldn’t even let you look or speak to Peter.

Then there was Thor who would quite literally sit between you two on the couch, telling stories about his life as a young boy on Asgard while smacking on an entire box of Poptarts with his mouth wide open.

And then there was Vision who took his job incredibly seriously, making the tower feel like a prison.

Steve came around every once in a while and ran the place like the damn navy, enforcing rules left and right like his life depended on it.

Then there was Clint…

One time he pretended not to care what you and Peter did, which resulted in you both in your room with the door shut. You were in the middle of a pretty intense game of Mario Kart when Clint came plummeting through the vent, straight into your room.

He was spying on you both through the goddamn vents!

Soon enough, you and Peter came to the realization that the only way to actually be able to spend time with one another would be to sneak you out of the tower.

So, you used your genius little Stark brain to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y. and disengage all defense systems at your bedroom window.

It was half past midnight and no one ever came by your room that late.

Now was the perfect time to head out.

A soft thud hit your window and you smiled, seeing a masked hero waving at you on the other side, the little spider lenses conveying excitement.

You opened up and your window and your boyfriend landed inside your room with quiet, practiced ease.

“Hi,” he whispered, cheesing from under his mask.

You smirked. “Hi.” You walked over to him, and his hands found your waist. Your fingers came up and lifted his mask just above his nose, pecking his lips quickly before pulling his mask back down.

Peter’s face flushed pink. “Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah, just need my jacket,” you whispered, heading for your closet.

“Tiny Stark?”

You froze, a small gasp escaping you.

Peter glanced at you, fear in his eyes.

“Yeah…?”

“You okay?” the voice you recognized as Thor yawned.

“Yeah.”

…

…

…

“Is someone in there? I thought I heard you talking.”

“I’m…I’m on the phone. With- with uh- MJ.”

…

…

…

“Makes sense. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

You stood there for a second, listening to Thor’s footsteps head back to his room. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

You grabbed your coat and slipped it on. Peter held his arms out to you, and you wrapped your legs around him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He climbed out of the window and shut it quietly.

“Ready?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes. “No,” you replied honestly. “Just go.”

Peter jumped off of the side of the tower, flicking his wrist, a line of web catching onto the neighboring building.

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed, freaking out. You gripped onto him tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as your stomach dropped with each and every swing.

“It’s okay!” Peter chuckled. “I’ve got you!”

“What the hell!” you exclaimed, nails digging into the back of his suit. “How do you do this?!”

Thankfully the swing to Peter’s apartment wasn’t too far. He landed on the window and opened it, helping you inside.

You climbed in and gasped, clutching your stomach as he climbed inside, shutting the window.

“You okay?” he asked, yanking his mask off and tossing it aside.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah…I don’t know how you do that without throwing up,” you grimaced.

Peter chuckled. “Wanna build legos without getting yelled at?” he asked, already making his way over to his stash.

“Yeah!” you beamed.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Little did you know before sneaking out, Tony couldn’t sleep. He was up late at night down in the lab, tinkering as he always did when his mind wasn’t at ease.

He’d been hearing all about how you and Peter were breaking rules left and right and how the babysitting situation with Loki had gotten so out of hand that Peter refused to come over anymore, much to your dismay.

Nat had gotten into Tony’s ear about letting you be a teenager and have your boyfriend over without overbearing you two. There was no issue with ground rules, the issues stemmed from how ridiculous they were.

With a loud clank, Tony stropped his screw driver and pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that he should probably talk to you about it. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., check to see if the little Stark is sleeping.”

“Checking in on Stark Jr.”

Tony started mumbling to himself about how stupid the whole situation was. He couldn’t understand why you had to choose Peter of all people and he couldn’t understand why you even wanted a boyfriend.

Not too long ago you were ranting about how stupid boys were but as soon as Peter came into your life, you only ever wanted to be around one person, which was him.

“I am unable to contact her through her bedroom. It would appear that all communication systems have been disabled in her room and that all defense systems outside her room have been disengaged.”

Tony blinked, nodding his head as he was both impressed and shocked that you’d do such a thing.

Then again, you were his daughter.

“Huh…” he muttered to himself. “Give me playback on Parker’s suit,” he said, pushing his rolling chair across the floor to his monitor. Immediately, he put two and two together. You and Peter were up to something.

“All recording systems inside of the suit have also been disabled.”

Tony stared at his reflection in the monitor, his finger hovering over the power button. “Those little shitheads…”

Tony leaped up from his desk. “Gather the team, would you? We’re going to find them.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Peter had changed out of his suit into pajama pants and some nerdy t-shirt Ned gave him for Christmas. You were sitting on the floor across from each other assembling legos, the Imperial Star Destroyer to be exact.

Peter was babbling on and on about the small missions he had been taking to save the city, ranging from saving a cat from a tree and helping an old woman cross the road.

You couldn’t help but to smile at how excited he was to save people. It was absolutely adorable.

You snapped a couple of lego pierces together and giggled as he mimicked bank alarms going off, and flicking his wrist as if to show you how he swung in to save the day.

Little did the two of you know, outside, the entire team of heroes were on high alert searching for you.

“I’ve got eyes on the target,” Clint said through the radio.

He was perched on a building across the way from Peter’s apartment, an arrow aimed right at the window.

“Where?” Tony asked almost immediately.

“His place.”

“Well, what are they doing?”

Clint chuckled. “Building…legos.”

Loki’s laugh echoed through the comms. “You mean to tell me this idiot mortal flying around in a bucket of bolts dragged us all out here to look for his offspring who’s building legos?”

“She seriously snuck out to build goddamn legos?” Bucky scoffed over the comms. “Real fine parenting, Stark.”

Nat hummed. “Weren’t you the one who told Tony her and Peter were breaking all the rules while you were on babysitting duty?”

“Because they were,” Sam interjected. “They were holding hands.”

“What’s so bad about hand holding?” Bruce asked with an awkward laugh.

“You know,” Thor’s voice boomed, making Clint wince and take his ear piece out, still able to make out everything Thor was saying. “Back on Asgard, there was this myth that said if you held hands with your lover for an extended period of time, nothing in the cosmos could tear you apart.”

“Well, I’m about to tear them apart,” Tony announced. “I’m going in.”

“Why?” Wanda asked. “They’re not doing anything harmful.”

“Stark loves control,” Steve retorted.

“Uh…” Nat trailed off. “They both told me that you pulled out a tape measure to make sure they were three feet apart. Sounds like you’re equally controlling.”

“Structure isn’t control.”

Tony landed on the building beside Clint who was putting his ear piece back in. “How long have they been building legos for?”

Clint shrugged. “Since I got here.”

Tony watched through the window as Peter carefully took the pieces you assembled and clicked it to the ones he assembled.

Peter smiled and put his hand up, high fiving you.

“They’re kinda cute,” Nat said, suddenly appearing beside Tony.

Tony flinched, catching his breath. “Can you stop doing your spy shit on us? You’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”

Clint only chuckled, completely used to Nat sneaking up on people.

“You’re going to give yourself one if you keep losing your mind over every little thing she does,” she said.

“Can we go home now, or what?” Loki asked over the comms. “I’m losing my eight hours of sleep.”

Before Tony could say something snarky, Nat spoke up. “Yes, you can all go back. Stark thanks you all for your help.”

“No he doesn’t,” Bucky grimaced.

Clint grabbed his arrows. “I’m out. Don’t kill her, she’s kind of funny, slightly less annoying than you,” he said, placing a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony flipped him off and he climbed down from the building.

The team headed home, leaving Nat and Tony on the roof.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh as he watched you start to put together the next pieces of the lego set, glancing up at Peter every now and then with such a loving look in your eyes.

“I hate having to watch her grow up,” he mumbled.

Nat turned to him with a small smile. “I can imagine how difficult it is, but the more you try to stop her, the more she’ll fight you on it. Like right now,” she said, motioning to the window. “She literally just snuck out to build legos. That’s insane, Tony.”

Tony groaned. “Why does she even want a boyfriend? Life was so easy when that freaking kid wasn’t here. Maybe I’ll kill him.”

“You won’t,” Nat laughed. “You like him and honestly, you should be glad she chose him. He likes her a lot.”

Tony hummed. “I guess he’s a half decent kid…”

Back inside the bedroom, Peter’s brows pressed together as he glanced out of the window.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Peter’s spider senses were going off, alerting him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. “I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I feel like someone’s watching us or something.”

You glanced out the window, not seeing anything. “I don’t see anything, Peter.”

Peter got up and drew the curtains back, returning back to the floor, but instead of sitting across from you, he sat beside you.

“You don’t think your dad knows…” he whispered, as if he were lurking somewhere. “Do you?”

You shrugged. “Honestly, if he knew, he would’ve probably blasted you with a bomb by now.”

Peter’s brows rose. “How reassuring.”

You giggled and pecked him on the lips. “You’ll be fine.”

You went to put the lego pieces back together, but Peter’s hand grabbed your waist. You turned your gaze back to him. “What?”

“You can’t just kiss me on the lips like that and turn away from me,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks and nose burning pink.

Your lips curved upward as you leaned in, kissing him slowly as he melted into it.

His hand came up and cupped your face softly, lips moving against yours gently, causing you to sigh in content.

Finally, you could kiss your boyfriend in piece.

No babysitters.

No threats.

No interruptions-

“Open the curtains or I’ll send a repulsor through it.”

You and Peter pulled away, shock on your faces at hearing your father’s voice through Peter’s phone.

“What the?!” Peter exclaimed. “How did you-”

“Five, four, three, two-”

“Okay! Okay!” Peter said, scrambling to his feet and yanking the curtains open only to find Tony hovering there in his suit.

“Sneaking out to build legos, huh?” he asked, looking right at you.

You rolled your eyes. “And make out, but-”

“Don’t say that!” Peter hissed, fearing for his life.

“Open this window,” Tony demanded.

Peter gave you a petrified look before opening the window with shaking hands.

The head of your father’s suit turned to you, then back to Peter. “Take her back home. Right now,” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Stark!” Peter replied.

“And you,” Tony said, turning to face you. “You’re grounded for…I don’t know how long but you’re grounded.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

You were in fact not grounded.

Natasha had gotten into Tony’s ear again about letting you be a teenager and explained to him that he could set boundaries without being overbearing.

So, that’s how Peter ended up allowed back at the tower in your bedroom, but the door had to stay cracked open a minimum of three inches and you had to stay at least two feet apart from one another instead of three.

No kissing, hand holding, or hugging was allowed.

It was so stupid, but you went along with it.

Until you didn’t.

You’d leave the door cracked open and kiss Peter all you wanted, listening for footsteps. Whenever you two heard them, you’d separate and act like you weren’t doing anything.

You got away with it for a long time until Tony caught you both one day and realized that you had been breaking rules all along.

He was walking up to your room to see if you wanted some of the dinner Wanda had whipped up.

The soft hum of music played from your room and he could faintly make out one additional sound.

The unmistakable sound of two people kissing.

He slowly peaked through the crack in your door and low and behold, you and Peter were making out on your bed.

“Hey!” he shouted.

You gasped, pulling away from Peter. Eyes wide, you stuck your hand out, purple mist covering the door handle and slamming the wood shut.

Tony yanked at the door, banging on it with his fist. “You open this goddamn door, right now!”

A few seconds later, your hold on the door loosened and Tony came crashing inside, a vein or two popping out of his forehead.

You were sitting on one end of the bed, Peter on the other with a comic in his hands, acting as if he had been reading it the whole time and not making out with you.

Tony glanced between the two of you, blinking rapidly as if it would magically put you back into the position you had been caught in just seconds ago.

For a second he thought he was losing his mind until you spoke up. Then it hit him that you were messing with him.

You smirked at your dad’s face. “What?” you asked.

Tony was at a loss for words after that.

He didn’t want you to sneak around him anymore and he thought he was making the rules less strict, so he couldn’t understand why you continued to go against his word.

After a week of you and Peter pulling the same stunt, he had grown tired of it.

He went to Natasha, the only person he thought could help.

“And they just won’t stop,” he went on, pacing his lab. “I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Nat sat at one of the spinning chairs and shrugged. “I mean…they’re just kissing, right?”

“But it’s constant!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “And she’s only doing it to piss me off.”

“Well it’s working,” Nat laughed.

Tony sighed and leaned against the metal of the desk. “I’m going to have an aneurysm.”

Nat sighed and kicked her feet up onto the desk. “Just…talk to them,” she said plainly. “Get on their level and have a conversation. Tell them that he’s allowed over but they have to keep the door open.”

“I did!”

“No,” Nat said with a head shake. “You said they have to keep the door open and they can’t even hold hands,” she corrected. “You can’t set ridiculous ground rules and expect them to follow the illogical ones.”

Tony groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t you just talk to them for me? You’re good at the whole…heart to heart thing.”

Growing up, your father’s father wasn’t really the greatest parent, and Tony didn’t want to follow in those steps. However, because he had a shitty father, he wasn’t so sure how to get on your level and have a conversation like the one Nat was proposing without snapping.

Nat snorted. “She’s not my kid.”

“Yeah, but she acts like you’re her mom so…”

“No Tony, you can do it.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Tony sat on the stairs just a few feet away from your bedroom, reading over the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.

Steve walked by and eyed him. “What’s that?”

Tony rubbed his eyes. “A heart to heart.”

“You have a heart?” Steve asked, earning a glare from Tony. “My fault,” he said, pulling his lips into a tight line.

Tony raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. “My fault?” he repeated. “How old are you?”

Steve smiled, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket. “Parker and your daughter have been teaching me all the ‘hip’ lingo.”

Tony cringed. “For the love of God, don’t say ‘hip’.”

Steve flipped through his pages. “Oh! Right here…” he said, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see better.

“Please don’t,” Tony sighed. “I really don’t have the patience for this.”

“Captain America mogs Iron Man,” Steve said proudly with a smile, shutting his book. “It basically means-”

“I know what it means,” Tony deadpanned. He swatted his hand at Steve. “Now, get out of here please. And I hope you realize no one says that in real life.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something but stopped.

Just a few feet away, Steve and Tony could hear you and Peter kissing from outside of your door and the sound of both of your soft giggles in between them.

Steve smirked at Tony’s jaw clenching. “Duty calls,” he said, nodding at Tony before taking a step past him down the stairs. He stopped about two steps below the one Tony was sitting at. “Sounds like Parker’s got rizz.”

“Literally no one says that,” Tony said, completely exasperated. “They’re setting you up to get bullied, by the way.”

Steve shrugged, waltzing down the stairs.

Tony groaned. “I hate this tower,” he mumbled to himself before standing up and making his way over to your bedroom door. 

He could still faintly hear you and Peter kissing over the music, followed by your giggle.

“Peter, stop!”

“You don’t like it?”

“No!” you laughed.

Peter hummed and again, the sound of kissing ensued.

Tony shut his eyes in annoyance and knocked. “Hey…” he trailed off. “I…I just wanna talk.”

The door slowly creaked open, purple mist on the handle.

You sat on one end of the bed, Peter on the other, who gave Tony an annoyed look, which was the first time he had done so, but at this point, he was completely unaware of his expressions. He just wanted to go back to kissing you and hearing your soft laughter at his antics.

Tony shut the door and walked into your room, grabbing your desk chair and pulling it up beside your bed. “We need to talk,” he said, a slight nervousness in his tone that was a few seconds away from being taken advantage of.

“Okay…?” you said, completely unaware as to where this was going, because never in your life had you seen your father so awkward.

You and Peter shifted, moving to sit beside one another, legs criss crossed. The music still played, adding to the awkwardness.

“I wanted…” he trailed off, shutting his eyes. “I- what I- goddamn it!” he exclaimed, losing his train of thought over the music. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., kill the music, would you?”

“Stopping the music.”

Tony let out a sigh and clicked his tongue. “I was trying to say that…we uh…oh shit, uhm…” He blinked, looking up at the ceiling trying to remember the not so passive aggressive words Natasha told him to use.

Peter slowly leaned over to you, whispering something into your ear that Tony couldn’t make out.

You immediately giggled, nodding your head in agreement.

You both looked back at your father, and you tried your best to conceal the laugh coming out, but failed miserably.

Tony watched, lips parted. He glanced at you, then looked to your boyfriend who he now wanted to kill. “Alright, you know what. It’s your Aunt May,” he said suddenly, staring daggers at Peter.

Peter blinked, his heart already beating a million miles a minute. “What?! Aunt May?!”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Something happened. Something bad.”

“Is she gonna be okay?!”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know, but we should leave and get you back home.”

Peter followed Tony out of the Tower and into his car, but not before giving you a quick kiss.

In the car, he was freaking out, insisting that he should just swing to his apartment to get there faster.

“But, Mr. Stark, if I swing I can-”

“You don’t need to-”

“My aunt! What if she-”

“Relax.”

“Oh, my gosh what if-”

“Would you just put a cork in it-”

“Aunt May-!”

Tony slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road, making a hundred cars honk at him. “Look! Nothing is wrong with your Aunt May!”

“…Huh…?”

Tony lightly let off the gas, driving down the street, eyes fixated on the road. “There’s nothing wrong with your aunt,” he said, tone more leveled.

“I don’t understand,” Peter said. “You said that-”

“I know what I said and I said that because there’s something very wrong with what’s going on between you and my daughter.”

Peter’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be banned from the tower again and he sure as hell didn’t want you to not be allowed to date him.

“Oh, Mr. Stark,” he said. “I’m sorry I…I don’t know what I’m sorry for because apparently even breathing in her presence is a crime but-”

“Look, pal,” Tony said, holding a finger up in Peter’s face. “Watch that mouth on you.”

Peter sunk in his seat. “Sorry…”

“I don’t understand why you two constantly need to be kissing or touching each other,” he grimaced. “If you would behave like normal human beings, then maybe we wouldn’t need such intense ground rules.”

Peter blinked. “What’s the point in having a girlfriend if you can’t kiss her? You’re basically just friends at that point.”

“Then just be friends.”

“But I wanna kiss her!”

Tony yanked the wheel, making Peter hit his head against the glass. He parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face Peter properly.

“Do you want to be banned from the tower again?”

“No…” Peter grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.

“Okay. Then you can…date…” Tony grimaced, as if the words pained him to say. “…my daughter, so long as you don’t kiss and leave six feet between you two.”

“I thought it was two!”

“Well, it’s six now!”

Peter sat up straight, a pleading look in his eye. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, your daughter is the best thing that has happened to me,” he said sincerely.

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, she kinda has that effect on people. She gets it from me.”

“Sure,” Peter deadpanned, rolling his eyes with a sass Tony hadn’t seen. “Anyway, my point is, I can’t just be her friend. I…I love her.”

Tony’s eyes widened as his brows rose. “You? Love my daughter?”

Peter’s face flushed pink, realizing that he had just admitted it out loud. He loved Tony Stark’s daughter. “Yes.”

Tony stared at Peter for a long while, so long that Peter was beginning to think that he was plotting ways to kill him.

“Incoming call from Romanoff,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.

“Answer it,” Tony said.

“Tony,” Natasha’s voice came in sternly.

“Natasha.”

“Where are you? Where is Peter?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Natasha said. “But you should be.”

Tony’s brows pressed together. “Why?”

“Because your daughter and Loki are using their voodoo magic stuff to try and curse you.”

“What?! I thought he didn’t like her!”

“Turns out he does, so I would highly suggest bringing Peter back.”

If there was one thing Tony was afraid of, it was you and the God of Mischief himself teaming up to plot his demise.

“So…does this mean I can still date your daughter?” Peter asked optimistically, leaning over the center console.

“No.”

Over the line, the two could make out the voices of you and Loki.

“Lethal or non lethal?” Loki asked.

You hummed. “Which do you recommend?”

“Lethal,” he responded without hesitation.

“Lethal it is.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, eyes going wide.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice, Mr. Stark.” Peter smirked.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

More tower fics to come! Avengers Tower masterlist!

A/N: Feel free to send in tower fic requests! I’ve been so obsessed with them again, 12 year old me would be proud

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!)

Peter watches from the entry way of the apartment with a smile of his own. He told you earlier that night that he would happily be your DD from girl's night, you told him to come pick you up before midnight so you could still get up for work the next morning. He's not sure if work is happening for you tomorrow as he watches you jump around the room singing bad Jonas Brothers karaoke.

Your face absolutely lights up when you spot him.

"Peter!" You practically squeal, your mouth open in a wide smile. "Guys, it's my best friend Peter!" You informed the group like they had no idea who he was. Peter doesn't hide the small laugh that escapes him at your delight to seeing him.

A chorus of "Hi, Pete" comes from the girls, he waves in return.

"Peter, are you-" you hiccup and almost stumble over a stray shoe on your journey across the living room to him. He catches you by the elbows easily, enhanced relfexes and all that jazz. Your hands find purchase on his biceps.

"Are you taking me home?" You try to focus your eyes on him but end up giggling instead.

"Yeah, I'm here to take you home. Told you I would." He answers. You're too far gone to notice how gentle his voice is when he speaks to you.

You gasp, your eyes twinkling, "Oh, my hero." Your coo melts into something warm that makes Peter's cheeks flare pink.

"I'm not-" he mumbles bashfully, "I said I'd pick you up, so…"

"Aww!" Comes from the couch and Peter finally snaps out of his daze. His cheeks turn a darker shade when he realizes all of his friends are watching the two of you.

"I need-" you turn serious, your brows furrowing in concentration, "my shoes!" You finally remember, letting go of Peter's arms so you could gather your things. "And my purse! And my phone! And my Peter!"

"My Peter." Sticks with Peter, leaving him just a little dumbfounded as he watches you stumble around and gather everything.

It doesn't take long for you to find your things with Peter grabbing things you've left behind while trying to say goodbye to your girlfriends — your purse that you grabbed but sat down to hug one, your phone that slipped from your hand when you tried to shove it in your back pocket, your jacket that you handed him without thinking because it was "too hot".

"Ready?" He finally asks by the front door.

"Ready!" You mock solute him, causing him to chuckle to himself again.

"Get her home safe, My Peter." One of your friends teases from the couch. He merely shakes his head before giving them all a wave as he guides you out of the door and into the hallway.

It doesn't take long to get you home after that with the Uber already waiting outside - because no way is he daring to attempt to walk you home when you're this drunk.

"Where's your key?" Peter asks with his hand out when the two of you finally make it back to your apartment, standing in the dim hallway.

He lets out a sigh when you merely drop your purse in his outstretched hand.

"What do you keep in here?" He mumbles as he digs through your purse.

Gum, a few stray pieces of candy, a pad and a couple tampons, loose medication - Tylenol? he has no idea - a pair of headphones, three pens but no paper, a charger, your wallet, a custom Spiderman Sonny Angel that he's definitely going to make fun of you for later, and finally! Your house key, loose at the bottom of your purse.

"We need to have a serious talk about your hoarding." Peter tells you as he slides the key in and unlocks the door.

"I don't hoard. That stuff is important." You mumble as you start to shuffle in behind him. You're finally starting to get tired from all of the alcohol in your system.

"You definitely hoard." He smiles to himself before setting your purse on the couch.

He guides you back to your room, making sure you don't crash on your couch — he's done it far too many times and knows it'll only make you feel worse in the long run with your impending hangover.

"I'm going to grab water and any sort of pain meds that I hope you do have because I'm not giving you the mystery pill from your purse." Peter says before leaving you in your room to change clothes.

He hears a soft, "That's where my Azo went…" as he makes his way back to your kitchen.

He comes back not even five minutes later to find you laying back on your bed with sweatpants on and your shirt on half of your body. He stills as he stares at you but you're staring at the ceiling with one arm in a sleeve and the other out with your stomach on display.

"Um-" he clears his throat.

"I got stuck." You pout as your bottom lip pulls down into a frown.

Tired, emotional, drunk — it was definitely time to get you in bed.

Peter ignores the tight warmth in his chest and instead sets down the Advil he found and glass of water on your dresser. He's quiet when he stands in front of you, his knees brushing yours, his hand gentle against your wrist as he guides you up.

"Up you go." He says quietly. "Let me help."

"Aw," your voice cracks as Peter gently guides your arm into the sleeve of your shirt, "My Peter…." He's sure you're about to start crying and that makes him panic every time.

His eyes go wide briefly, again ignoring that sputtering of his heart at the term, and helps you lay back on your bed.

"Shh, don't- don't start cryin'." He murmurs to you.

You're his best friend, he's yours. You're always together, and if you're not? You're both thinking about each other. You're the only person who knows his secrets, every single one of them. The only person he lets hang off of him, the only person he lets touch him so intimately when you're patching him up after a rough night. He's not sure when his feelings for you grew, but somewhere over the years you became the only person that Peter trusted more than anyone else in his life.

Did you feel the same way? He had no idea and part of him didn't want to know. The thought of losing you as a friend was the only thing that scared Peter in this world. Villains, crooks with guns, bad guys with alien tech, aliens themselves? None of it came close to the fear he felt when he imagined you not being in his life.

"Peter?" You spoke up again to get his attention. He finally snaps out of his train of thought and looks over at you.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Will you stay here tonight?" You repeat yourself, your voice softer now. "I'm scared." You admit.

Peter smiles, soft and lopsided, and sits at the edge of your bed. "Scared?" He echoes quietly. "What're you scared of?"

You try to keep your bottom lip from wobbling before you answer, "Dunno… just scared." It comes out in a whisper now.

He's pretty sure his heart just shattered and fell into his stomach at the look on your face. Finally he nods.

"Of course I'll stay. What kind of superhero would I be if I didn't protect you?"

"Thank you," you sniffle. Then it's like your mood does a complete 180 and you pat the empty spot next to you. "Sleep over! Get in bed and we can pillow talk."

Peter looks at you stunned like he's just experienced whiplash. He exhales a laugh through his nose with an amused shake of his head before turning off your bedroom light.

"Yay, sleep over." He says as he's slipping off his shoes and crawling onto the bed next to you. He stays above the covers, always respectful of your space.

"Perfect." You hum happily as you close your eyes, relaxing into the mattress and covers that surround you.

"Yeah, perfect." He mumbles to himself as he makes himself comfortable. With his head on your pillow, soft brown hair splaying out against the soft pillow case, he looks over at you. "Alright, what are we pillow talking about? How the Jonas Brothers would be ashamed of your performance tonight?"

But he doesn't get an answer from you. In the quiet of your room all he can hear is your soft snores, barely there puffs of air letting him know that you're already out cold. He chews at the inside of his cheek as he traces the outline of your profile.

If this is as close as he can ever get to you? He'll take it.

p!link for visual (please god do NAWT delete this one)

imagine — you're half floating away in bliss and half residing on Earth because Ryland has been fucking you since three rounds ago. he'd knitted a bean bag specifically for this purpose, and that is, in an attempt to "ground" you. but two rounds in, you start to wonder if this was really his objective. does he want to keep you tethered to the terrestrial world, or is he just using this as leverage against you, so he can ascertain that he's effectively driving you to the brink of euphoric stupor?

but of course; this is all lost on you. all that really registers is every inward surge of Ryland's hips, jostling you where you lay and sending bolts of pleasure from your core to the base of the skull. and you feel him all over. you're nowhere and everywhere at same time. Ryland tries to reel you back in by lovingly reminding you to squeeze the bean bag — a direct antithesis to the way he's practically pummeling you into the pillow that he's lodged between your lower back and the mattress — though he sees that you're far too fucked out to even do it yourself. he laughs. it's low and velvety and so infuriatingly effective at making you even more wet, and he makes it worse because he dips down to whisper and tease you about your current state.

Your father was the one and only, infamous, genius, billionaire, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man.

Of course, you somehow managed to be kidnapped by Hydra and experimented on, giving you powers that, oddly enough, were just like Wanda’s, but purple.

Due to this, your father was the most over protective person in your life.

You went to Midtown High, and tried to live a semi normal lifestyle. Everyone knew you were Tony Stark’s daughter. Who didn’t?

What they didn’t know was that you had super powers.

That was just one of your secrets.

Your biggest secret was that you were dating the new intern at the tower.

You were shocked to see the boy in your chem class at the tower one morning. Your father introduced you two and made it clear to the Parker boy that you were ‘off limits’.

But, oh boy, could Peter not resist you.

It didn’t take long for him to find any excuse to be around you.

He was officially an Avenger now. Of course he had to check your room for any potential threats.

He was totally failing science. Of course he needed to study with you.

It didn’t take long for you to take a liking to the boy. But, you couldn’t date him. Your father would kill you. The rest of the team wouldn’t live it down. Your first boyfriend and it was the intern?

What you could do, was date him in secret.

You were perched on the edge of your bed, in your pajamas, rock music playing from one of your speakers.

You were busily tinkering with one of Peter’s web shooters. He accidentally broke it and totally couldn’t fix it on his own.

He’d have to come by your room that night to pick it up from you.

You jumped and gasped at the sound of something hitting your window.

You rose to your feet and drew back the curtain to reveal your boyfriend in his spider suit.

“Hi!” he beamed from outside, clinging to the window.

You chuckled and opened the window, shushing him. “Someone might hear!” you whisper shouted.

Your heart beat in excitement. There was something exhilarating about doing something you knew you’d be crucified for.

Peter climbed into your room with ease, shutting the window behind him. “No one ever hears,” he replied, taking his mask off.

His hair was an absolute mess. His eyes were bright and full of love. He placed a kiss to your check and smiled down at you. “Did you finish fixing the web shooter?” he asked curiously.

“No,” you sighed dramatically. “This is sooo hard to fix,” you said sarcastically.

Peter hummed and his hands found your waist. “Guess I’ll have to stay then.”

You looked up at him with loving eyes. “I guess so.”

Peter giggled as he pulled you in close for a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft against yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

You pushed him back gently, he stumbled back, legs hitting the edge of your bed. He sat on your bed, pulling you on top of him.

His hands roamed your hips and back as your lips moved in perfect harmony.

He pulled away briefly to admire your face. “Gosh, I love you,” he breathed out.

You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you too.”

He smiled and pulled you in for another kiss.

Your hands found his chest and you pushed him back, so that you were both now lying down, you on top of him.

One of his gloved hands held your waist while the other roamed through your hair.

Suddenly, you swore you heard the sound of something in your ceiling.

You pulled away and Peter gave you a confused look. “Did you hear that?” you asked.

Peter blinked. “No. Just the music,” he replied.

“Edith, turn the music off, please,” you asked the artificial intelligence.

“Turning the music off Stark Jr.”

The music turned off and the room fell silent.

“Maybe it was the song,” Peter suggested, pulling you back in for another kiss.

You hummed against his lips, ignoring whatever it was you thought you heard.

Thud

You gasped at the loud thud in your room. You pulled away and looked to your bedroom floor.

None other than Clint was on the floor looking at you with a petrified expression.

“Clint?!” you shouted, nearly flying off of Peter. “I told you to stay out of the vents!”

Clint had a bad habit of hanging out in the vents, and of course he had to just fall out of the vent in your room.

Where you were making out with your super secret boyfriend.

Peter jumped out of your bed and stood beside you, looking guilty as hell.

Clint looked between you and Peter with his jaw dropped. “You’ve been kissing on the new intern?!” he exclaimed. “Ooo, I’m telling your daddy!”

Your eyes, as well as Peter’s, widened in horror. “No!” you both shouted.

Clint looked at you, amused. “Give me one good reason to not.”

“He’s gonna kill me!” you exclaimed. “Please, Clint! Be the cool uncle you are!”

Your father was the last person you needed to know about Peter.

Clint, sure.

Tony Stark? No way.

Clint shrugged. “That’s not a good reason. I don’t really care.”

Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Natasha asked from outside.

Your eyes widened as Clint raced to the door to open it and show Natasha the scene that was unfolding. “No!” you exclaimed, sticking your hand out to throw Clint back, a purple mist covering him.

“Hey! Don’t use your powers on me you little witch!” he shouted, sliding across the floor.

Natasha furrowed her brows from outside. “Clint? What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” you told her.

“I’m coming in there,” she said, barging through the door.

The door flew open and she looked to see you, face flushed with embarrassment, and Clint lying on the floor.

No Peter in her eyesight.

“What is happening?” she asked, confused. “Why are you yelling?”

“Because he won’t stay out of the vents!” you said, pointing a finger at him.

Clint rose to his feet with a laugh. “Tell her what really happened.”

“It’s true!”

Clint shook his head. “No, she was making out with some boy,” he told Natasha dramatically.

You swallowed, hard, eyes darting to Natasha who blinked. “What boy? There’s no one in here.”

Clint furrowed his brows and looked around your room.

Peter was gone.

“What?!” Clint exclaimed. “He was just here!”

Clint ducked to look under your bed, marched to your closet and opened the door, even checked your bathroom.

No Peter.

You looked up at your ceiling slowly.

There, Peter clung to it, putting a finger to his lips.

Your eyes widened, praying no one would look up.

“He was here!” Clint defended himself. “I swear!”

Natasha looked at you with raised brows. You pulled your lips into a tight line. “Right…” she trailed off.

You screamed and jumped back, as Vision phased through the wall. “Vision! Use the door!” you ridiculed.

“My apologies Tiny Stark,” he said sheepishly. “I heard yelling. I was concerned.”

Clint marched over to Vision. “Hey, check this place out. She just had a boy in here.”

“Clint!”

Vision blinked in shock. “A boy? Who?”

“No one!”

“It was that-”

Clint couldn’t finish his sentence before Loki walked in with a loud, dramatic, groan. “Can you mortals stop bickering? It’s awfully annoying.”

“You!” Clint beamed, pointing a finger at Loki. “You use magic. Find the boy!”

Loki furrowed his brows. “What boy?”

“The one she snuck in here,” Clint replied.

Loki looked at you, knowing exactly where Peter was. Your eyes were full of worry as your shook your head at him, a silent plead to not expose you.

Loki smirked at you.

“You mean the intern on the ceiling?”

“Loki!!!” you shouted at him.

Everyone in the room looked up at the ceiling to see Peter clung to the wall, eyes wide in horror.

“Ha!” Clint exclaimed. “Told you!”

Vision tilted his head slightly. “Peter?”

“You’re dating the intern?!” Natasha asked excitedly.

“Did someone say that Parker kid’s name?”Footsteps in the hallway approached your room.

Sam and Bucky.

Just your luck.

“Aye!” Sam exclaimed. “Get your ass down!” he yelled at Peter.

Peter flipped off of the ceiling, landing on his feet. His face was red with embarrassment. This was not the way he wanted your family to find out you were dating him.

Bucky sucked his teeth, giving you a disappointed look. “The spider guy? Really?”

Sam shook his head and crossed his arms. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he lectured Peter. “Sneaking in here at night. I always knew he was a bad influence,” he muttered under his breath.

You groaned and threw your head back. “Sam, please leave him alone.”

Louder footsteps boomed down the hallway, Thor appeared in the doorway with a box of Poptarts. “Hey, why didn’t anyone invite me to this party?”

His eyes scanned the room and he hummed in thought. “Why’s he here?” he asked, looking dead at Peter.

“He snuck in,” Bucky explained. “I say we kill him for it.”

“What?!” Peter exclaimed. “Kill me?” he repeated in horror.

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah! Kill you!”

“No!” you shouted. “No killing people! No nothing! How about,” you proposed, voice leveled. “How about, we all leave my room and pretend none of this ever happened?”

“Or,” Loki proposed. “We tell your father. I’m sure he’d love to hear you snuck in the intern he forbade you from dating.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Or,” you began. “We kill you instead!”

“What happened to no killing?” Sam asked with a laugh.

Seconds later, Bruce and Wanda wandered in. “What the…” Bruce trailed off.

“Oh, hi, Peter,” Wanda waved at the boy.

Peter awkwardly put his hand up, keeping his head low sheepishly.

This was too awkward.

It was only a matter of time before your father found out.

“So…” Clint trailed off. “Who’s gonna tell Tony?”

“No one! Please!” you begged. “I’ll do extra chores for a month! A year! I’ll never move out for college! I’ll never play my music loud again! I’ll do anything, just don’t tell him!”

Clint raised his brows up in shock that you were willing to do such things. “Okay,” he agreed. “Extra chores for a month.”

“And you won’t tell my dad?”

Clint nodded. “I won’t. I pinky promise.”

“I’ll tell him,” Sam spoke up.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

“I just don’t like him,” he said, pointing a finger at Peter.

“What did I do?” Peter asked, genuinely confused as to the one sided beef between him, Sam, and Bucky.

“Because,” Bucky replied.

“That’s not even a reason!”

“Look,” Natasha spoke up. “No one is telling Tony anything. This stays between us. She’s old enough to kiss boys, who cares. If anyone says anything to Tony, you’re dead.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

Everyone feared Natasha.

Your father wouldn’t know.

“Too late, I already know.”

You all turned to your window, the curtains wide open.

Your father was in his suit, floating right in front of your window.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed. “I can explain!”

“No,” Stark interrupted. “No need,” he said calmly.

Peter swallowed hard. “Does this mean I’m fired?”

“No,” Tony chuckled. Peter let out a sigh of relief. “It means you’re dead!”

He lifted his hand and aimed it at the window. He fired his repulsor right at the widow, Peter dodging it just in time.

Everything behind you stopped. Completely. For a second, there wasn’t even the sound of fabric moving, and when you finally turned your head slightly, Peter’s masked face had appeared around the side of the curtain, one white lens narrowed at you while the other remained slightly wider in a look that somehow managed to communicate exhausted offence without revealing an inch of his actual face.

He stayed like that just long enough to make your mouth twitch before finishing his climb inside, landing carefully with one boot against the floor and pulling the second over the sill. Peter straightened with a small roll of his shoulder, glanced down at himself as though checking he hadn’t brought half the fire escape in with him, then looked toward you again.

“Normal boyfriends don’t usually have to explain why there’s blood on their shirt to the neighbour in 4B,” he said eventually, his voice slightly muffled beneath the mask and flatter than the dramatic defence you’d expected.

The word blood made your amusement disappear at once, your gaze dropping instinctively across the red and blue suit as you searched for whatever tear or stain he was referring to, and Peter noticed before you could even sit upright.

Both of his hands lifted immediately in a placating gesture, palms facing you while he shook his head once. “Not mine.” The tension left your shoulders almost as quickly as it had arrived, and even beneath the mask you could see the tiny shift near his mouth that told you he’d noticed.

Peter looked back toward the still-open window, hooking one hand beneath the frame before pulling it shut with considerably more care than he’d shown while climbing through it. “Also,” he added as the latch clicked into place, turning back toward you with the faintest shrug, “the window’s faster.”

You snorted and sank deeper into the cushions, watching him pretend that was the entire explanation. “You mean you don’t want Mrs. Alvarez asking whether you’ve eaten recently.”

Peter’s posture changed immediately, shoulders slumping by half an inch as though you’d found the actual weak spot. He stared at you for a second through the mask, then lowered his chin in reluctant defeat. “That too.”

He reached behind his head and caught the edge of the mask between his fingers, peeling it upward with a tired exhale until his face finally appeared beneath it, and the teasing comment already sitting on your tongue died before it could leave your mouth. Peter looked exhausted.

Not badly injured, not dangerously so, but worn down in the particular way you’d become increasingly familiar with since Spider-Man had stopped being something he squeezed between all the other pieces of his life and started becoming the thing his life seemed to orbit around.

His hair was damp around his forehead, flattened beneath the mask in some places and sticking out stubbornly in others, and a faint bruise was beginning to darken along one cheekbone beneath a streak of grime that travelled almost to his jaw. Peter caught you staring almost immediately.

His eyes flicked over your face, registered the concern there and then moved away before you could say anything, one hand rubbing awkwardly over the back of his neck while the other folded the mask between his fingers. “It looks worse than it is,” he murmured, even though you hadn’t asked, his attention suddenly fixed on the crumpled fabric in his hands.

You didn’t answer straight away. Instead, you slowly raised one eyebrow and let your gaze travel deliberately back toward the bruise. Peter caught the expression from the corner of his eye, closed his mouth and released a quiet sigh through his nose. His shoulders sagged a little more before he looked back at you.

“Actually,” he corrected himself, voice softer now, “that’s probably not true. It looks pretty much exactly as bad as it is.” The dryness of it made the corner of your mouth pull upward despite the lingering concern, and Peter’s expression softened when he realised he’d managed to get even that much of a reaction from you.

You shifted beneath the blanket and patted the empty cushion beside you, expecting him to drop there, but Peter only looked at the space for a moment before walking toward you instead. His steps slowed once he reached the couch, and for several seconds he simply stood between your knees, eyes lowered as if he were deciding whether he wanted to talk about whatever had happened outside.

Then something in him seemed to give. His shoulders dropped, his hands loosened, and Peter bent forward until his forehead came to rest against your stomach. The sudden weight of him made you sink slightly into the cushions, but your hands were already moving before you thought about it, fingers sliding through his sweaty hair and scratching gently against his scalp.

Peter’s eyes closed. His hands settled loosely against either side of your waist, not quite holding you and not quite willing to move away either. “Bad night?” you asked quietly, your fingertips moving more slowly through his hair when you felt the tension still gathered at the base of his neck.

Peter remained silent for a few moments. You could feel him breathing against your shirt, each exhale gradually becoming less tight, before he finally muttered, “Guy threw a parking meter at me.” Your fingers stopped.

Peter must’ve felt it because one eye opened and he tipped his head just enough to look up at you without fully lifting it. “Missed,” he added quickly, almost sheepishly, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone.

You stared down at him for a long second, your expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief, until the faintest smile finally appeared at the corner of his mouth. Your hand resumed its path through his hair, gently tugging a stubborn strand away from his forehead, and Peter let his face settle against you again.

Several quiet seconds passed before his voice came once more, considerably more bitter this time. “Pigeon got my sandwich, though.” That finally made you look down properly. “Again?” The question came out with enough disbelief that Peter’s eyes squeezed shut. His forehead pressed more firmly against your stomach like he was trying to hide from the humiliation entirely. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Eventually you convinced him to eat the leftovers you’d saved, although convincing might’ve been generous considering all you really had to do was remind him they existed.

Peter disappeared into the kitchen with the heavy, reluctant steps of somebody who’d only just become aware of how hungry he actually was, and when he returned carrying the container, he dropped onto the couch beside you with the quiet weight of someone whose body had finally realised it was allowed to stop moving.

He didn’t change out of the suit. He didn’t even remove his boots at first, stretching his legs out and settling them dangerously close to the edge of your rug until you turned your head and stared pointedly at them. Peter noticed after only a second.

His gaze moved from your face to his boots, then to the rug beneath them, before returning to you with a tired expression that made it clear he knew exactly what you were asking without you saying a word. “Really?” he asked, eyebrows lifting slightly as if tonight of all nights should’ve granted him immunity. You merely continued looking at him.

Peter held your gaze for another second, then sighed and leaned forward, tugging both boots off before dropping them neatly beside the couch. “Happy?” He looked over at you while straightening, the exhaustion around his eyes making the question sound more resigned than annoyed.

You smiled sweetly and adjusted the blanket over your legs. “Very.” Peter’s lips pressed together in a way that told you he had several responses and had decided none of them were worth the energy. Instead, he sank back into the cushions, shifted the food container into one hand and reached for your ankle with the other without seeming consciously aware that he was doing it.

His fingers closed loosely around you, drawing your legs across his lap before he adjusted the blanket over them with a small tug. It had become one of those quiet habits neither of you had discussed. Peter had grown quieter after patrol over the years, less inclined to fill every empty second with nervous chatter and half-finished thoughts, but the silence never meant he wanted distance from you.

If anything, he touched you more when he wasn’t speaking. A thumb moving over your ankle. Fingers finding yours underneath a blanket. His shoulder resting against yours until he practically leaned half his body into you. Tonight was no different. He ate with one hand while the other remained curled around your lower calf, his thumb moving absently over your skin whenever his attention wandered from the television.

Several minutes passed before your gaze caught the flash of red beneath the coffee table. One of his gloves had somehow ended up there, discarded carelessly enough that you had no idea when he’d even removed it. You nudged his thigh with your heel, making his hand tighten reflexively around your ankle before relaxing again.

“You’re leaving Spider-Man everywhere again.” Peter followed your gaze toward the glove. He stared at it for a second, chewing slowly, then looked back at you with an expression of complete seriousness. “Evidence.” You frowned, waiting for the explanation that clearly wasn’t coming on its own. “Evidence of what?”

Peter swallowed, lowered the container slightly and considered the glove like he was seeing it for the first time himself. “That Spider-Man has poor organisational skills.” The complete lack of expression on his face made you laugh before you could help it, and something around Peter’s eyes softened at the sound.

He glanced back toward the television, but you caught the tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not exactly breaking news,” you told him, settling more comfortably against the cushions. Peter nodded once, accepting the criticism with surprising dignity. “Fair.”

The movie had become mostly background noise by the time Peter finished eating, although he watched considerably more of it than you did. Every now and then you’d feel his thumb stop moving against your ankle whenever something particularly stupid happened onscreen,

and then you’d glance sideways only to discover him staring at the television with that increasingly troubled expression he got whenever inaccurate physics seemed to personally offend him.

He’d mostly stopped correcting everything out loud after you threatened to ban him from choosing movies following one particularly unbearable evening involving a collapsing suspension bridge, but his face still betrayed him completely. When one character somehow survived being launched through a concrete wall, Peter’s brow furrowed so deeply that you could almost hear the lecture happening inside his head.

A few seconds later, his eyes slid toward you. You didn’t even look at him fully. “No.” Peter’s eyebrows climbed. He shifted slightly beneath your legs, his mouth opening as though he was genuinely offended by the accusation. “I didn’t say anything.” You finally turned your head and pointed toward his face with one finger. “Your face did.”

Peter stared at you for a beat, clearly considering whether this counted as a fair argument, then pressed his lips together and looked back toward the screen. The movement didn’t hide the little smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. A few minutes later another character ended up dangling upside down from the edge of a rooftop, their body swinging dramatically above several floors of open air, and your attention lingered there longer than it had on anything else in the movie.

Slowly, almost without meaning to, your gaze drifted toward Peter. He was leaning deeper into the couch now, one arm stretched along the back cushions while his other hand continued resting loosely around your ankle. The bruise remained visible along his cheek. His hair was still a complete disaster. The upper half of the suit remained annoyingly tight across his chest and shoulders, every shift of his body making the fabric move with him.

A completely unnecessary thought entered your head. You recognised immediately that it was unnecessary. You also knew that Peter would never let you forget it if you actually said it aloud. Unfortunately, restraint had never been your greatest quality around him. “Can you actually stay like that?” you asked eventually, nodding toward the screen while keeping your tone as casual as you could manage.

Peter followed your gaze. His eyes moved from the dangling character back toward you, and he tilted his head slightly as though making sure he understood the question. “Upside down?” You nodded, pretending you hadn’t given the question much thought. Peter’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Yeah.”

You looked back toward the screen while his thumb began moving against your ankle again. “For how long?” This time he didn’t answer immediately. His brow furrowed slightly while he considered it, gaze drifting somewhere past the television as though he was mentally checking his own limits.

“A while,” he said finally. There was another pause. Peter’s lips pressed together, and then he corrected himself with the kind of reluctant honesty that always betrayed him. “Probably as long as I wanted.”

You hummed beneath your breath and kept looking toward the television, although you could feel Peter’s attention remain on you. He knew you too well. Worse, years of relying on tiny movements and split-second changes in body language to stay alive had made him obnoxiously difficult to fool, which meant your attempt at appearing casually interested had probably failed before you’d even opened your mouth.

Still, you pushed your luck. “Wouldn’t all the blood rush to your head?” you asked, keeping your eyes forward while you shifted one shoulder deeper beneath the blanket. Peter’s fingers slowed against your ankle. The scientific part of his brain visibly took over for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together as he considered the question properly despite the growing suspicion in his eyes.

“Not the way it would for you,” he explained, his thumb resuming its movement as his attention drifted briefly toward the ceiling. “Circulation’s different. Everything compensates pretty quickly.” You nodded slowly as though this information had been exactly what you were after.

For approximately two seconds, you almost got away with it. Then the corner of your mouth twitched. Peter’s hand stopped dead against your skin. You didn’t look at him immediately, which only made it worse, because you could practically feel his gaze move over the side of your face.

Several long seconds passed before he finally spoke. “What?” There wasn’t much amusement in his voice yet. Mostly suspicion. You shook your head, pressing your lips together harder in an attempt to flatten the smile. “Nothing.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly. His grip around your ankle loosened, but his hand remained exactly where it was. “That wasn’t nothing.” The certainty in his tone made you glance toward him at last, and you immediately regretted it.

Peter was watching you with the calm, patient expression of somebody who had already realised you were guilty and was simply waiting for you to confess. You shrugged and looked back at the television. “I was just thinking it could have practical applications.” Peter went completely still.

There wasn’t an immediate joke, and that was the first thing that made warmth curl unexpectedly through your stomach. The younger Peter would’ve stumbled over five different responses before eventually choosing one, but this Peter had learned how to let silence sit between words instead of panicking and trying to fill it. His thumb remained motionless against your ankle while he stared at you, face unreadable for several long seconds.

Then his gaze moved toward the television. After another beat it travelled upward toward the ceiling. You watched the tiny crease form between his eyebrows and immediately knew his brain had started working. “Don’t,” you warned, sitting a little straighter beneath the blanket.

Peter turned his head toward you again, blinking once as if genuinely confused by the accusation. “I didn’t say anything.” You gave him a pointed look, because silence had never stopped Peter Parker from being obvious. “You’re thinking.”

One eyebrow lifted. He looked almost offended by the concept. “Usually happens.” You pushed his thigh lightly with your foot, but his hand closed more securely around your ankle before you could actually land the kick, the movement effortless and almost automatic.

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth when you narrowed your eyes at him. “Peter.” Hearing his name in that warning tone only seemed to encourage whatever was happening behind his eyes. He looked toward the ceiling once more, gaze tracking the exposed beam crossing part of the room before returning to you.

“What practical applications?” The question was delivered so calmly that for a second you simply stared at him. Your confidence began disappearing now that he was actually making you explain yourself. Peter waited. He didn’t rush you or start talking over the silence. He simply watched, fingers resting warm around your ankle while his expression remained deceptively neutral.

“You know what I mean,” you muttered eventually. Peter’s eyebrows rose another fraction. “I really don’t.” He absolutely did. The amusement had already started showing around his eyes even if the rest of his face remained composed. You stared him down for another few seconds before releasing a defeated breath through your nose.

“I was wondering if Spider-Man could eat pussy upside down.” The words came quickly once you finally forced them out, and the second they landed between you, your face heated enough that you immediately covered part of it with one hand.

The apartment fell painfully quiet except for the dramatic soundtrack still playing on television. Peter didn’t move. You could feel him staring at you through the spaces between your fingers, and embarrassment rushed in quickly enough that you groaned. “Forget I said anything.”

Peter didn’t laugh. Somehow that was considerably worse. Instead, his gaze slowly travelled upward toward the exposed support beam running across part of your ceiling, and his expression became genuinely thoughtful.

You lowered your hand enough to peek at him through your fingers, disbelief replacing some of your embarrassment when you realised he was actually considering it. “Oh my God.”

Peter glanced toward you. There was the faintest pull between his eyebrows, like he didn’t understand why his reaction was surprising. “What?”

You dropped your hand completely and sat straighter. “You’re actually thinking about it.” His mouth pressed into a line that was very obviously concealing something, although whether it was amusement or embarrassment you couldn’t immediately tell. Peter’s gaze drifted back toward the beam for another second before settling on you. “You asked.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and shook your head. “As a joke.” Peter didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on yours, and something quieter shifted behind them. Eventually, he tilted his head slightly. “Was it?” The question was soft enough that your body betrayed you before your mouth could, heat climbing further into your cheeks while you shifted beneath his stare.

You crossed your arms defensively. “Yes.” Peter gave one small nod. “Okay.” That should’ve been the end of it. Instead, the ease with which he accepted your answer irritated you instantly. Your eyes narrowed. “Why did you say it like that?” His brow furrowed, but the movement was a little too innocent. “Like what?”

You stared at him in disbelief. Peter’s thumb had started rubbing against your ankle again, slow and absent, while he tried very hard to look like he genuinely had no idea what you were talking about. “Like you don’t believe me.”

For a second he looked down at where his hand rested against your skin. When his eyes returned to yours, his expression remained calm, but the smallest spark of amusement sat behind it. “Because you’re blushing.” Your mouth fell open. Peter gave you a tiny shrug. “Observation.”

You grabbed for the nearest cushion without thinking. Peter caught it before you got halfway through the swing, one hand closing around the edge with ridiculous ease. A quiet laugh escaped him as your expression sharpened, the sound warm and surprised, like he genuinely hadn’t expected you to resort to violence.

“You’re annoying,” you informed him, tugging once at the cushion before giving up when he didn’t budge. Peter pushed it gently back into your lap. “Yeah,” he said, settling back against the cushions with a tiny smile. “I’ve heard.”

The teasing should’ve ended there, but Peter’s attention travelled toward the ceiling again, and this time you watched him properly. His eyes tracked the exposed beam, then the distance between it and the couch, and something in his expression shifted so subtly that you almost missed it.

The Spider-Man part of Peter had always been different from the Peter everyone else met. Not a separate person exactly, but a version of him stripped of some of the hesitation that followed him through ordinary life. Lately, the line between the two had become thinner. He didn’t need to posture or brag about what he could do.

Confidence simply settled over him whenever he knew exactly what his body was capable of. “It would work,” he said eventually. The statement came so casually that it took you a second to realise what he meant. You blinked and shifted your legs slightly across his lap.

“What?” Peter looked back down at you, as though the answer should’ve been obvious from the entire conversation. “What you asked.” His fingers loosened from your ankle and travelled absently higher along your calf before coming to rest near your knee.

The movement wasn’t overtly sexual, but your attention dropped toward it anyway. “Physically, I mean.” Your stomach tightened slightly at the matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve put thought into this remarkably fast.” Peter’s shoulders lifted with a small shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

You stared at him until his expression finally cracked, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “And you’re the one who asked.” Your eyes narrowed. “I’m starting to regret it.” The response came before Peter could stop himself.

“No, you’re not.” It was quieter than everything else he’d said, immediate enough that both of you paused. Peter seemed to hear himself a second late. Something shy flickered over his face and his gaze dipped toward your legs before returning to you. He cleared his throat softly.

“I mean,” he added, suddenly looking far less certain than he had two seconds earlier, “you don’t look like you regret it.” There he was underneath the maturity, still Peter enough to talk himself straight into embarrassment and get faintly pink around the ears once he realised it.

“You’re getting awfully confident for somebody who climbed through my window ten minutes ago complaining about a pigeon,” you murmured, and the comment made Peter breathe out a laugh as he gently shifted your legs away from his lap.

He pushed himself upright and stood, stretching one shoulder until something clicked quietly beneath the suit. His face tightened for half a second at the feeling before relaxing again, and then he looked down at you.

“The pigeon caught me off guard.” His delivery was so completely serious that your mouth twitched. You gave him a pointed look anyway. “Sure.”

Peter stepped closer until his knees nearly touched yours, and the humour remained in his expression even as something warmer started settling underneath it. He rested one hand against the back of the couch beside your shoulder, leaning forward only slightly, but enough that you had to tip your chin upward to keep looking at him.

Up close, you could see every sign of the night he’d had. The small cut near his temple. The bruise along his cheek. The shadows beneath his eyes that told you sleep had probably been optional far too often lately. Yet his attention had narrowed entirely onto you now.

“You know,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly over your face, “you’re making fun of me, but this was your question.” You tried to maintain the same unimpressed expression even as your pulse picked up. “A hypothetical question.”

Peter’s eyes dropped toward your mouth. They stayed there for one brief second before returning to yours. “Right.” You swallowed without meaning to. His gaze sharpened immediately, because of course he noticed that too.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Very hypothetical.” You placed one hand against the centre of his chest and pushed lightly, though he barely shifted beneath your palm.

“Don’t be smug.” Peter’s brows lifted, his expression instantly innocent. “I’m not.” You gave him a look. Peter lasted approximately another second before his mouth twitched. “Maybe a little.”

His hand moved from the back of the couch to your jaw slowly enough that you felt every second of it, fingertips settling lightly beneath your chin while his thumb brushed once across your cheek. There was nothing rushed about Peter anymore when he touched you like this.

Even when some lingering patrol adrenaline remained beneath his skin, even when you could feel the strength he constantly kept restrained whenever his body moved near yours, there was a deliberate patience to him that hadn’t existed when he was younger.

He leaned closer until his forehead nearly touched yours, but he stopped just short of actually kissing you. His eyes moved between yours, waiting. You were the one who closed the distance. The first kiss was soft, almost frustratingly so considering the conversation that had led to it, Peter’s mouth moving slowly against yours while his fingers remained warm beneath your jaw.

Your hands caught the front of his suit and pulled him closer, bunching the material beneath your fingers, and a quiet breath escaped through his nose as he let the kiss deepen. His other hand settled against your knee, palm warm through the thin fabric covering you, before sliding gradually higher along your thigh.

He stopped well before reaching anywhere intimate, but the weight of his hand there was enough to make your body shift beneath him. Peter noticed. You felt the tiny pause in his mouth against yours before he pulled away just far enough to look at you.

His lips remained close enough to brush yours whenever either of you breathed. “Still hypothetical?” he asked softly. Your eyes opened fully and found him watching you with restrained amusement, his thumb still moving slowly against your cheek.

You tightened your grip against his suit. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” Peter’s eyes dropped toward your mouth again while he considered that. “A little.” Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of your lips, followed the line of your jaw and stopped beneath your ear. His breath warmed your skin there, and when your shoulders shifted involuntarily, Peter’s hand flexed lightly against your thigh. “Mostly I’m curious.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd,” you whispered, although there wasn’t much conviction left behind the insult with his mouth still lingering against your neck. You felt him smile rather than saw it, the movement pressing faintly against your skin before he lifted his head. “You brought science into it.”

You laughed softly and let your hands slide higher along his chest. “I asked whether you could eat pussy upside down. I didn’t exactly submit a research proposal.” Peter looked at you for one long beat, his eyes darkening with amusement before he murmured, “Could’ve fooled me.” You pushed his shoulder again on instinct.

Peter caught your wrist automatically before your hand travelled more than a few inches, his fingers closing around it with almost insulting ease. He didn’t pin it anywhere or tighten his grip. Instead, he turned your hand over slowly and pressed his mouth briefly against the centre of your palm.

The affection of the gesture caught you so completely off guard that whatever retort you’d been preparing disappeared. Peter seemed to notice the way your expression softened, because his own did too before he released your wrist.

He stayed standing between your knees, close enough that the fronts of his legs brushed yours whenever either of you shifted. “There are variables,” he said after a moment. You stared up at him. “There absolutely are not.”

His brows rose, and some of the scientist returned to his face. “There absolutely are.” He wasn’t babbling through the thought process anymore the way he once might’ve. Instead, he considered each thing before saying it, gaze moving briefly around the room as though he were actually planning the logistics.

“Height,” he said first, looking toward the ceiling. His eyes moved downward again, briefly measuring the space between you and the beam. “Angle. Where you’re sitting.” Then his gaze returned to your face and lingered there. “How much you move.”

Heat rushed into your cheeks immediately. “How much I move?” Peter nodded once, maintaining complete seriousness for approximately half a second before the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“That seems relevant.” You stared at him. “You’re impossible.” His expression softened into something almost unbearably fond. “You like me.”

Before you could give him the satisfaction of answering, Peter stepped backward and tilted his head toward the ceiling again. His gaze locked onto the exposed beam, and in that instant there was another subtle change in him, the tired boyfriend who’d been sprawled across your lap quietly making room for the man who spent every night calculating distances in fractions of seconds.

He lifted one wrist. The movement was casual, practised enough that he barely needed to look before firing a strand of webbing upward with a sharp thwip, the line attaching cleanly around the beam overhead. Peter gave it one firm tug, testing the hold, then glanced toward you when you immediately sat straighter on the couch.

“Peter.” His hand stopped around the web. He looked at you over his shoulder, expression open but carrying that small spark of amusement he’d been trying and failing to hide for the last ten minutes. “What?”

Your eyes travelled from his face to the line stretching toward the ceiling and then back again. “You’re seriously doing this.” Peter didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly toward your legs, then moved back to your face, and despite all the quiet confidence from seconds earlier, a faint flush began creeping along the tops of his ears.

That tiny betrayal made your mouth curve. He caught the smile immediately and narrowed his eyes just slightly. “You started it,” he reminded you, voice softer now. Then Peter caught the web firmly with one hand, planted the other palm against the wall and stepped onto the vertical surface as naturally as somebody else might climb a staircase.

There wasn’t any theatrical flourish to it. One second he was standing beside you, and the next his body moved smoothly upward, muscles shifting beneath the suit as his hands and feet stuck effortlessly to the wall. You watched him climb, your eyes travelling farther than you intended before Peter stopped halfway toward the ceiling.

He turned his head and looked down at you. His gaze immediately caught yours somewhere around his waist before you could drag it back toward his face, and the little smile that appeared told you he’d noticed exactly where you’d been looking.

Peter adjusted his grip around the web, briefly glanced toward the ceiling as though genuinely checking the logistics one final time, then looked back down. “For the experiment,” he started, trying for clinical and failing because his voice had gone noticeably lower,

“I’m probably gonna need your underwear out of the way.” The words hung there for a second. Peter’s expression shifted almost immediately afterward, confidence giving way to sudden self-awareness as he visibly replayed the sentence inside his head.

His lips pressed together. His cheeks warmed another shade. Then he looked off toward the wall and muttered, “That sounded better in my head.”

You should’ve laughed at him, because the faint colour spreading over Peter’s cheeks after his own terrible choice of words was painfully endearing, but the amusement caught somewhere in your throat when you realised how fast the atmosphere in the room had changed.

The oversized shirt you’d thrown on earlier suddenly felt considerably less innocent where it hung loose around your body, its hem barely covering the tops of your thighs and leaving nothing underneath except the soft cotton panties already clinging wetly to your cunt.

There wasn’t a bra beneath the shirt either, because there hadn’t been any reason for one when your original plans involved a couch, leftovers and probably falling asleep against Peter before the movie finished, but now you were painfully aware of your nipples tightening beneath the thin material

and the way the shirt shifted against them whenever you breathed. Peter noticed too, because of course he did, his eyes dropping for half a second before flicking guiltily back toward your face as though getting caught staring somehow mattered after the conversation you’d just had. That tiny flash of embarrassment only made the heat curling through your stomach worse.

You shifted against the cushions without meaning to, thighs pressing together beneath the hem of your shirt, and the movement made you feel exactly how wet you’d become. Your panties were warm and damp against your pussy, slick spreading through the cotton where it pressed between your folds and dragging against your clit every time you moved, making the ache beneath it noticeably sharper.

It had happened gradually enough that you hadn’t properly noticed at first, beginning as nothing more than a little warmth when Peter started taking your stupid question seriously, building every time his voice dropped or his hand lingered against your thigh or that quiet Spider-Man confidence replaced the awkward embarrassment in his face. Now there was no ignoring it.

Your cunt felt swollen beneath the thin fabric, your clit throbbing against the soaked cotton, and squeezing your thighs together only forced the material tighter against you in a way that made your breath catch. Peter’s eyes dipped toward the movement, and the way his jaw tightened told you he knew exactly what was happening.

He was still clinging halfway up the wall when his gaze settled on your thighs properly. You watched the exact second he noticed the damp centre of your panties beneath the loose hem of your shirt, because his expression changed so slightly anyone else might’ve missed it, the amusement fading into something heavier while his mouth parted around a silent breath.

You swallowed beneath the weight of his stare and slowly let your knees fall apart by a few inches, the oversized shirt sliding higher over your skin until more of your bare thighs were exposed to him. Peter’s eyes followed the movement helplessly before darting back to your face, almost like he was trying to pretend he hadn’t just stared straight between your legs.

You let him struggle for another second before tilting your head and asking, “You gonna keep analysing it from up there, Parker, or are you actually planning on proving something?”

The words came out more confidently than you felt, and Peter’s lips parted immediately like some smart response had occurred to him, only for his gaze to fall between your thighs again and apparently wipe the thought straight out of his head.

He forced himself to look toward the ceiling instead, taking one slow breath that expanded his chest beneath the tight suit while he visibly tried to collect himself.

The pink across his cheeks didn’t disappear, but something else settled over his expression, quieter and more focused, that familiar shift where Peter stopped looking like the tired man who’d climbed through your window and started looking like Spider-Man calculating exactly what his body needed to do.

He tightened one hand around the strand of webbing he’d attached to the exposed ceiling beam and planted his opposite palm firmly against the wall, fingers adhering instantly to the surface. Peter gave the web a hard downward tug to test the hold, then another, his forearm flexing beneath the suit while he checked the angle and distance above you.

Even though both of you knew his webbing could support far more than his weight, he still treated the setup seriously, eyes travelling along the line to the beam before returning to the open space in front of the couch. Watching him turn something so filthy into a genuine logistical problem made your pussy pulse again.

Once Peter was satisfied, he pushed himself upward. One foot stuck to the wall, then the other, his knees bending as he climbed higher with that unnerving ease that always reminded you his body didn’t obey the same rules as yours.

He moved slowly enough that you could watch every controlled shift of muscle beneath the suit, hands and feet alternating against the wall until his head was nearly level with the ceiling. Peter paused there, twisted enough to look over his shoulder at you and immediately caught your gaze somewhere lower than his face.

The suit had pulled tight across his stomach and hips from the position, leaving very little to the imagination, and the slight lift of his eyebrow told you he knew exactly what you’d been looking at. He didn’t tease you for it, though. He only swallowed, glanced down toward your spread thighs again, then deliberately turned his attention back to what he was doing before either of you embarrassed yourselves further.

Peter shifted both feet from the wall onto the ceiling itself, one after the other, until he was crouched completely above you like gravity had simply stopped mattering. Both palms pressed flat against the ceiling while his knees bent beneath him, and his messy brown hair had already started falling away from his forehead.

He repositioned one hand, then slowly rotated his hips, moving one foot and then the other until his back faced the wall and his body was aligned directly above the space between your knees. The movement was controlled and strangely graceful, every adjustment precise enough that you could tell he was already thinking about where his mouth needed to end up.

Then Peter caught the webbing again with both hands and released his feet from the ceiling. His legs unfolded above him as his body gradually lowered beneath the beam, gravity pulling him straight until he hung fully upside down in front of you.

His hair dropped toward the floor immediately, soft brown strands hanging messily away from his forehead and making him look unmistakably like Peter despite the Spider-Man suit covering everything else.

He gave the web another firm pull, tested his weight, then released one hand and twisted his shoulders slightly to make sure he wasn’t going to rotate once he started moving against you. His free palm briefly pressed against the wall beside him, steadying his body while he adjusted the webbing around his wrist and lowered himself another few inches.

Peter’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he measured the distance between his face and the edge of the couch, then looked at you, down toward the floor from his inverted perspective and back toward you again. “Too high,” he muttered quietly to himself, releasing a little more web until his upside-down face was almost level with your knees.

The seriousness of it should’ve been funny, but there was something obscene about watching Spider-Man carefully calibrate the exact height he needed so he could eat your pussy comfortably.

You couldn’t help smiling at him while he made one final adjustment, and Peter caught it from the corner of his eye. His brows pulled together as he stretched one arm toward the wall again, using his palm to stop the last slow swing of his body before becoming almost perfectly still.

“What?” he asked, a faintly defensive edge slipping into his voice as though he suspected you were about to make fun of him. You shook your head slowly, letting your gaze wander down his inverted body again because there was something unfairly attractive about how comfortable he looked hanging there.

“Nothing,” you murmured, and Peter’s mouth twitched because neither of you believed that for a second. Once he was satisfied with the position, he released the wall and let both hands drop toward you, flexing his fingers experimentally while checking whether maintaining the position took any actual effort.

Apparently it didn’t. He looked almost irritatingly relaxed hanging upside down in front of you, like this was simply another perfectly reasonable way for him to spend an evening.

“Okay,” Peter murmured eventually, and his voice had gone noticeably rougher than before. His eyes travelled from your face down toward the oversized shirt pooled around your thighs, then lower still until his gaze settled on the damp cotton between them. You watched his throat work when he swallowed.

The change in him made you scoot forward without being asked, the couch cushions compressing beneath your weight as you moved toward the edge, and Peter immediately adjusted in response. He released tiny lengths of webbing at a time, lowering himself inch by inch until his face lined up perfectly with the space between your thighs.

Every time you shifted forward, he compensated automatically, like some part of his brain was mapping the distance before you even stopped moving. You’d watched Spider-Man judge impossible gaps between buildings in fractions of seconds, twist through traffic and catch himself midair without hesitation, and now every bit of that ridiculous coordination was being devoted to putting his mouth exactly where you wanted it.

When you finally reached the edge of the couch, Peter’s upside-down face was directly between your knees. His hair almost brushed the floor beneath him, and his shoulders hovered close enough that your thighs could touch them if you spread a little wider. The humour disappeared from his expression the moment you did.

You let your knees fall apart slowly, deliberately, watching his reaction while the hem of your oversized shirt slid higher and exposed more bare skin until the soaked centre of your panties was completely visible to him. Peter’s eyes followed every inch of the movement.

His lips parted when he saw how dark the cotton had become between your legs, and his breathing changed before he said anything, one deeper inhale expanding his chest before he released it slowly through his nose.

You felt another warm pulse of slick leak from your cunt into the fabric under his stare, making the already damp cotton cling more tightly to your folds.

Peter looked back toward your face for a moment, then down again like he simply couldn’t stop himself. When your own gaze travelled down the inverted length of his body in return, tracing the suit over his chest and stomach before reaching his hips, you immediately noticed the shape beginning to push against the fabric between his thighs.

Peter was getting hard just from watching you spread your legs for him. His cock thickened beneath the suit until the material stretched visibly tighter around it, the outline becoming harder to ignore every time his eyes returned to the soaked cotton covering your pussy.

Seeing that reaction made your cunt clench. Peter noticed where you were looking and let out a tiny, embarrassed sound in the back of his throat, but the flush crawling over his upside-down face did absolutely nothing to stop his cock from straining harder against the suit.

He reached for you carefully once you were settled. Both hands slid around the backs of your thighs, palms warm against your skin as he gently pulled you a little closer toward the edge until your covered pussy hovered only inches above his mouth.

The strength in his grip was obvious despite how careful he was, fingers spreading against your thighs while he adjusted you into exactly the position he wanted and then immediately loosening again. His eyes returned to your panties.

Peter’s tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip before he hooked two fingers beneath the waistband at one hip, his knuckles brushing your skin and making your stomach tighten. “Lift up for me,” he murmured,

and the slight roughness in his voice made the request sound considerably dirtier than it needed to. You planted your hands against the couch and raised your hips, watching Peter’s gaze darken as he started pulling the cotton slowly downward.

The panties peeled away from your pussy with a damp little drag that made heat rush straight into your face. Peter’s eyes snapped toward the movement, watching the fabric separate from the slick caught between your folds before he guided the waistband over your ass and down your thighs.

You lifted one leg, then the other, allowing him to slide them completely free, and cool air hitting your bare cunt made you inhale sharply. Your thighs twitched around his head while your pussy clenched around nothing.

Slick immediately gathering glossy between your swollen folds now that nothing covered them. Peter stared. For several seconds he didn’t seem capable of doing anything else, your panties held loosely in one hand while his eyes traced every wet inch of you.

You expected him to throw the panties somewhere. Instead, his attention dropped to the fabric in his hand. The centre was visibly soaked, dark with your arousal, and Peter’s fingers tightened around the cotton almost without him realising it.

His eyes flicked toward you briefly, something embarrassed already creeping across his expression, before he lifted the panties toward his nose and inhaled. His lashes fluttered shut.

The pathetic little whimper that escaped him sounded completely involuntary, soft and needy enough that his entire body went still the instant he heard it. Peter’s eyes opened again, cheeks burning while he stared at the underwear still held against his face like he couldn’t believe his own reaction.

You bit your lip to stop yourself laughing, but Peter caught it immediately. His eyes narrowed in warning, though whatever dignity he was trying to recover disappeared when he pressed the soaked cotton more firmly beneath his nose and took another slower breath. His mouth parted.

Another tiny, broken sound caught somewhere in his throat, and his cock visibly twitched beneath the suit at the same time. “Peter,” you breathed, his name coming out somewhere between disbelief and a moan, and the sound made his eyes snap back toward yours.

There was embarrassment in them, plenty of it, but there was something hotter underneath now, a kind of needy fascination he clearly couldn’t hide.

He lowered the panties from his face but didn’t let them go. Instead, Peter’s gaze travelled between your legs again, settling on your exposed pussy where your folds were already shiny with slick.

Your lips were swollen from arousal, parted enough that he could see the wet little opening lower down and the way your cunt clenched every time his eyes lingered there.

Peter stared openly. His tongue moved across his bottom lip while his breathing grew a little heavier, and you watched another visible throb travel through his cock beneath the suit. “Fuck,” he whispered almost absently,

the word slipping out before he seemed aware he’d actually spoken. When your pussy clenched again in response, a fresh bead of slick gathered at your entrance and began sliding downward through your folds, and Peter’s eyes locked onto it instantly.

He leaned closer, but instead of putting his mouth on you immediately, the hand still holding your panties moved between your thighs. Peter folded the soaked cotton loosely around two fingers, his eyes lifting toward yours as though checking your reaction before he touched you.

The first drag of fabric over your clit was almost unbearably light. Damp cotton brushed across the swollen little bud, carrying your own slick with it, and your hips jerked forward before you could stop yourself. Peter’s lips parted around a quiet breath. He did it again, slower this time, rubbing the wet fabric directly over your clit in a small circle while watching your face with intense concentration.

The texture made everything feel filthier. The panties were already soaked from being pressed against your cunt, and now Peter was using that same wet patch to stroke your clit, dragging the soft cotton over it until the fabric became even slicker.

Your thighs spread farther around his head, and Peter’s cock twitched visibly beneath the suit when he saw you deliberately open yourself wider for him. He rubbed the panties against your clit again, applying a little more pressure this time, and a shaky moan slipped out of you before you could swallow it.

Peter’s expression changed immediately. Something pleased and slightly wrecked moved across his face, his eyes dropping toward the way your pussy glistened beneath the fabric.

He shifted the panties lower for a second, dragging the soaked cotton through your folds and pressing it lightly against your entrance before pulling it back toward your clit.

The sensation made your cunt clench against the fabric, smearing more slick into it, and Peter’s eyes went almost painfully dark when he watched your body wet the panties even further.

He brought them back toward his face without thinking, took another breath against the newly soaked cotton and whimpered again, louder this time. The sound made your stomach tighten so hard it almost hurt.

Peter looked genuinely pathetic about it, hanging upside down with your panties clutched in one hand, cheeks flushed, cock straining against the suit and eyes half-lidded because apparently smelling and touching your wet cunt at the same time had overwhelmed whatever remaining dignity he possessed.

“You like that way too much,” you murmured breathlessly, watching Peter’s expression tighten in embarrassment before his gaze returned between your thighs. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he dragged the panties once more across your clit, slow enough to make your hips chase the pressure, then let the fabric fall away from you while keeping it clenched in his fingers.

Your pussy looked even messier now, slick spread over your swollen folds and clit from the rubbing, and Peter stared at the shine covering you. His mouth opened slightly. The tip of his tongue appeared against his bottom lip. You could practically see the moment restraint disappeared.

Peter leaned closer without touching at first. Warm breath rolled across your exposed cunt, making your thighs twitch around his shoulders, and his eyes lifted toward yours from between them. The look on his face made your pulse jump.

There was still a little awkward Peter beneath it, still that faint flush along his cheeks, but the confidence had settled back over him now that he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

He closed the remaining distance and pressed his mouth directly against your pussy. The first contact was open and wet, his lips settling over your slick folds before his tongue dragged slowly from your entrance upward.

He started at the wet little hole already leaking for him, catching the slick there with the tip of his tongue before flattening it against you and licking all the way through your folds. When his tongue passed firmly over your clit, your entire body jerked.

One hand flew into Peter’s hanging hair and closed around a fistful of it while your thighs threatened to clamp around his head. Peter groaned straight into your cunt when you pulled him closer, the vibration travelling through your clit

and making your hips buck hard enough that both of his hands immediately returned to your thighs. He steadied you with effortless strength, fingers digging carefully into the soft flesh while his mouth stayed exactly where you wanted it.

Being upside down didn’t hinder him in the slightest once he found the angle. If anything, Peter seemed fascinated by figuring out what worked from the position, lowering himself another fraction on the web and turning his head until he could bury his mouth comfortably against you without straining his neck.

His tongue pushed between your folds again, licking through the slick coating you before dipping lower toward your entrance. He collected everything your body gave him before dragging it back toward your clit, smearing your arousal over the swollen bud with broad, messy strokes.

You could hear how wet you were every time his mouth moved. Soft, filthy sounds filled the apartment beneath your breathing, and Peter seemed to fucking love every one of them.

His nose brushed against your clit when his tongue slid lower, nudging it accidentally before he realised the reaction it caused. Your hips jerked. Your fingers tightened painfully in his hair. Peter’s eyes opened wider and immediately did it again on purpose, pressing the bridge of his nose against your clit while his tongue worked lower through your folds.

The combination made a broken sound tear from your throat, and Peter groaned directly against your pussy like hearing you lose control was affecting him just as badly. His cock jerked visibly inside the suit. Even upside down, you could see the thick outline trapped against the fabric, painfully hard and twitching every time you moaned his name.

When Peter finally wrapped his lips around your clit, your back arched away from the couch. He sucked slowly at first, tongue pressing against the sensitive little bud inside his mouth while your thighs shook around him.

Your grip in his hair tightened until you were practically using it to hold him exactly where you wanted him. Peter let you. More than that, the pathetic moan that vibrated against your cunt when you pulled his hair told you he fucking liked it.

His hands spread your thighs wider, fingers firm but careful, and he buried his face deeper between them until his mouth and chin were shining with your slick.

Every time you forced yourself to look down, the sight made the pleasure worse. Peter looked obscene hanging upside down between your legs, messy hair falling toward the floor while his mouth worked relentlessly against your cunt.

Your pussy was visibly swollen around his face, wet folds spreading around his tongue every time he licked upward, slick coating his lips and gathering along his chin.

Whenever he pulled away just enough to breathe, you could see your arousal glistening across his skin. Then his mouth would immediately return, like even a few seconds away from tasting you was too long.

Peter’s eyes were half-lidded but intensely focused. Whenever you made a particularly desperate sound, they opened wider and fixed on your face, watching for the exact movement that had caused it before he repeated whatever he’d done.

His tongue slid back down to your entrance, circling it slowly before pushing inside just enough to make your cunt tighten around him. Peter whimpered when he felt you clench. The sound came muffled and needy against your pussy, followed by another little twitch of his hips in the air as if his body was searching automatically for something to grind his cock against.

Your gaze travelled down his inverted body again, following the tight suit over his stomach and hips until you found the thick outline straining between his thighs. Peter was fully hard now. Painfully hard from the look of it, the fabric stretched tight enough around his cock that every involuntary twitch was obvious.

He hadn’t touched himself once. He was getting that worked up purely from being between your legs, from licking your cunt and smelling your wet panties and feeling your pussy clench around his tongue. The knowledge made another rush of slick spill from you.

Peter caught you staring at his cock. His eyes followed your gaze as much as his inverted position allowed, and for a second embarrassment flashed visibly across his face. It didn’t last long.

Something filthier replaced it, something hot and needy and almost proud when he realised you were watching exactly how hard eating you out had made him. He held your gaze as he lowered his mouth back toward your pussy. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit again and sucked hard enough to make your whole body arch.

The cry that tore from you was loud enough that Peter’s eyes widened for half a second. Then something pleased flickered across his face. He sucked again, slower this time, tongue pressing insistently against your clit while his lips pulled around it.

Your thighs shook so badly against his hands that he tightened his grip enough to keep you comfortably spread. Your fingers twisted deeper into his hair, and you ground shamelessly against his mouth, using him while he hung there between your legs. Peter moaned like the idea of being used for your pleasure was doing something terrible to him.

His cock twitched again. Hard. The movement was obvious enough that you couldn’t stop staring, and when Peter noticed your eyes drop there, another pathetic little sound vibrated against your cunt. “Fuck, Peter,” you gasped, voice breaking around his name while your hips rolled harder against his tongue.

He answered by dragging one long stroke through your pussy, licking from your entrance all the way over your clit before immediately repeating it. Your own slick coated his tongue, lips and chin, and every time he licked you clean your body seemed determined to make another mess for him.

He looked completely gone on it now. Flushed, breathless, hanging upside down with your soaked panties still twisted around one hand and his cock straining desperately beneath the Spider-Man suit while his tongue worked over your cunt like he couldn’t make himself stop.

Every few seconds his fingers tightened around the panties, almost like he’d forgotten he was still holding them until the smell reached him again. Once, he brought them briefly back beneath his nose while his mouth hovered inches from your pussy and took another deep breath, eyes closing as a shaky whimper escaped him. The sight was so fucking filthy that your cunt clenched hard enough for Peter to see it.

His eyes snapped open. He watched your pussy contract around nothing, slick shining at your entrance, and immediately dropped the panties away so he could put his mouth back on you. His tongue pressed against your clit with quicker little strokes now, then slowed deliberately whenever your hips started moving too frantically.

Peter was learning you too easily, teasing without even seeming to mean to, changing rhythm every time he felt your thighs tremble or heard your breathing break. The pleasure tightened lower in your stomach, hot and heavy and increasingly difficult to ignore.

Your head fell back against the couch. The oversized shirt had ridden high over your stomach from all the movement, leaving most of your thighs and lower body completely exposed while Peter kept you spread open for him. Your mouth stayed open around helpless sounds that only seemed to encourage him.

Every time you whispered or moaned his name, Peter’s cock jerked beneath the suit and another needy sound escaped into your pussy. He was so hard from eating you that it looked genuinely uncomfortable, but he still never reached down to touch himself.

When your thighs began shaking harder around his head, Peter tightened his grip just enough to steady them. His eyes lifted toward your face from between your legs, his expression flushed and desperate despite the control in every movement of his mouth.

His lips were wet. His chin was slick. Your panties were still clutched in one hand. His cock was painfully hard beneath the suit. He looked utterly wrecked by your pussy and somehow still completely determined to keep going until you were worse.

Whatever stupid joke had started this had disappeared completely. There was nothing hypothetical about Peter hanging upside down between your legs anymore, mouth buried against your dripping cunt while your thighs trembled around his head and your fingers pulled at his hair.

The experiment had stopped being about whether Spider-Man could eat pussy upside down somewhere around the moment he’d whimpered into your soaked panties. Now it was just Peter licking, sucking and grinding his mouth against you with his cock painfully trapped inside his suit, apparently determined to find out exactly how badly he could make you fall apart before he finally had to come back down.

Peter was so completely lost between your thighs by that point that whatever embarrassment he’d carried into the whole thing had burned away, leaving him flushed, needy and devastatingly focused on your pussy. His tongue kept working over your swollen clit in slow, wet circles before flattening firmly against it, and every time your thighs trembled around his head his fingers flexed into the soft flesh to keep you spread exactly where he wanted you.

Your hips had stopped pretending to stay still, grinding shamelessly against his mouth whenever he found the right pressure, and Peter took every movement without complaint, letting you push yourself harder against his tongue while he moaned beneath you. The slick noises coming from between your legs were impossible to ignore now, wet and messy every time his mouth dragged through your folds, and Peter seemed to get more worked up with every sound.

Your gaze kept slipping down the inverted length of his body toward the cock straining inside his suit, and this time you noticed the fabric over the head had begun to darken. A tiny wet spot had appeared where his tip pressed against the material, followed moments later by another glossy bead of precum soaking through when his cock twitched violently at the sound of you moaning his name.

Peter noticed exactly where you were staring, his eyes following your gaze as much as the upside-down position allowed, but instead of becoming shy again, he let out a pathetic little whimper directly against your cunt.

The vibration rolled through your clit and made you jerk against him, your fingers tightening in his hair while another bead of precum seeped through the suit, leaving the fabric visibly damp around the head of his cock.

He hadn’t even touched himself, hadn’t reached down once despite how painfully hard he looked, and knowing that eating your pussy alone had him leaking into the Spider-Man suit made your stomach pull tighter with pleasure.

Peter felt you getting close before you managed to tell him. Your breathing had become uneven and broken, your thighs trembling constantly instead of occasionally, and every slow circle of his tongue made your cunt clench helplessly around nothing. Your fingers twisted harder into his hair when his lips closed around your clit, and Peter answered with a hungry moan, sucking the swollen little bud while the tip of his tongue rubbed firmly over it.

Your stomach tightened painfully. Heat gathered lower and lower until your entire body felt wound around the sensation of Peter’s mouth, and when he sucked again while his tongue flicked against you, the pressure finally broke. Your orgasm hit hard enough that your body went rigid before immediately falling apart beneath it, hips bucking into his face while your pussy clenched and pulsed through each wave. Peter didn’t stop.

He groaned against you as you came, keeping his lips and tongue pressed against your clit while fresh slick spilled across his mouth, coating his tongue, lips and chin as he licked you through every trembling aftershock.

Your thighs tried to close around his head, but his hands held them apart with gentle strength while you cried his name and ground against him, too overwhelmed to care how messy you were making his face.

The sight of you cumming seemed to hit Peter almost as hard as it hit you, because his cock jerked sharply beneath the suit and another wet bead of precum pushed through the fabric, joining the dark patch already spread around the tip.

By the time the orgasm began fading, your whole body had gone loose and shaky against the couch, your clit still twitching with sensitivity every time Peter’s tongue passed over it. You had to tug gently at his hair before he finally understood that you needed him to stop, because he’d become so absorbed in licking the last of your slick from your folds that he seemed genuinely reluctant to pull his mouth away.

Peter left one final kiss against your pussy before lifting his head, and the sight of him made something hot stir inside you all over again despite how sensitive you still were. Your slick was smeared all over the lower half of his face. His lips were wet and slightly swollen from eating you, his chin glistened beneath the light from the television, and there was even a faint shine along the edge of his cheek where your arousal had spread while you ground against him.

Peter looked up at you from his inverted position, breathing heavily, hair hanging messily toward the floor and expression completely satisfied with what he’d done to you. You reached toward him before you’d even fully decided what you wanted, fingers sliding beneath his jaw and turning his upside-down face slightly toward you.

His eyebrows lifted in question, but Peter stayed perfectly still when you leaned forward and dragged your tongue slowly across his chin. The taste of your own slick hit your tongue immediately, warm and intimate from where it coated his skin, and Peter’s mouth fell open around a soft sound when you licked another stripe upward toward the corner of his mouth.

You cleaned your arousal from his face slowly, tongue passing across his jaw, chin and swollen lips, deliberately gathering every wet trace he’d left there until his skin was almost clean.

Peter watched you the entire time. His eyes were darker now, following the movement of your mouth with obvious hunger while his cock continued twitching helplessly inside the damp suit. You licked the final streak of slick from his bottom lip and sat back just enough to let the mixture of your arousal and saliva collect deliberately in your mouth instead of swallowing it.

Peter’s expression shifted as he realised what you were doing, his eyes widening slightly before dropping toward your lips. You kept one hand beneath his jaw and tipped his face toward yours. “Open your mouth,” you told him softly. Peter obeyed immediately, lips parting and tongue visible while he looked at you with the same needy openness he’d shown when he’d sniffed your panties earlier.

You leaned closer until your faces were only inches apart, held his gaze and spat the slick mixture straight onto his tongue. Peter made a quiet, breathless moan when it landed in his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he closed his lips, swallowed everything you’d given him and then ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip like he didn’t want to waste even the taste left behind.

You watched his throat move as he swallowed, and his cock jerked beneath the suit hard enough that another tiny bead of precum soaked through the already damp material. The reaction pulled a satisfied smile from you, and Peter looked almost dazed when you brushed your thumb across his wet lower lip before telling him, “Come back down.”

Peter reacted immediately, although he was noticeably less composed than he’d been when he originally positioned himself above you. He reached upward along the webbing and pulled himself toward the ceiling with one arm, the muscles across his stomach tightening beneath the suit as he brought both feet back against the surface above him.

His palms adhered beside them while he twisted his hips and shoulders, carefully turning himself from the inverted hanging position into a crouch against the ceiling. He released one hand, planted it firmly against the wall and transferred one foot onto the vertical surface before the other followed, movements still controlled despite the obvious erection trapped painfully between his thighs.

Peter climbed downward quickly, peeling one hand and foot from the wall at a time while the remaining limbs kept him anchored, until he was low enough to simply push away and land softly on the floor in front of you.

He had barely straightened before you stood. Your legs immediately betrayed you, knees wobbling from the orgasm strongly enough that Peter’s expression changed and one hand shot instinctively around your waist to catch you.

A quiet, breathy laugh escaped him, but it lasted barely a second because you grabbed the front of his suit, pulled him toward you and kissed him hard. Peter stumbled half a step before recovering, one arm tightening around your waist while the other hand slid behind your neck, and then his mouth opened against yours without hesitation. You could still taste yourself faintly on his tongue when it met yours, the knowledge of what he’d just swallowed making the kiss feel filthy in a completely different way.

There wasn’t any of Peter’s earlier shyness left once you were standing together. He kissed you with an open hunger that made it obvious how long he’d spent desperately hard while concentrating entirely on you, tongue pushing against yours while his hands moved restlessly over your waist and back.

Your body pressed flush against his, and the instant his cock was trapped between your stomach and his suit you could feel exactly how hard he’d become. You slid one hand down between your bodies and covered the thick bulge through the fabric, pressing your palm firmly against his cock. Peter immediately broke the kiss with a loud, helpless moan against your mouth, hips jerking forward into your hand before he could stop himself.

He’d never been particularly quiet when sex was involved, and now that the embarrassment was gone he didn’t bother holding back anything. Every slow stroke of your palm over his cock pulled another sound from him, sometimes a rough groan from deep in his chest, sometimes a higher broken moan when your fingers rubbed directly over the damp fabric covering his sensitive head.

You could feel the heat of him even through the suit, his cock solid beneath your hand and twitching hard whenever your thumb circled the tip. Peter rested his forehead against yours for a second, eyes squeezing shut while his mouth remained open around another needy sound, then immediately kissed you again like he couldn’t stand being separated from you for even that long.

You kept palming him while you kissed, fingers tracing the full outline of his cock through the suit from the base to the leaking tip. The wet patch of precum had spread enough that the material felt faintly damp beneath your fingertips, and when you rubbed over it Peter shuddered visibly.

His hips rolled forward on instinct, pushing his cock harder against your palm while his hand tightened against your waist. “Keep doing that,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough and broken, and you barely gave him time to finish before dragging your palm slowly down the length of him again.

Peter moaned openly into your mouth, completely unconcerned with hiding how good it felt. There was something incredibly sexual about how expressive he was, the way every touch pulled an immediate reaction from him, whether it was his breathing catching, his stomach tightening beneath the suit,

his cock jumping against your hand or another sound spilling straight into your kiss. The shy colour remained faintly across his cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment anymore. He wanted you to know what you were doing to him.

The oversized shirt still hanging around your body suddenly felt like far too much clothing. You pulled back just enough to catch the hem with both hands and dragged it slowly upward over your stomach, and Peter’s attention immediately dropped toward the movement.

The fabric rose past your ribs, exposing more bare skin, and his breathing changed when the lower curves of your boobs appeared. You pulled the shirt completely over your head and tossed it somewhere behind the couch, leaving yourself naked from the waist up in front of him. Peter went completely still for a second.

His cock was still pressed against your hip through the suit, his lips remained wet from kissing you, but his eyes dropped straight toward your boobs with such naked appreciation that your nipples hardened beneath the attention alone.

His hands lifted slowly, almost reverently, palms settling around the soft weight of your boobs before his thumbs brushed across both nipples. The contact made you inhale sharply, and Peter’s eyes immediately lifted toward your face to watch your reaction before returning to your chest.

He touched your boobs like he couldn’t get enough of them. His hands squeezed gently, thumbs rubbing across your hardened nipples before his fingers spread underneath and lifted them slightly in his palms. Peter leaned forward and kissed the upper curve of one boob, then another kiss lower, then another closer to your nipple until his tongue finally dragged slowly across it.

Your fingers slid into his hair as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and sucked, and Peter groaned softly into your skin when you pulled him closer. His free hand kept kneading your other boob, thumb circling the nipple before pinching it lightly enough to make your back arch toward him.

He switched sides after a moment, kissing his way across your chest and taking the opposite nipple into his mouth while his hand returned to the first. Peter looked almost drunk on touching you, mouth warm and wet over your boobs while his cock repeatedly twitched against your body.

Every little sound you made encouraged him, and between kisses he murmured how soft you felt, how pretty your boobs looked in his hands and how badly he’d wanted to get your shirt off since you’d spread your thighs for him earlier.

Eventually you had to pull him away by the hair because Peter seemed perfectly willing to spend the rest of the night with his face buried against your boobs. He lifted his head reluctantly, lips swollen and damp, eyes unfocused for a moment before landing on your face.

Your fingers travelled down the front of his suit, and the second Peter realised you were trying to get it off, his own hands immediately joined yours. He peeled the upper half away from his shoulders first, dragging the tight material down his arms and exposing his chest and stomach inch by inch.

You ran your palms over the warm skin as it appeared, feeling the lean muscle underneath while Peter breathed harder beneath your touch. The suit gathered around his hips, and he hooked both thumbs under the fabric before pushing it farther down.

You helped, dragging the material over his hips and thighs while Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other until the suit finally released what it had been compressing for the last several minutes.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath the second his cock sprang free. It was hard enough to stand heavy against his lower stomach, thick and visibly flushed from being trapped inside the suit while he ate you out. The head was darker than the rest, glossy with precum, the slit wet enough that another clear bead gathered while you stared before slowly rolling over the rounded tip.

A thick vein ran visibly along the underside of his shaft, disappearing near the base where dark curls spread above it, and every few seconds his cock gave another involuntary twitch toward his stomach. The skin looked stretched tight around how full he was, his balls drawn close beneath the shaft from how painfully aroused he’d become without touching himself.

Peter looked down at you watching him and let out a shaky breath, but there was no attempt to cover himself or hide anymore. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was still ruined from your hands, his lips remained swollen from your kisses and your slick, and another bead of precum had already formed at the tip of his cock by the time your eyes returned there.

You watched it swell slowly at the slit before dragging your gaze back up Peter’s body and meeting his eyes. His throat moved in a hard swallow when he saw the expression on your face, and without breaking eye contact, you slowly lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.

Peter went completely still when your knees touched the floor, his entire body seeming to lock around the sight of you looking up at him from beneath your lashes. For all the confidence he’d carried once he had his mouth between your thighs, this was different, because now there was nowhere for him to hide from how badly he wanted it.

His cock stood hard and heavy in front of you, thick enough that your fingers barely looked like enough when you wrapped one hand around the base, and the heat of him against your palm made your stomach tighten all over again. Another bead of precum gathered at the slit while you watched, glossy and clear, swelling slowly before beginning to slide down over the flushed head.

Peter’s breath hitched when you leaned forward instead of touching it with your fingers, and the sound broke into a low moan the second your tongue caught the bead from his tip. He tasted salty and warm, the precum spreading across your tongue as you dragged it slowly around the head, taking your time with the sensitive ridge until Peter’s hand shot out and braced against the wall beside him.

His mouth had fallen open already, eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t look away even if it killed him, and when you licked over the slit again, his hips jerked forward so sharply he immediately choked out, “Sorry, sorry.” The apology only made you smile around him, because he looked ruined before you’d even properly started.

You kept one hand around the base of his cock while the other settled against his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your palm as you dragged your tongue down the underside of his shaft. He was so hard that every vein stood out beneath your mouth, the thick one underneath pressing against your tongue when you licked slowly from the base back to the tip.

Peter made a broken sound above you, not quiet or restrained, just openly needy, his fingers spreading against the wall as if he needed something solid to keep himself upright. You circled the head with your tongue again, then kissed the slick tip in a deliberately soft, filthy little gesture that made his cock twitch against your lips.

“Don’t tease,” he breathed, voice rough and already unsteady, and when you glanced up at him, his face was flushed so deeply that even his ears were red. You rewarded the plea by taking the head of his cock into your mouth, lips sealing around him while your tongue pressed firmly against the underside.

Peter’s reaction was immediate and loud, a full moan spilling out of him as his head tipped back, throat exposed, chest rising hard with every breath. The sound made your pussy clench even though he wasn’t touching you anymore, and you hummed around him just to feel the way his whole body shuddered.

The vibration nearly took his knees out. Peter’s other hand flew into your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just grabbing like he needed to hold onto something before his body forgot how to stand. You took him a little deeper, jaw stretching around the thickness of him while your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit yet, twisting slowly at the base.

His cock was hot and heavy on your tongue, precum smearing against the roof of your mouth as you worked him in shallow, wet pulls. Peter kept making sounds with every motion, soft gasps turning into rougher moans whenever your lips tightened or your tongue dragged over the sensitive head on the way back up.

He tried to watch you, but every few seconds his eyes squeezed shut like the sight was too much, only to open again almost immediately because he clearly couldn’t stand missing it. Your free hand slid higher up his thigh, nails lightly dragging against his skin, and his cock jumped in your mouth hard enough to make you pause.

Peter looked down quickly, breath catching when he saw the way your lips were stretched around him, and the hand in your hair tightened before loosening again in the same second.

You pulled off just enough to breathe, letting your lips drag slowly over the head before he slipped free with a wet sound. Peter’s hips twitched toward your mouth again, desperate for the warmth he’d just lost, and you looked up at him while stroking him with your hand instead.

His cock was slick now from your mouth and his own precum, your fingers gliding more easily as you pumped him from base to tip, thumb circling the flushed head each time you reached it. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice low as your gaze travelled over his flushed face, his open mouth, the way his chest kept lifting quickly. “You were so noisy eating my pussy, and now you’re even worse.”

Peter let out a strained laugh that broke halfway into another moan when your thumb pressed directly over the slit. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice rough and breathless. The honesty in it made heat lick up your spine.

He wasn’t trying to be controlled now, wasn’t trying to make some awkward joke or act composed, and when you leaned forward to lick a slow line up his shaft again, he moaned your name so openly that you felt it between your legs. You took him back into your mouth before he could say anything else.

This time you pushed deeper. Your lips slid down over him inch by inch while your hand tightened at the base, and Peter’s entire body went rigid above you. His fingers threaded through your hair again, trembling slightly as he fought the instinct to buck into your mouth, and you could feel the restraint in every tense line of him.

You hollowed your cheeks and dragged upward slowly, then sank back down, wet heat closing around him while your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Peter swore under his breath once, sharp and helpless, then immediately fell into a string of broken sounds that barely formed words at all.

His hips began moving in small involuntary rolls, not enough to take control, just enough to chase the rhythm of your mouth, and you let him because the desperation of it made your thighs press together. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, mixing with the precum leaking from him until every stroke sounded slick and obscene.

When he looked down again, his face went utterly wrecked, eyes dark and unfocused as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. “You look so good like that,” he said, the words uneven and breathless, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

You moaned around him at the praise, and Peter nearly folded. His hand left the wall and landed on the back of the couch instead, gripping it hard while his other hand stayed buried in your hair. You pulled back, breathing through your nose, then took him deeper again, relaxing your jaw until the head of his cock pressed farther into your mouth and made your eyes water slightly.

Peter noticed instantly, his expression flashing with concern through the haze of pleasure, and his hand loosened in your hair as if he was ready to pull you off. Instead, you looked up at him and kept going, letting your tongue move against him while you held his gaze. That did something awful to him.

His mouth fell open, no sound coming out for half a second before a loud, broken moan finally escaped. His cock pulsed against your tongue, precum spilling thicker now, and you swallowed around him just enough to make his thighs tense beneath your hands. “Baby,” he gasped, the pet name sounding almost ruined, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

You pulled back again, but only to lick across the head and smear the mess over your lips before taking him back in. Peter looked down at your mouth, then at your eyes, and the flush across his face deepened into something almost feverish.

You stroked the base with your hand while sucking the head, tongue flicking over the slit each time more precum gathered there, and his hips began to shake with the effort of keeping still.

Every sound he made was raw and immediate. A gasp when you tightened your lips. A moan when you dragged your tongue underneath.

A broken little whimper when your hand slid lower and cupped him gently while your mouth kept working over the tip. His cock throbbed heavily in your grip, the skin slick and hot, and you could feel how close he was by the way his body kept tensing, releasing, then tensing again.

Peter’s fingers curled through your hair without pulling, his eyes never leaving your face now, and the naked want in his expression made your own body ache. He looked like he wanted to apologise for how desperate he was, but every sound coming out of him said he didn’t want you to stop.

You didn’t. You sank down again, slower this time, taking him as far as you comfortably could while your hand worked the rest in a tight, wet rhythm. Peter’s head tipped back, throat working around a helpless moan as his stomach muscles tightened sharply.

His cock pulsed hard against your tongue, and you felt the exact moment he started losing control, the rhythm of his breathing breaking apart while his hips gave another restrained little thrust.

“I’m close,” he warned, voice strained and shaky. You answered by moaning around him and looking up, letting him see that you’d heard him and weren’t moving away. Peter’s eyes snapped back down to yours, stunned and overwhelmed, and the sight of you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him seemed to push him right to the edge.

His hand tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding on, and he made the softest, most wrecked sound when your tongue pressed firmly along the underside of his cock. Then his whole body shuddered, his cock swelling against your tongue, and he came with a loud, broken moan, spilling hot into your mouth while his hips jerked forward once before he caught himself.

You kept your mouth on him through it, taking every pulse while Peter trembled above you. His cum coated your tongue in warm, salty bursts, and his sounds turned softer but no less desperate as you slowly worked him through the aftershocks.

His hand slid from your hair to the side of your face, fingers shaking slightly as he looked down at you with his mouth open and eyes blown wide. You didn’t pull away until his cock softened only a little against your tongue and his breathing had turned ragged enough that each exhale sounded almost pained.

When you finally let him slip from your mouth, a thin string of spit and cum connected your lower lip to the flushed head for a second before breaking. Peter stared at it like the sight might actually finish him all over again.

You swallowed slowly while looking up at him, and the tiny sound that left him afterward was almost pathetic. His thumb brushed over your cheek, tender despite the filth of the moment, and for a second neither of you moved.

Then you leaned forward and pressed one last slow kiss to the sensitive tip of his cock, just enough to make him twitch and suck in a sharp breath. Peter’s knees actually bent slightly that time, his hand dropping back to the wall for balance while he gave you a breathless, almost wounded look.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice hoarse and uneven. You smiled up at him, still on your knees, lips wet and swollen, your thighs sticky from your own earlier orgasm and your chest bare beneath the dim light of the room.

Peter looked at you like he didn’t know whether to pull you up and kiss you or collapse right there in front of you. His cock was still slick between you, sensitive and flushed, a little cum still glistening near the slit, and even though he’d just finished, the way his eyes moved over your face and boobs made it obvious he wasn’t done wanting you.

He reached down carefully and slid his hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up with a softness that somehow made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Then he bent, caught your mouth in a deep, messy kiss and moaned when he tasted himself on your tongue.

The kiss didn’t stay soft for even a second. Peter bent over you with one hand still beneath your chin, mouth opening immediately when yours did, and the taste of him on your tongue made his whole body tense like the filth of it had travelled straight through him. You rose from your knees slowly, legs still unsteady, but the second you were upright your hands went to his chest and pushed.

Peter let you move him without resistance, stumbling backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he dropped onto it with a breathless little sound. His cock was still flushed and slick from your mouth, softer than before but not fully down, lying heavy against his lower stomach with the head still wet and sensitive.

Peter looked up at you with messy hair, swollen lips and a dazed kind of hunger still all over his face, like he should’ve been spent but wasn’t even close to done wanting you. You climbed over him before he could say anything, one knee sinking into the cushion beside his hip and then the other until you were straddling his lap, your pussy hovering over his cock while he stared down between your bodies.

His hands immediately went to your waist, fingers spreading over your skin like he needed to feel you everywhere at once. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him twitch weakly in your palm, still wet with spit and cum, and Peter’s breath caught when you dragged the softened head through your folds.

He made a broken sound when you pressed the tip against your entrance, his eyes snapping up to your face as if he hadn’t expected you to move so quickly. You didn’t give him much warning. You sank down slowly, pushing the slightly soft head inside your wet pussy and feeling your body stretch around the thickness of him even before he was fully hard again.

Peter’s mouth fell open. His fingers tightened on your waist, and the noise that came out of him was low and helpless, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of your slick cunt surrounding him while he was still sensitive from cumming in your mouth. “I wanna feel you get hard inside me,” you murmured, leaning down until your mouth brushed his ear, and Peter’s hips jolted upward beneath you at the words.

You took him deeper inch by inch, your pussy hot and soaked enough to pull him in despite the softness still lingering in his cock, and every little squeeze of your walls made him swell more against you. Peter’s head fell back against the couch, throat exposed, chest rising sharply as he tried to breathe through it.

You could feel the change happening in real time, his cock thickening inside you, filling you more completely with each pulse, going from pliant and sensitive to heavier, harder, more insistent as your body clenched around him. The feeling was filthy enough to make your own breath shake, because you could tell exactly when he tipped over from recovering into needing you all over again.

Once Peter was hard inside you, the stretch became almost too good. His cock filled you properly now, thick and hot, pressing deep every time you lowered your hips until your thighs trembled around his lap. You started riding him slowly at first, hands braced on his shoulders while you lifted yourself almost to the tip and sank back down with a wet, aching drag.

Peter groaned loudly, not bothering to hold back, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass so he could help guide the movement. His fingers kneaded into you, spreading you slightly each time you took him back in, and the pressure made his cock feel even deeper as your pussy swallowed him over and over.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, voice rough against your throat as he leaned forward, mouth dragging along your neck. You tipped your head to give him room, and Peter immediately took advantage, kissing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw before biting down just enough to make you gasp.

His cock jerked inside you at the sound, and you answered by rolling your hips harder, grinding down until your clit rubbed against his body and your cunt tightened around him. Peter’s mouth opened against your neck in another moan, loud and unrestrained, his teeth scraping your skin before he sucked a mark there like he wanted you to feel him even after this was over.

His hands couldn’t seem to settle in one place. They gripped your ass, slid up your back, then came around to your boobs with a kind of greedy tenderness that made your rhythm falter. Peter cupped them while you rode him, thumbs brushing over your nipples as your hips moved in slow, filthy rolls over his cock.

Every time you sank down, his palms squeezed the soft weight of your boobs, and when you lifted again his thumbs circled your nipples until they tightened beneath his touch. You moaned his name and leaned back slightly, giving him more room to look, and Peter’s eyes dropped immediately to the way your chest moved with every bounce of your hips.

He looked wrecked by it, flushed and open-mouthed, his cock twitching deep inside you as he watched his hands cover your boobs. You shifted your own hands down from his shoulders to his chest, dragging your thumbs over his nipples in return. Peter’s reaction was instant.

His stomach tensed, his hips jerked up into you and a sharp moan broke out of him before he could swallow it. You did it again, slower this time, brushing both thumbs over his nipples before pinching lightly, and Peter’s head tipped back with another loud, helpless sound as his cock pulsed inside your pussy.

You rode him harder after that, spurred on by every noise he made. The couch creaked beneath you both, the slick slide of his cock in and out of your pussy growing louder as your arousal mixed with what was left of his cum and your spit.

Peter’s hands returned to your ass, gripping you tighter now, fingers digging in while he helped pull you down onto him. You could feel him everywhere, deep in your stomach, dragging against every sensitive place inside you, and each time your clit rubbed against him another pulse of pleasure tightened low in your belly.

Peter kept kissing and biting your neck between moans, sometimes missing your skin entirely because his head would drop forward when your pussy clenched particularly hard around him.

“I can’t,” he gasped at one point, though he didn’t sound like he wanted you to stop. His hips kept rising into you, sloppy and eager, meeting every downward roll of your body like he couldn’t stand not being as deep as possible.

You threaded one hand through his hair and pulled his head back so you could kiss him, and Peter moaned into your mouth when your thumb brushed his nipple again. For a while it was just that, your bodies moving together on the couch, your pussy taking him again and again, his hands on your ass, his mouth on your neck, both of you getting close but not quite falling over the edge.

Then Peter seemed to decide he needed more. His grip on your ass shifted, fingers spreading wider, and before you could fully process the change, he planted his feet more firmly on the floor and stood with you still wrapped around him. The movement made you gasp, arms flying around his shoulders as his cock drove deeper inside you from the sudden lift.

Peter held you easily, one arm locked beneath your ass while the other hand gripped your hip, and the sheer strength of him made your pussy clench so hard that his eyes squeezed shut. “There,” he breathed, voice strained and wrecked, adjusting his hold until your back was slightly arched and your thighs were tight around his waist. Then he started fucking up into you.

The first thrust knocked the air from your lungs, his cock driving into you from below with a force the couch hadn’t allowed, and Peter’s moan broke apart against your neck as he did it again. His hands gripped your ass, spreading and lifting you so he could fuck upward into your pussy in deep, rough strokes that made your whole body bounce against him.

You clung to his shoulders, nails dragging over his skin, while his mouth found your neck again and bit down through another loud groan. Every thrust pushed him deeper, every upward snap of his hips dragged a helpless sound from you, and Peter’s control seemed to unravel completely when he realised this was what would make you both cum.

It happened fast once he was standing. Your body was already oversensitive from the first orgasm and from riding him, and now every upward thrust punched pleasure through you so sharply that your thighs started shaking around his waist. Peter felt it immediately. His grip on your ass tightened, holding you open and lifted while his hips worked up into you with desperate rhythm.

His mouth moved messily over your neck, biting, kissing, breathing your name against your skin in broken pieces. You could feel his cock swelling even harder inside you, the head dragging against that deep sensitive spot until your whole body started to go tight. “Peter,” you gasped, and the way his name broke out of you made him moan loudly against your throat.

His thrusts got rougher, less controlled, his stomach pressing against your clit every time he drove up, and that final pressure was what sent you over. Your orgasm hit while he was still holding you off the floor, your pussy clamping down around his cock so hard that Peter nearly stumbled back into the couch.

He caught himself, swore softly under his breath, then came with you, hips jerking upward as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. His cum filled you in hot, heavy pulses while your own release soaked around him, the mixture making every tiny aftershock wetter and messier as he held you through it.

Peter collapsed back onto the couch with you still in his lap, both of you breathing hard, his cock still buried inside your trembling pussy. For a few seconds neither of you moved. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his hands spread over your ass and lower back, and every little twitch of your cunt around him made him exhale shakily against your skin.

You lifted your head first, dazed and sticky and aching in the best way, then shifted your hips carefully until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. Peter looked down between your bodies, still breathing hard, and you followed his gaze.

Cum immediately began to drip out of your pussy around him, thick and white, mixing with your slick as it slipped down over his cock and gathered messily between your thighs. The sight made Peter’s mouth part around a silent breath. You lifted yourself another fraction, letting more of it spill out of you in a slow, obscene drip, and his fingers tightened on your hips like he was trying not to lose his mind.

You slid two fingers through the mess, scooping up the mixture of his cum and your release before bringing it to your mouth. Peter watched, completely transfixed, as you licked your fingers clean slowly, tongue dragging between them until nothing remained.

You didn’t let him recover from the sight. You leaned in immediately and kissed him, pushing your tongue into his mouth so he could taste the mixture you’d just licked from your fingers. Peter moaned into the kiss, arms tightening around you as his tongue met yours, and the cum-slick taste moved between you in slow, filthy swirls.

You kissed him deeply, letting it coat both your tongues while you still hovered over his softening cock, your pussy dripping onto his lap. Peter didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed you harder, one hand sliding up your back while the other cupped the back of your head to keep your mouth against his.

When you finally separated, his lips were wet and his eyes were unfocused, his chest rising quickly beneath yours. You stayed there in his lap, legs weak, body sticky, your boobs pressed against his chest and his cum still leaking slowly from your pussy.

Peter looked down between you one more time, then back up at your face, and the ruined little sound he made told you he was already thinking about putting his mouth back there to clean up the mess himself.

Peter didn’t just think about it. He did it.

One second he was staring down between your bodies with that ruined, hungry look still all over his face, eyes fixed on the slow mess of his cum and your release dripping from your pussy and slipping over his softened cock, and the next his hands were already moving. There wasn’t much teasing left in him now, not in the clever, shy, almost nervous way he’d had earlier.

He was too far gone for that, too warm and wrecked and needy, and the little sound he made when more cum slipped out of you was almost pained. His hands tightened around your hips, and before you could even ask what he was doing, Peter shifted beneath you and turned you carefully, one arm braced around your waist so he didn’t let you fall while he guided you down onto your back across the couch.

Your body was loose and heavy from both orgasms, legs still trembling, and Peter handled you like he knew exactly how sensitive you were, even as his expression made it painfully obvious he was barely holding onto his own restraint.

He moved between your thighs with a kind of eager clumsiness that felt so completely Peter, rushed because he wanted it so badly, gentle because it was you.

He pulled your legs up over his shoulders, one at a time, kissing your calf as he settled you open beneath him. The position folded you back just enough that your pussy was completely exposed to him, wet and swollen and messy with everything both of you had left there.

Peter stared for a second longer than he needed to, his mouth parting as his eyes followed the thick drip of cum slipping from your entrance and sliding down through your slick folds. His cock, already softening but still heavy and flushed, twitched weakly against his stomach as he leaned closer.

You saw it happen, saw the way his hips shifted against the couch cushions below him before he even reached your pussy, and the sight made your breath catch in a tired, breathy little laugh. Peter’s eyes flicked up toward your face, cheeks red, but this time he didn’t apologise.

He only turned his head and pressed a slow kiss against the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, mouth warm and messy against your skin while his hands held you open.

The first lick made both of you shudder. Peter dragged his tongue slowly through your folds, catching the mixture of his cum and your slick where it had gathered against your entrance before licking upward with a deep, open-mouthed hunger that made your stomach tighten even though you were already oversensitive.

You gasped, fingers grabbing at the couch beneath you, and Peter groaned directly into your pussy like the taste had hit him harder than expected. He did it again, slower, tongue pressing between your swollen lips and collecting everything messy and wet from you as though he couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any of it. His eyes fluttered for half a second, and then his hips rolled downward against the floor beneath him.

The motion was small at first, almost involuntary, his body chasing friction while his mouth stayed buried between your thighs. Your legs tightened over his shoulders when you realised what he was doing, and Peter made a needy sound into your cunt as his cock rubbed against the carpet with another desperate little grind.

He licked you clean like it mattered to him. Like it was something he needed. His tongue moved slowly over every slick inch of you, dragging through your folds, circling your entrance, then sweeping upward toward your clit with enough care that he didn’t overwhelm you but still made your whole body twitch beneath him.

Each time he tasted more of the mess, his hips pushed harder against the floor. You could hear the rough little breaths he dragged in between licks, hear the quiet, broken moans he tried and failed to smother against your pussy, and every one made the scene feel dirtier. Peter Parker, still half on his knees, still bare and flushed and sticky from you, was eating his own cum out of your cunt while rutting against the floor like he couldn’t help himself.

His hands stayed locked around your thighs, thumbs rubbing your skin in little soothing strokes that didn’t match the desperation of his mouth at all. You looked down at him through heavy lashes, exhausted and turned on all over again, and whispered his name so softly it barely made it past your lips. Peter answered by pressing his face closer, tongue pushing gently into your entrance while his hips gave another needy grind beneath him.

You were too sensitive to take much more, but Peter seemed to know that without being told. He didn’t try to make you cum again. He didn’t suck hard at your clit or push you past what your trembling body could handle. Instead he cleaned you with slow, filthy devotion, licking away the cum that slipped from you, kissing your folds when your thighs shook too much, murmuring soft, breathless little sounds against your skin whenever you squirmed.

His mouth was wet with both of you now, lips shining, chin slick again, and when he finally pulled back to look at your pussy, his expression had gone almost dazed with satisfaction. There was still a little mess at your entrance, and Peter’s eyes fixed on it instantly.

He leaned in one more time, tongue dragging carefully over the spot, and his hips rocked against the floor again with a low, helpless groan. The sound made your chest tighten, fondness mixing with the heavy satisfaction still buzzing through your body. He was completely shameless now, noisy and needy and wrecked, but still so careful with you that it made your heart ache in the middle of all the filth.

When Peter was finally satisfied, he didn’t move away from you immediately. He pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh, then another to the other one, mouth soft and warm where he’d just had you shaking. His hands slid down from your thighs to your hips, thumbs brushing lazily over your skin as he lowered your legs from his shoulders.

You were limp enough that he had to help guide them back down, and he did it with a tired tenderness that made you want to pull him up and keep him there. Peter kissed the inside of your knee, then the top of your thigh, then slowly made his way upward. His lips travelled over your hip, across the lower curve of your stomach, and then higher still, leaving warm little kisses over every inch he could reach.

He looked exhausted now, properly drained, his hair a complete disaster, his mouth still wet, his eyes half-lidded with that soft post-sex haze that made him look younger and sweeter again. By the time he reached your ribs, his body had already started to sag with the weight of everything you’d both done.

He collapsed beside you on the couch with a heavy, breathless exhale, half on his side and half against you because there wasn’t really enough room for both of you to lie comfortably. Neither of you cared. Peter’s arm immediately found your waist, dragging you closer until your bare skin pressed against his, warm and sticky and familiar.

His face tucked into the side of your neck, and for a moment all you could hear was both of you breathing, the movie still playing uselessly in the background, completely forgotten. You were sure the apartment was a disaster.

His suit was probably in a half-peeled heap somewhere near the couch, your shirt had been abandoned behind it, your panties were still somewhere in the wreckage, and the blanket had slid halfway onto the floor. Peter shifted like he might attempt to sit up, always so painfully ready to take care of things even when he looked like he could fall asleep mid-breath, but you caught his arm before he could go anywhere.

You reached down blindly until your fingers found the blanket and pulled it up over both of you, covering your bare bodies in a crooked, warm mess. Peter let out a soft sound when the fabric settled over his shoulders, his arm tightening around you as if the permission to stop moving had finally reached him.

You tucked yourself against his chest, your legs still weak, your body still sticky, your throat still a little dry from everything you’d said and moaned, and you felt Peter press one final lazy kiss to the top of your head. “We can clean up later,” you mumbled sleepily, barely managing to get the words out before your eyes started drifting shut.

Peter’s quiet laugh rumbled against you, tired and warm and completely spent. His fingers traced one absent line up your spine beneath the blanket before coming to rest against your back, holding you close. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough from all the sounds he’d made for you. “Later.”

and, fuck, he's so sick for the way his cock twitches when you wince or sigh out in pain despite him being so gentle with you—but, to his pleasure, you aren't running.

no, you're pushing back into him, softly humping your cunt against his tongue, clenching around his fingers and suckling them like you can't get enough.

"feel's'good, peter," you mewl, slurred, whiny, pussy constricting when he presses his pads into the sweet spot at the top. "mmm—ah, fuck—please—a-ah, wait, careful—hurts a little—"

your body seems to be contradicting itself, tensing up when he strokes a particularly sore spot but yet releasing the most delicious sounds of pleasure, with whines for him to slow down peppered in between cries for more.

"i know, baby, i know. i know she's sore." he cuts off your next whimper softly, massaging gentle circles into your thigh with his free hand, fingers still sinking knuckle deep inside you rhythmically. "'m gonna go slow, okay? fuck, i'll make it up t'you... 'm'gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, hmm? y'want that?"

"yes, yes, please," you rush out on a breath, one that catches on a small whine and a jerk of your hips when his shoulder rubs against the sensitive flesh of your thigh. "wan-wanna feel better, pete, please—"

fuck, he's hard enough to cut steel right now. his boxers are tight and sticky, pools of pre spilling from his swollen tip. he aches so badly to simply bury himself inside your sweet cunt, replace his thick fingers with something even thicker and longer—but he knows he has to wait.

there's no way your poor, achy pussy could handle his cock right now. that would be far too much. she needs his tongue and fingers to bring her to orgasm first.

"fuck—a-ah—peter, i-i think 'm gonna cum."

oh, speak of the devil. peter suppresses a small smirk and starts to pump his fingers just a little harder—not faster, not higher, just harder. he flicks his tongue over your clit in tandem, and fuck, now your pussy is clenching so tight. your chest heaves and your moans are loud enough to shake the walls.

"that's it, pretty baby," peter murmurs, breath hot and fanning over your slopped up pussy. "c'mon, let it go. mmhmm, jus' like that. let go f'me, cum on my fingers—oh, yes, that's a goooood girl—"

peter can't really tell if the whine that escapes your throat is one of pain or pleasure; maybe it's a bit of both. but what he can tell is that you are coming on his fingers, slick gushing and clit pulsing, so swollen and cute and sensitive when he sucks on it gently.

and now that you have cum, maybe you'd be willing to let him make you just a little more sore...

note. so acc idk entirely how i feel abt this one bcs i'm expirementing a lil with a more dominant peter, so pls lmk how you guys feel about it or if i did a decent job of it or if u like it yeah u get it lol. anyway luv yas xoxo!! ♡

what started as hand-holding at the concession stand and taking turns sipping at a large cherry cola turned into buttered popcorn littered all over the floorboard, bucket swiped haphazardly by your foot when you’d leaned over the center console and pressed a wet, fizzy-flavoured kiss to driver’s lips.

“you should come see a movie with me.” he didn’t explicitly say it; he didn’t call it a date like you hankered for, but it went without saying when he opened the passenger side door and told you how pretty you looked or how he inched closer and puffed out his broad chest when the canteen started to bustle with strangers. he dropped his shoulder and closed the distance between your mouth and his ear with a tilted head after he asked what you wanted. you noticed he smelled faintly of cedar underneath all of that gasoline. he ordered for you. he paid. this was a date.

for a man that worshipped at the altar of vintage chevy’s and clothes dirtied by stale motor oil, the drive inn was a prudent choice. you ignored the spatter of blood on the primer grey rocker panel when you climbed back in with your snacks, got too comfy for a girl with fruitless expectations; fuzzy, thick blankets didn’t make for easy access.

sometimes it felt like driver forgot that he was in possession of his own free will. he practiced boundaries better than any of the forlorn men that had taken you out before— the ones that pawed at your chest like a newborn and shoved their tongues down your throat like they were searching for something. no, the most you’d felt of those big gloved-hands of his were through accidental brushes. he was considerate, perceptive even, and that made it an even more infeasible challenge to keep your underwear dry. you’d usually wear button-up jeans and a belt to keep things locked up like fort knox with men in the past, but tonight you wore a skimpy skirt… one that driver had shimmied up to your mid-section after you squeezed at his biceps and pulled at the collar of his henley until he was hovering over you. you were one of those forlorn men for the evening.

“lemme see.” he murmured, pinning your legs open with a firm hand. your right knee was jammed between the door and the glove compartment, while the left was hiked up and over the cubby box. you’d lasted forty-five excruciating minutes filled with movie dialogue and nothing else— practically a feat when driver settled a hand just below your thigh on minute twenty. you kissed him when he held out the paperboard cup as an offer, straw surely still wet with his saliva. he took you by surprise, slotting his mouth back against yours when you expected him to freeze.

“look at that button.” driver cooed, tone thick with pride. your arousal had bloomed, painting an embarrassingly large blotch of wetness at the centre of your lacy pair of panties. the fabric thinned out enough for him to ogle what you were so poorly hiding underneath. “all swollen and wet. why’s that?”

when you didn’t answer outside of the heave of your chest, driver grazed the pad of his calloused thumb over the pinochle of nerves— just enough to make your hips buck. he found just the right spot with those slender fingers, tracing at your seam in a way that was featherlight and excruciating. when he spoke, he was all faux pity, creased brows and downturned lips like he was concerned— like you were an animal in pain that he couldn’t help.

“who did this to you?” he asked like an accusation. your blunt nails were driven into his taut forearm now, a pathetic mewl of his name stumbling out of your mouth as an answer.

he smirked then, satisfaction sheathed deep in his chest with every sound you made. he was crossing into dangerous territory now that he’d seen you so vulnerable. he nudged his fingertip against your core, just enough to jostle the hem aside and sink two of his slender digits into you. driver’s jaw fell slack, lips parted silently in awe when he felt the hot slick already pooling at his knuckles. it eased the ache, but only for a moment.

“s’that all for me, sweetheart?”

your eyes were screwed shut now. you’d adjusted to settle your calf at driver’s shoulder, face scrunched up in pleasure.

“hm?” driver prompted, slow to start retracting his touch, knuckles dragging against your insides that were so painfully-delicious. you yelped like a dog.

it wasn’t until he murmured out an unimpressed “what was that?” that you realized he wasn’t going to budge without an answer. so, you nodded your head, fast and disjointed. “yes! for you!”

the rhythmic wet thrust of his fingers drowned out the ostentatious explosions of whatever action film was being projected on the screen and bleeding through the radio. driver was fixated on memorizing every twitch of your toes and each shift in your expression; how you sucked in a breath every time he nearly pulled out all of the way just to stuff you full again, or the way your back arched when he tweaked your pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. he’d need it for next time— he’d use it to relieve himself of the desperation straining his jeans later.

he kissed you this time. it was claiming, slow and deep while he pumped his wrist with such precision. he was giving you just enough, but too little to get you where you wanted. driver liked the long game. he wanted to see how long it took to break you down and mould you into a pliant play-thing. his, all the same.

he wanted you to beg for it, and he was giving you all of the incentive when he pet your clit in soft strokes, practically clinical with how little pressure he used… with those same hands that had beaten the life out of men that you’d never have to worry your pretty little head about.

your hips were starting to ache. your throat was tight from how many whines and whimpers you’d swallowed. driver’s windows might’ve been tinted, but his car certainly wasn’t sound-proof. his vehicle was the most isolated in the lot— always with intent, but for different reasons tonight now that he had some precious cargo. albeit, occasional shadows still stalked by, in search of food or bathrooms.

your mouths broke apart, but not without a long string of spit that had gathered at the very tip of your tongue, tying the two of you together.

“what if someone caught us like this, hm?” your head had been so thick with desire that you’d barely considered, hadn’t even recalled the carloads of bodies surrounding them. the risk to reward ratio was well-worth it when he curled his fingers so perfectly, just ghosting his touch over the deepest parts of your insides. “all spread open for me, takin’ my fingers so well.”

his voice was dizzying; soft and tender in ways that betrayed the lewd, all-consuming stretch of his digits. you moaned, ankle clambering into the side of his neck.

“wouldn’t you be so embarrassed? you’d get in so much trouble, baby… such a bad girl.”

you were fucking yourself onto his hand now— hips shifting back in a clumsy haste then pulling him back in with your knee bent at his shoulder. it was depraved; dirty and unprincipled underneath him. he thought he’d have to put in hours of work to get you falling apart like this, but no… you were just… perfect. if he didn’t bear the self-control of a major general, he’d ruin you right then and there.

“you’re going to cum for me now, yeah?” his gaze was devouring you when you looked up at him through bleary eyes. it wasn’t a question, but it was proposed like one. it was a fact; your gummy walls were sputtering, sinking further back into the leather of the seat he’d reclined minutes ago.

“mhm,” was the best you could manage, high-pitched and drawn-out. you were squirming, but that didn’t slow the drive of his fingers.

his lips grazed the shell of your ear then, breath hot and humid when he spoke. “think i’ve earned it, honey. give it to me.”

driver knew it was coming anyway, but a few words to throw you over the edge didn’t hurt. he knew you’d agree when your climax coiled in your gut, starting with an earth-shattering pulse between your legs and then a tingling in your toes. you gasped, frantically fisting at the material at his chest. it was strong enough to wet your eyes, but you could still make out that shit-eating grin when you opened them.

“The fuck happened to him?” You asked. It wasn't the showing up unannounced that bothered you. That happened more than enough times for you to grow used to it by now. It was the scrapes along his face, the line of dried blood trailing from his nose, and an already forming bruise at his temple.

You were used to the three of you getting injured all the time, and ever since you joined their business, it was inevitable that you were now more accident-prone than at your last job as a hitwoman. Especially because of Holland. But it wasn't normal that he came home like this after what was supposed to be a simple night out to the bar.

“Just a little fist fight. Then he fell down the stairs,” Healy huffed, adjusting Holland over his shoulder. The drunken man giggled at that like it was some joke. “He shouldn't go home to Holly like this. You were nearer too, and he kept asking for you.”

He asked for you. You expertly masked how your heartbeat surged at that, only nodding in response.

“I think Holly would be used to it by now, but yeah—” You stepped aside, making room for them to enter. “I'll handle this. Can you get him to my bathroom?”

Healy dragged Holland from the door all the way to your bedroom, using his foot to push the toilet cover down over the seat, where you had to assist him in keeping Holland upright just so he wouldn't fall to the side and crack his head open again.

You escorted Healy out, thanking him for the help, and returned to your bathroom where Holland was slumped over on the toilet, head in between his knees and arms dangling at his sides.

“March,” you said, trying to wake him. You knelt down on the cold tiles as you struggled to push him back upright. “God, March, you're heavy. Sit up.”

He’d finally resurfaced from his drunken stupor at your words. Somewhat. He lifted his head up only to fall forwards, putting his full weight on you. His hands found your waist, fingertips rubbing at your skin through the silk of your nightgown. You were practically hugging him now, arms wrapped around his shoulders, with no other way to support the larger man.

“March—”

“You're so soft.”

You shuddered. From his words or from his touch, you didn't know. Again, you tried to rise to your feet so you could get him to sit up. And he let you, head slipping from the curve of your neck down the valley of your breasts, to your torso, where he rested against your stomach. You swallowed, before saying in a louder voice, “March. Please? I'm not letting you into bed if you don't let me clean you up.”

His head shot up, swaying from the movement, but more attentive than before. “Yeah? Bed with you?”

“You sound like a baby.” You were smiling now. Though it was also to brush off the nervousness that rose up to your chest.

Hesitantly, you brought a hand to the side of his face to stop the swaying. Then, with a lighter than featherlight touch, drew your nail down beside one of the scrapes on his face. “Can I fix this up now?”

Holland nodded against your hand. His fingers were still playing with the side of your nightgown, occasionally caressing the skin there.

After making sure he could properly balance himself on the toilet cover, you washed your hands at the sink and returned to him with a washcloth to clean his face first.

He shifted on the seat, widening his legs for you. His hands wandered up your thighs and brought you in close, stationing you in between his knees. He tilted his head up at you, waiting. His fingers resumed their movement around your thighs. Now, you could have better access to his face. But holy shit.

You swallowed and leaned in to wipe the dirt off his face with precision, avoiding the abrasions and being gentle over the bruises, then getting the blood off afterwards. His eyes haven't left your face once, even when you left to set the cloth aside, soon returning to clean the scratches.

“What was the fight about?” You asked, going over the biggest one first, a cluster of little scrapes. Holland winced, eyes squeezing shut. You ceased your movements and took his face in your hands, softly rubbing your thumb along his good cheek.

“I forgot,” he muttered. You waited until he opened his eyes again to continue. “'M sorry, sweetheart. Hate droppin’ in on you . . . like this. 'M sorry.”

“It's okay,” you assured him. You dabbed at the wound again,. He inched away from your hand, and you had to hold him by his jaw to keep him in place. “March. Stop. Almost done.”

Holland groaned, like an insistent child. “Holland. Come on, sweetheart, call me Holland.”

“March,” you repeated, just to tick him off. You grinned at his disappointment.

You went over the last cut along his chin, and you felt him move away instinctively at the sting. As gentle but firmly as you could, you kept him in place to finish cleaning the last of his scrapes. “Shh, I'm almost done.”

Holland hummed in response, giving in and allowing you to finish up on his face. You finally cleaned every abrasion and got to placing bandages over them. With light fingers, you rubbed ointment over the open wounds and sealed them with the plaster.

“Better?” You asked. Your hands were still at the sides of his face, gently holding him up. He purposefully fell forwards, resting his head back against your torso instead.

“You gotta kiss ‘em first.”

You blinked, hands settling on his shoulders. “Sorry?”

“Won't feel better unless you kiss ‘em first,” Holland mumbled against you. His hands trailed lower, down to the hem of your nightgown, where they touched and squeezed at your thighs.

“Fuck.” You gasped, trying to move away from him despite everything in your body protesting against it. “March. Stop. You're very . . . very drunk.”

He whined, honest-to-god whined, at the loss of your touch. “Please? Sweetheart. Gorgeous, please. Jus' this one time an' I'll leave.”

“Healy left with your car,” you reminded him.

“Right,” Holland sighed. “Bed. Yeah, then I'll get in bed with you. That's what you want, right? Come on, please? Please . . .”

You stayed silent for a moment. Your chest ached, because you really, really wanted that. But it felt so wrong, with him this gone.

“Is that what you want?” You asked quietly.

Holland scoffed, like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. “God, yeah. I can't . . . couldn't lie to you. Especially not now. Even if I tried.”

“Holland.”

He let out a broken sound at that, like your voice wrapped around his name physically pulled something out of his soul.

“Sure?” You asked again. He nodded, eyes pleading like a dog.

Slowly, you put a hand against his good cheek, laying your other on his shoulder. Then you moved closer, pressing your lips over one of the bandages. You heard Holland sigh, like the kiss actually healed something in him.

You pulled back and did the same on the light bruise forming on the side of his head. Before you could do anything stupid, you fully pulled away and looked at him, seeing if he was satisfied.

“Missed one,” Holland slurred, hazy from you and the alcohol.

You scoffed, going back in to kiss the one on his chin. Before you could move away again, he asked, “One more? Little higher, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flicked up to his lips. Bad. This was bad, the man was drunk.

Leaning in, just enough that your lips brushed against his when you spoke, you teased, “Stop trying to kiss me, Holland.”

He sighed, grimacing like the sentence hurt him. “Please? One. One. Then I'll sleep. You wanna . . . wanna sleep with me? Come on. Please.”

“Why?” You stood up, hands leaving his figure. Holland caught one before it could fall at your sides.

He brought one up to his lips, turning it over so he could kiss your palm. Something rooted deep in your chest ached, and you wanted to cry. He was so pretty like this, and you wanted to be close to him. So impossibly close and never part from the man.

“Why do you think?” Holland asked. He pulled you closer by the hand and moved further up, pressing his lips to your wrist, then to your arm. “‘M in love with you.”

You couldn't move. Couldn't speak for a moment, couldn't resist the kisses he planted on your skin. “Is this the alcohol? I swear—”

Holland pulled away but kept your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your smooth skin. “Christ, no. Never . . .”

Nothing in this situation was something you ever thought would happen to you. As if it couldn't get any worse, or better, he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tight. Like you were smoke—an illusion, something no cigarette or any alcohol could ever give him, and could disappear at any moment now.

“Please? How much more do I gotta beg? Need you. Please, need you so bad, baby.”

His arms dropped now, just low enough that you felt his large hands settle over the curve of your backside. He pressed his forehead further into your stomach beggingly, kissing you there through your nightgown again and again.

You caved.

Slowly, you planted your hands firmly on his shoulders, pushing him away just enough that his arms loosened. Then you quickly went back in and finally pressed your lips to his.

He tasted like whiskey, and it took a moment for you to fall into a rhythm, both moving like you couldn't get enough. A moan left his mouth, a needy sound muffled by your lips.

Holland rose to his feet, albeit unsteadily, and pushed you against the cold wall. His mouth never stopped moving against yours as he enclosed you in his arms, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. He held your hips in his hands, pulling you closer while your arms encircled around his neck.

To let you breathe, he pulled away, reluctantly. It wasn't long before his lips transferred to your neck instead, peppering kisses on each side. You let out a shaky gasp, spurring him on to move to your chest, kissing the entire area there as well.

His finger hooked under the neckline of your nightgown, tugging it low so he could kiss the curve of your breasts as well.

“Holland,” you huffed, dizzy from the sensation. When he didn't let up, you tried again. “Holland. Honey.”

Holland lifted his head up to look at you, eyes dazed from the feeling of your skin on his lips. You inhaled deeply, regaining your breath. “Why don't we continue this tomorrow?”

He didn't reply, only dropped his head back against your chest, stubbornly giving the skin there one more kiss.

“Let's go to bed, let you sober up,” you offered. He obviously wanted more than this, and you did too, but you'd rather it be while he was clear-minded. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

You felt him nod against you. His moustache tickled your skin as he spoke. “You love me?”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him. “I do. So much.”

Holland planted another kiss on your chest. “Then that's fuckin' great.”