#emo peter

Part of you knows that he is right. 

Frankly, he is right more often than not, always so smug about it, hand of his snaking around your shoulders to squeeze you closer in the malls and libraries, his fingers toying with yours, showing off his rings and inspecting your nail polish.

Touching casually whenever he can, careful shoulder bumps morphing into possesive palm on your lower back and his breath in your ear when someone looks at you for too long for his liking.

Can't have anyone stealing his best friend, is that it? You joke weakly, climbing the stairs to his room, heavy smoldering gaze burning the backside of your thighs when your skirt sways and feeds him another sliver of skin.

It's never enough, but he has been so patient for so long, darling. Perhaps, it's time he reaps some of the fruit that he helped to sow? Peter leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear when he laughs, affectionate and bemused, warm air contrasting with the ice in his eyes, hot palms highlighting the sharp corners of his smile when you crane your neck to look up at him.

Eerily nice, weirdly adoring he looks at you like it was right in front of you the whole time.

Like you aren’t friends that you are supposed to be, like he doesn’t wrap himself around you just to smirk when your face flares up., like there still is a line that can't be crossed.

Like he hasn't blurred when he started giving you morning kisses on the cheeks and holding your hand every time you were out and gripping your thigh on the bus ride home. 

“Aw, we aren’t friends, love.” Peter murmurs and pulls you onto his bed, big palms cool and dry on your skin, his dark hair falling like a curtain. A threshold separating what you can’t want and what you are dying for. “No, darling, we have never been friends.” He rubs his nose on your cheek, one knee pressing between your thighs, his smile stretching out. “You think I would settle for just that when I can see that you want me too? That I can have you all to myself.” He almost singsongs, giggling when you look away and try to think about England or pretend you don’t understand or anything at all, because if he is joking…if he wants to laugh at your expense then that’s really fucking mean. 

And you don’t do mean. 

Peter coos “don’t be like that, love” and leans closer, hovering above you like a wraith that won’t leave you alone and won’t let you off the hook, because no, that won’t do, darling, haven’t you heard about the in sickness and in health bit? He isn’t going anywhere. 

And neither will you. 

“Look at me”, he breathes out, nudging your legs apart with a knee, sending treacherous heavy-molten anticipation to settle in your lower abdome. Budding in the expectation of pleasure yet to come, already aching for what only he can deliver. A special brand, a little reminder for his favourite girl, shudder running down his spine when you squeeze his knee with your thighs and stare at him defiantly.

Fuck, this is even better than he imagined, who could have thought that you are going to be this fucking soft. 

That you are going to look at him like you want to bite his fucking head off for messing with you, for threading on a foreign ground like he has already made it his home and burrowed deep under your ribcage to settle in there and ward your heart against any intruders.

A good admirer is a dead admirer, don't you agree, darling?

Peter cradles your face, eyes unusually gentle, cracking in happy half moons when you look back and oh, won’t you look at how good you are for him? 

That’s just precious, darling, you really are perfect. 

You really want him, he breathes out with reverence of the parishioner at a liturgy and kisses the corner of your mouth. 

Your brow, your cheekbone, your nosebridge, your cheeks. 

He kisses you like this is everything he has ever wanted and everything he might have ever needed. 

“I'm sorry, I will cut it off. I'm just so excited." he murmurs, nuzzling in your cheek, something in your chest stretching taut because mean Peter is never like this, not even with you. Because you aren't sure you know this new unfamiliar side of him, but there is no way back now. "You make me the happiest guy alive.” Peter breathes out in your lips and you can taste his smile fresh from the source, his teeth scraping your lip, his tongue curling around yours when you open your mouth.

Letting you taste the metal that has been teasing you ever since you noticed that he has piercings. Doesn’t help that he takes this one thing he has in advantage of and runs with it. 

Peter is messy and inexperienced, he whines when you bite on his lip and grinds his cock against your thigh, pleading "more".

Peter is hungry and shameless when he forces your mouth open so you can drool for him, so he can lick it up, so he can spit in your mouth and watch your pupils dilate.

Cute as fuck, darling.

Peter is long and awkward, not pretty and not graceful — he trips when he pulls his boots off and blows his hair off his face three times before you finally take pity on him and offer him a scrunchie. 

You receive a wet molten kiss in the center of your palm as the reward, metal of his piercing scraping your skin and you are all nerve endings and no coverage, when he looks up at you like he knows what it does to you. 

“Wanna take a closer look, darling?” He murmurs, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed, large palms stroking your thighs up and down, every time getting a little higher under your skirt. Testing the waters. “I promise I’m gonna be gentle.” Peter half teases and half pleads, eyes dark and sultry when you squeak but don’t stop him from spreading your legs wider. 

You look at him with big nervous eyes and his mouth dries out, heart pounding in his stomach, because oh, love, are you letting a dirtbag like him be your first? 

You flinch at the question, mortified and hot in the face and really, that’s all the answer he needed to get.

A first time for both of you, isn’t it exciting? 

Peter hoists your legs over his shoulders and kisses your knee, working his way up under your skirt so he can leave wet filthy kisses around your crotch. Sucking in the marks that no one else will know of. 

Not if he will have his way. 

“These are for you, darling.” He shares, almost coyly, stroking the inseam of your pussy when you whimper and your thighs twitch to close, his smile only growing. “So you don’t forget about me.”

You aren’t sure you could forget him even if you tried. 

You aren’t sure if a part of you won’t be always a little head over the heels for him, looking for the towering frame and dark mop of his hair. Turning in the empty street catching a whiff of someone smoking the exact same cigarettes he did. 

Peter kisses your inner thigh, holding you closer, pulling you down to his face. Smug and so self-assured after your reaction to his piercings. 

“Don’t you wanna know how they’d feel, darling? I can show you.” He grins, rubbing you through the wet underwear, something dark and dangerous in him rising its head when he realises that’s all is for him. 

“Of course you do.” Peter says and doesn’t wait for an answer, ignoring the frantic wait-Peter-wait, because you don’t need to cover up, not with him, never with him. 

Because you look so pretty on the verge of tears, face hot and thighs trembling and all he has really done was spread your pussy to take a better look. In case you won’t let him close again. 

In case you remember that you are so far out of his league that he’d need to switch sports just to reach you. 

But in the moment you are on his bed, in his room, impossibly, sinfully wet for the rough-looking Dunbar and the barbell of his tongue piercing and his long fingers and his adoring eyes. 

In the moment you belong to him and that is all that matters. 

So he drags his tongue from your leaking hole up to your stiffened clit, letting you feel the appetiser to the Dunbar tasting menu, switch inside of him flicking when you look at him like you are gonna cry right then and there and your grip in his hair tightens.

He circles your clit with his tongue, bringing up the slick and the saliva, sharing what he took so greedily, head empty when your mouth falls open and you stare at his ceiling.

Peter drags the shiny ball of his tongue piercing and almost cums when you make a hiccuping sound, hips rolling towards the touch.

The groan that he makes vibrates through your core up to your ringing head, when he presses his drooling maw to your cunt and sucks on your clit, tongue curling around it, his fingers still holding you nice and open for him.

His rings shiny with your slick and cold when he presses them into your sensitive skin to get a reaction.

Because Peter wants to be just a little mean, because there has always been only one girl that he always wanted to bring to tears and never knew how, because your thighs squeeze his head and he loses his fucking mind for a second there.

How is he supposed to not stay between your legs for the rest of his life, slurping out the mess he made out of you, tonguing your hole because you whimper "Peter, don't" like the residual embarassment can save you.

No one can save you, darling. But you pull him off your pussy by his hair, ignoring the whine and wet choking of "love, please- please, I'll do anything-", dragging your sweater off and effectively shutting him up.

Peter licks his lips and promises to leave so many marks no one would ever wonder if he is your boyfriend now, because of course he fucking is, has been from the very beginning.

Sharp feverish pleasure rakes through you when his teeth drag over your nipple, two of his fingers stretching you out for him, slick dripping down his wrist and baby, he is never washing this hand again now.

Not before he gets to lick everything he can off of it.

"You won't leave me, darling." he murmurs, smiling at the sight of your unfocused eyes get almost gone when he rubs your clit, dragging you through your first orgasm.

Fucking precious that you want him just as much and yet, still stay silent, letting your boyfriend do all the hard work.

"Gonna let me inside of that sweet pussy, darling?" he asks, groaning when you squeeze his fingers and claw at his shoulders, too far gone for his games, too needy for something only he can give you. "Good girl, fuck- you are going to kill me, darling."

“Kiss me” you whine, interrupting him and Peter chokes down a groan, pulling you impossibly closer, looking at you like you are everything. “Please, kiss me.” You try again and he breaks, long fingers squeezing your cheeks just so he can hold you in place and lick into your mouth. 

Panting and drooling, still moving inside of you because “fuck, you are so tight, darling- so wet for me, good girl, take everything from me. Use me.”, the metal of his piercing dragging across the wet muscle of your tongue and it is so much and all at once, your pussy clamping on him when you roll your hips and everything goes white, your legs twitching when he doesn’t pull out and doesn’t pull away. 

Peter fucks you through your orgasm and kisses you again, his thumb rubbing your clit and pushing you off the cliff just to see you whine and push at him, your eyes rolling back when he dives down only to suck on your tits. 

“You like my piercings, darling?” Peter coos with strange almost manic glee and bounces you on his cock when you don’t whimper ‘yes’ right away, his hands squeezing your hips, fingers sinking in the plush feel of them. Fucking perfect. “You get off on ‘em, don’t you, dirty girl?” He laughs when you whimper, the metal of his Jacob’s ladder rubbing you from inside out, driving you mad.

“Oh, I know, you do.” Peter’s voice curls around your throat like a hand and squeezes the air out of you, warm pleasure spreading to your toes — heart pumping the blood faster to keep up with the oxygen demand because he steals the breath off your lips. Because he can’t stop kissing you when your hips buckle and you pulsate around him, cumming and cumming and cumming.

Your thighs spasm when he ruts into you, groaning in your lips, metal of his rings cold when he grips your thighs harder, rubbing his touch into you. Pulling you closer to him, not letting you run away. No, darling. You wanted his piercings?

You can get some of them then.

Peter is liquid metal and tight hugs, obsessive attachments and bite marks all over your tits, sharp teeth and snake bites.

Peter breathes out "yours, dalring" and hisses when he has to pull out, shuddering at the feel of your body letting go of him with such unwillingness.

Fuck, if he knew that you like him so much, he would have dragged you to his bed right on the third outing together, long fingers groping your fat hips, teeth sinking in your neck, traces of him inside and out of you.

Can never get rid of, can never wash away and can never escape.

But now, lying in his bed, you are not trying to. Not with eyelids too heavy to lift and body sinking into sleep, you just grumble when he carefully cleans you up, cool fingers surprisingly gentle on you. Eerily attentive when he knows exactly how to do it, other palm stroking your hip to soothe. Silent apology from the guy that has been haunting you ever since you had the misfortune to talk to him. Ever since you grinned at his lame complains and everything made sense again.

He was made so he can be yours. Your boyfriend, your soulmate, your perfectly dark other half.

”Sweet dreams, darling.” Peter breathes out, vulnerability cracking in him like thin spring’s ice, adoration flooding him when your brows knit and you pull his blanket up higher.

Rode you ragged, didn’t he?

Who would have thought that the dream of seeing you in his bed wouldn’t be a complete delusion. Not when you were always just out of hand’s reach, not when he didn’t want to push too hard too fast and risking spooking you.

Peter knows he is weird. Peter knows he is creepy.

He huffs out a chuckle when you curl closer to the windowsill, seeking warmth of the heat from the air vent like one of the cats he’d feed after piano practice.

“Seems like you don’t mind me all that much, love.” He murmurs, curling himself around you, lips pressing behind your ear for another kiss.

One out of many that he will be only happy to give you.

You wake up in the morning sore and blurry-eyed, but it feels so warm. Like a soft cocoon, pleasantly secured around you. Comfortable and safe, it almost lulls you to sleep when you sigh, sinking back into the feeling and something behind you purrs. 

There is an arm possessively wrapped around your midsection and a warm chest pressed to your back.

Familiar smile grazes your ear when you wiggle around just to end up getting pressed even closer to Peter. 

“Good morning, darling.” He murmurs, long fingers rubbing circles into your skin, spreading heat that you do not know how to battle. “Slept well?” 

He is touchy and clingy first thing in the morning, giggling when you grumble that he is smothering you. His lips find your shoulders and a shudder runs through you when you feel the metal of his piercing.

Warming you up all over. 

“For a few hours.” Peter shares, his tone more cheerful than you have ever heard from him in the last year of studying together. “Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, had to check that I didn’t dream you up.” He fondles your breast, pressing himself closer to your back, now propped on one elbow so he can hover above you. 

So he can look you in the face even if you refuse to look into his. 

Peter kisses your cheek, your jaw, the soft spot under it, he slides to your neck to lovingly trace the yesterday’s hickeys and bites, feverishly excited to find you all marked up. 

A blazing neon sign “Do not approach” would have been more subtle than the amount of kisses he sucked into your skin just so now he can drag the barbell of his piercing over it and coo when you hiss. 

“I am so happy.” He shares, tone almost dreamy when you whine and raise your hips to meet his fingers sliding in your hole. “It was even better than I imagined, darling.” Peter shares, coarse thumb rubbing your clit in circles, his excitement bleeding into an occasional too hard of a press earning a jolt from you. 

Peter is needy and clingy and hungry, he kisses every mark he has left and works his fingers into you and wraps his whole body around yours. Not a boy but a snake devouring, savouring every bite of your surrender and shameful squelching sound of your pussy. 

“So wet for me, my love.” Peter breathes out, laughing hoarsely when you whimper and try to push him off the bed. “That’s okay, love, I’m hard for you too. Don’t be embarrassed. Please, darling, you are perfect and I—” He breathes out and rubs his cock against your hip, dark-haired head dropping into the crook of your neck when you wrap your fingers around him. 

The desperate breathy sound he makes when you rub him up and down makes you clench on his fingers and Peter’s smile could cut your throat if you weren’t careful.

"Thought I haven't shown you off all my piercings, my love. And you know me, I like to keep my promises." his hair tickles your neck when he kisses your cheek and you can feel the cool press of his snake bites. "Care for another round?"

They both come from rough households, and instead of living, theyre just surviving. They live in a greedy (worse than ours) world, where the government fell and is now powered by mafia groups. And the heavens are not in a better situation, not even after death will you have a happy break.

Jane and Peter both are in senior year, Jane just moved to north california to start and learn how to live in this hellish place. She does NOT like any of it, but she'll learn. Maybe she will start seeing humans as they are instead of meaningless pigs.

they both will have to help eachother if they want to get out of that horrible place. One way or another. Though, be warned, my au is not for the sensitive, so if you dont feel comfortable with politics, religion discussion, anything related to death and mental disorders. maybe it wont be for you and thats okay.

they are troubled teenagers after all