#marvelsmut

Everyone in the room was surprisingly quiet as the movie blared on the screen of Tony’s private cinema room. 

Usually, during these “group bonding” evenings, they would be spent arguing or shouting as everyone tried to guess the surprise twist in the latest thriller movie that Clint had chosen. 

However, after the latest mission, exhaustion had wiped out everyone as they all sat in silence, watching the movie, some sharing blankets and food while others, like Natasha, sat by themselves, their eyes unblinking on the screen.

You were at the back of the room, on a two-person sofa with Steve, tucked in tightly to his side, a leg thrown over his with a warm blanket covering the two of you. 

His fingers gently stroked up and down your spine, relaxing your body, and your eyelids became heavy as his warmth seeped into your muscles. 

As someone on the screen screamed, you turned your head to nuzzle into his broad chest, savouring in his musky scent as the blonde turned to kiss your forehead.

Lifting yours, you smiled up at him tiredly, and he took the opportunity to lean down and kiss your lips softly, both of you breathing heavily into the touch, moving closer to try and feel each other more. 

Steve’s hand lifted from beneath the blanket to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his tongue poked out to slip between your lips, the warm muscle dancing lightly with yours, scraping your teeth and lips.

Shifting closer, your hands gripping onto his white t-shirt, trying to pull him closer, but as you did so, your leg lifted higher in his lap and brushed against his hardened length. 

You pulled back, leaning your forehead against his as you both caught your breath, smiling as his hand continued to stroke your cheek, tilting it to the side so his lips could tease your neck. 

“Steve you’re going to have to calm down soon” you whispered against his ear, trying to ignore the clenching that your cunt was doing, your panties becoming moist as his other hand continued to trail across your back, slightly lifting your shift so his warm hand was directly on our skin.

Closing your eyes, he continued his tormented touches, driving you crazy and making you wish you were in any room than one filled with the Avengers. 

His teeth started to scrape against the nape of your neck, sending sparks across your chest, straight to your nipples that pebbled from the stimulation. Automatically, your chest started rubbing against his, hoping to add more pressure.

You knew what he was doing, trying to tease you to your breaking point and you needed to pull back some form of control before you ripped the blanket off of him and fucked him in front of all of your friends. 

Lifting your hand, you pushed his face away from your neck, smiling when you felt his lips turn up as he looked down at your flustered expression.

Looking up at him, you saw his tired and lustful face, and pity filled your stomach. The last mission they’d been on was difficult and mentally draining for them all, and you wanted nothing more than to take him back to your room and look after him the way he deserved. 

Taking a risk, you asked, “Tell me what you want, Steve”.

His lips lifted as his baby blue eyes searched over your face, his lips leaned back down to hover over yours, not applying pressure but his breath fanned across your face as he whispered, “I just want to feel you close to me, sweetheart, I’ve missed that beautiful pussy of yours all week”. 

Your cheeks and chest warmed at his words as your centre clenched around nothing once more, the movie being drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

His palm moved from your cheek and under the blanket to grip the thigh that was flung over his lap, applying pressure as he tugged you closer, leaving you straddling his lap but you still leaned your head on his shoulder in case anyone were to turn around, hoping they would assume that you were asleep. 

The anxieties were still at the back of your mind though as both of his hands wandered over your arse cheeks, kneading them before pushing down so he could rub his clothed cock against you. 

”Steve… someone will see us”, you whispered against his neck urgently as you held back the moan that threatened to spill out.

“They’re all watching the movie. They’re not even going to notice,” he responded, continuing to rock your centre against him. 

“I just want to feel you wrapped around me” he kissed your shoulder as you desperately wanted the same thing, but also didn’t want to get caught. 

“Just let me sit inside of you, Doll, I won’t move, I just want to feel that warm, wet hole of yours”.

Your eyes rolled back as you painfully bit your lip to hold in the obscene noises that you wanted to release. 

Taking less than a second to think about it, you nodded your head against his neck and he immediately pulled your loose pyjama shorts and underwear to the side and lifted his hips to pull down his joggers and you felt his cock as it sprung free and throbbed against your thigh. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve lined himself up, and you lowered yourself onto him.

Both of you had to concentrate on not moaning as he slowly filled you up, your walls quivered as he stretched you out, your juices naturally lubricating you both until finally he was fully sheathed. 

His large hands started rubbing up your back, soothing you instantly as you refrained from bouncing on his member, “relax baby”, he whispered, his head falling onto your shoulder as he held you close.

Closing your eyes, you took everyone about him in, his scent, warmth, the feelings of his rippling muscles, the breath that tickled your shoulders and the way his thick member throbbed along with your twitching walls. 

The way Steve’s breath kept hitching with your twitch and the soft way in which he held you, you knew he was doing the exact same thing.

The instinct to roll your hips was difficult at first, but as you both relaxed into one another, your muscles seemed to melt into a state of pleasure and tranquillity. 

Your cunt never stopped fluttering however and Steve’s cock continued to throb, his super-soldier serum allowing him to stay hard for hours before it became painful and uncomfortable.

The movie continued, and the others in the room gave no suspicion that they knew that Steve was balls deep inside of you, but the blanket covered everything up.

In fact, you both became so overwhelmed with your feelings of comfort and arousal that it looked like you’d fallen asleep as both of you nuzzled into each other's necks.

An hour later, as the movie finished, neither of you moved, knowing that if you tried to pull off him, the squelch would be heard throughout the room as your juices had pooled in his lap, soaking his joggers. 

The lights flicked on, and both of your breaths came in shallow bursts as the others moved around you. “Do you think we should wake them?” 

Bruce asked the others, and your cheeks burned hotter as you knew everyone was staring at the two of you.

“Nah, leave them, I haven’t seen Cap looking that relaxed since he was found in the ice”, you heard Tony mutter, and then footsteps echoed past you towards the exit.

“Wait, I forgot my phone, hold the elevator for me Nat” Tony shouted as he re-entered the room and your heart thumped hard in your chest feeling the wind rush past you but his footsteps seemed to stop as he was next to you both, “I know you’re both ‘asleep’, but I’ll be turning the cameras off for say- half an hour so don’t say that I don’t do anything for you”, and with that, he left.

You’d never felt such burning embarrassment before at being caught by Tony, groaning into Steve’s neck as he let out a laugh at your flustered expression as you leaned back. 

“I’m never going to be in the same room as him ever again, oh my god” you hide your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting that Steve’s cock was still deep inside.

Steve’s hands pushed gently against your shoulders so you now sat back on his lap, both of his palms cupping your cheeks so you looked at him, “I’m sure he’s been caught in more risky positions before, Doll”.

His blue eyes came closer to yours as his lips met yours softly at first, trying to distract you from the embarrassment before pulling away, both of your eyes were closed as you instinctively clenched your cunt as arousal pulsed through between your legs. 

Steve groaned as his cock was squeezed, his forehead falling onto yours as his voice silkily said, “you so feel fucking good, I don’t think I’m going to be able to last for long”.

Before you could agree with him, he’d picked you up and, gripping the back of your thighs tightly, walked you both until your back hit the wall of the cinema. 

Your arms and legs instinctively wrapped around his clothed body as his lips collided with yours, tongue darting into your mouth as he finally eased out of your aching hole. 

The noises you both produced were ungodly as you felt incredibly empty, and all of the clothes you and Steve wore were damp with your leaking fluids.

Not wasting another second, Steve pushed back into you and your head threw back as your walls squeezed hard, tingling sensations shooting over your pussy. 

You knew you were close to cuming from the overstimulation of having his cock in you for over an hour but you were shocked by the sensations that thrummed through you, already so close, “fuck, Stevie I think I’m already going to cum.”

Steve’s cheeks were flushed pink as his fingers dug harshly into your hips, his eyes squeezed shut tightly, “me too sweetheart, you just feel so good, fuck my cock is so sensitive, you’re squeezing me so tight.” 

Moaning at his words, you tried to take a few deep breaths to get your bearings and to stop your out-of-control clenching, but as Steve pulled out and pushed back in, you lost control.

Your legs spasmed around his narrow waist whilst your back arched into his chest, mewling loudly as all thoughts disappeared, your hole clinging to him for dear life as you felt yourself constricting around him desperately, the orgasm pulsing throughout your body. 

Steve seemed to be losing the last of his cool as he pulled back and thrust one more time before groaning loudly into your shoulder, his hot cum piling into the back of your cunt, soaking your walls and dripping out with your juices. 

His knees nearly gave way as the last of his load spurted into your warmth, depth, until finally both of you were just wrapped around one another, trying to come back to reality.

Your nails scraped through his blonde hair, trying to soothe him, as exhaustion rushed through your muscles. 

Finally, he moved back, and the second his eyes met yours, you both burst into laughter. 

“I feel like a fucking teenager, don’t think I’ve ever cum so quickly before” he kissed you one more time before pulling out for the final time, your walls aching as his cum dripped out and down his ruined joggers. 

He easily moved your underwear and shorts back, collecting any more juices from your area and eased you back down to the floor, your legs instantly wobbling and taking a few moments to get your bearings before you were confident enough to stand by yourself. 

Looking between the two of you, relief rushed through you, realising that it was probably for the best that you’d both pretended to be asleep, seeing the mess both of you looked right now, you’d definitely be caught by the other Avengers, not just Tony. 

Pepper screeches when she comes down the stairs and sees you sitting in the kitchen. 

“Morning,” you mumble through a mouthful of cereal. 

She screeches and jumps in place, her right palm flying to clutch her heart. “Jesus, Y/N—you scared me. I didn’t expect you to be up this early. Frankly, I didn’t expect you to come out of your room today at all.” The last part she mutters, but your acute sense of hearing allows you to take in her words. 

You shrug in between, placing a mouthful of cereal into your mouth. “Couldn’t stay in there forever.” 

She gives you a nod of affirmation, a sudden smile beginning to find its way to her face. She makes her way over to you, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her possession. Coming to stand beside you, her hand gently finds its way into your hair and strokes it softly. From your peripheral, you catch the way her engagement ring sparkles in the light of the kitchen window. You suddenly feel sick.

“How’re you doing today?” She questions soothingly. 

“I mean, I waited, like, fifteen minutes after waking up before I started crying, so progress, I guess?” You joke. Pepper frowns, continuing to card her fingers through your hair. 

Your words trigger an instant change in her demeanor. She swallows thickly. “I just want you to be okay, Y/N.”

“I will be.” Your answer surprises you. You offer it without thinking about whether or not you actually mean it. You’re not really sure if you do. 

She offers another sad smile. “I know, I know.” Her response brings about an awkward silence among you two. 

You wait a few seconds before you stand up and decide to break the quietness. “Okay, I’m going to go back to my room.” 

“No, no, please don’t leave,” she implores. You can see the sadness and loneliness in her eyes, which makes you swallow nervously. “This is the first time you’ve been out of your room fully in days. I don’t want the cycle to continue repeating itself. Why don’t you invite Gwen over?” 

The Gwen in question was your best friend in the entire world, Gwen Stacy, and while you’d normally be inclined to spend any available time you had with her, the prospect of her inducing a trauma dumping session scared you. But Gwen kept you grounded and forced you to be pragmatic during the times when you wanted to be the most impulsive. She’d been there for you through breakups, traumatic missions, and death. And you’d been there for her through her similar calamities: shitty partners, overbearing parents, and identity crises. You knew that asking her to come over to spend the day with you would be enjoyable, but you just didn’t know if you were up to it yet. 

You swirl the remnants of milk and tiny pieces of cereal around in your ceramic bowl, trying to decide whether or not you should oblige Pepper. She stares at you expectantly, hoping to coax a favorable answer out of you. 

“Okay,” you ultimately surrender. “Fine.” 

Pepper’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, and she beams at you. “It’s not for me, it’s for you. It’ll be good.” 

So, you punch Gwen’s name into your smartphone and type out a message to her, practically begging her to come over. Instead of retreating to your room, you opt to spend time with Morgan for the first time in days. She’d forced you to watch Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir with her, and while you’d initially been slightly agitated about it, you secretly enjoyed the show. 

You toggle back and forth between paying attention to the TV and surfing through various applications on your phone. You await Gwen’s response in giddy anticipation, hoping she’s not too busy to spend time with you. 

She replies about half an hour after you text her, and you can feel her excitement oozing through the phone. Her answer is a cheery one, typical of Gwen. You and she were opposites in that regard. Where she always took to finding the positives in every situation, you were a glass-half-empty kind of girl. You had gotten a little better at shaking that pessimism, but that change had occurred when things were different. The person you were now—the things you’d experienced recently—made you think it would be impossible to ever be the kind of happy Gwen was. You’d always envied her for that quality. Now more than ever. 

When Gwen arrives at your house, it’s almost noon. You hadn’t moved from your place on the living room couch, and while Pepper would’ve normally scolded you for being dormant in one spot for so long, you could tell how glad she was to see you out of your room. 

“Be right back, Morgana,” you ruffle your sister’s hair, then pull off the blankets you’d placed on your body. 

Without a glance backward at you, she gives you a thumbs up. You walk over to the front door, open it, and come face to face with your best friend. 

“Hey, girlie,” she offers you a sympathetic smile. You want to roll your eyes because how could your best friend be staring at you with as much pity as everyone else? “How are you?” She pulls you in for a hug, and you inhale the calming scent of her jasmine perfume and relax. Gwen is a perpetual presence of calm in your life, and when you give yourself a second to breathe, you observe how your heart rate slows down at the sight of her.  You remind yourself that she cares about you, just as everyone who has been doting on you does. 

“I’m okay,” you answer honestly, stepping aside to usher her inside your home. “I’ve been worse. I’ve been better.” 

She nods understandingly, stepping inside the foyer of your home. “I get it.” 

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” you admit. “I missed you a lot.” 

“I missed you too,” she agrees. “You look good, Y/N/N.” 

“I’m hanging in there,” you let out a shaky sigh. “Doing the best I can.” 

“I’m glad you texted me,” Gwen links her arm with yours, leading you to your original spot on the couch. “If you had waited any longer, I would’ve come over uninvited.” 

Morgan quickly pulls her attention away from the television screen, and her eyes light up at the sight of your best friend. “Gwen!” She squeals, finding her way into Gwen’s arms. Despite only meeting the blonde a few weeks ago, she’d automatically gravitated towards her. You couldn’t be surprised, though, as Gwen was indeed a real-life princess. 

She kisses your sister on her forehead. “Hey, Morgan, how are you, babe?” 

“Good, because Y/N is spending time with me for once,” she replies absentmindedly, attention turned back to the television. 

You let out a sigh. You usually would’ve snapped at Morgan for such an inflammatory response, but you know that what she’s saying is true. You realize that you hadn’t been there for the first five years of her life, which was entirely out of your hands. But now that you had the opportunity to connect with your little sister, the grief you felt completely inhibited you from doing so. You had to give yourself some credit for getting out of bed today, though. 

“I’ll be better, Morgan, I will,” you promise. “I’m sorry.” You mumble the last part, feeling the tears start to sting your eyes. 

Gwen instantly notices your change in demeanor and opts to change the subject. “So, Morgan, what are we watching?” 

Your sister launches into a rant about her show of choice, but you tune her out, your mind automatically wandering to the person it always wanders to: your father. The aching pain in your chest for your father had managed to subside over the last few days, but unfortunately, it had been replaced with an ache for someone else: Peter. On the day of the funeral, you’d spent the subsequent hours after your incident with said teen superhero crying into Gwen’s arms on your bathroom floor. By the time Pepper had found you, almost everyone had already left your home. She’d observed your mascara-stained cheeks and red eyes and chalked it up to your mourning. In a way, she was right, but not about the person you were grieving. You weren’t sure how you’d even explain the whole Peter situation to her. You hoped it would resolve itself before you had to. 

A few hours more of monotonous cartoon watching passed until Pepper relieved you, making up an excuse about you and Gwen having homework to do. The reality was that you hadn’t touched your homework in weeks. At this point, you barely cared if your status as valedictorian held up. You’d find it in you to worry about it at some other time. 

When you and Gwen are finally alone in your bedroom, you collapse on your bed, and she takes a seat on the spinning chair at your desk. You turn on some Taylor Swift music as background noise while you and Gwen spend most of your time scrolling through your phone. 

“I completely forgot that Harry was throwing a party tonight,” Gwen states after some time has gone by, typing something into her phone. 

At the mention of a party, you prop yourself up in your bed. You may have been fighting a seemingly incurable case of insomnia, but it wasn’t strong enough for you to miss a social gathering. You were indeed your father’s daughter in that sense. “Party?” 

“Shit, I totally should’ve mentioned something to you, but Harry told me that he already texted you,” she apologizes. “I didn’t think you’d be up to it. I’ll just hang around with you and tell him we’ll see him soon.” 

You think back and try to remember receiving a text about a party from your aforementioned friend. Your memory settles on a message that you’d received a few days ago and absentmindedly replied to with a “thanks.” Frankly, it took a lot for you to respond to Gwen's messages, let alone anyone else. 

“Fuck it, let’s go,” you proposition your best friend. “It’ll be fun. I need to get out of the house anyway.” 

Your best friend regards you cautiously, examining your appearance. “You sure? Even Harry didn’t think you’d want to go. He texted me, like, so many times asking if I thought you were going to make it. I swear to God he even offered to reschedule it so that you could come. I bet he’s going to die if you do.” 

Your stomach drops at Gwen’s implication. There was only one boy’s opinion that you cared about, and he didn’t even want to give you the time of day anymore. Frankly, you were unsure if he’d ever give it to you again. 

“Yeah, I want to. I’ve been cooped up in this house for too damn long. Besides, I think this might be the only time that Pepper willingly and eagerly lets me go to a party,” you hum. 

Gwen lets out an overjoyed shriek, and you wince. And while you’re more than eager for a change of scenery to clear your head, a larger portion of you hopes that a certain someone would swallow his pride and push away his contempt for you and Harry and possibly make a guest appearance at Harry’s party. You wish more than anything.

_____

It had taken practically three hours of preparation—mental and physical—until you left your house. 

You let Gwen borrow a cute pale green mini dress purchased from a Marc Jacobs pop-up shop before the Blip. It brought out her eyes and accentuated her long legs. You knew her parents would’ve had a heart attack if they saw her dressed the way she was, complete with bright red lipstick and intricately drawn-on eyeliner. 

You opt for a dress of the same style—a baby pink Chanel one that barely reached the tops of your thighs. You had a vague (salient) memory of Peter complimenting you in that dress some time ago, but you convinced yourself that that was not at all the reason why you’d chosen it for the party. Besides, you weren’t even sure if he was going. He wasn’t a partier and there was the very obvious issue of it being at the house of his mortal enemy, but you still had some hope! 

Pepper had generously driven you to the party, a ride mainly consisting of her and Gwen chatting about arbitrary things. You tuned everything out, too busy searching for every strategy in your arsenal to assuage your budding anxiety. 

When your stepmother finally pulls up in front of Harry’s apartment complex, you let out an audibly nervous sigh. Gwen swivels in her seat to examine you, then pulls your hand into hers. 

“You’re okay,” she squeezes your hand. “This is supposed to be fun, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you affirm with a tiny nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

She nudges you towards the car door. “Come on, let’s go inside.”  

“Make smart decisions!” Pepper calls after you as you exit. You roll your eyes at her statement and keep your hand intertwined with Gwen’s as she leads you towards the apartment complex’s main entrance. 

The elevator ride upstairs to Harry’s penthouse apartment is quiet. You could cut the tension with a knife. Gwen, ever the peacekeeper, does her best to mitigate it. 

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you,” she jokes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the rowdy Y/N.” 

You gnaw at your thumbnail. “I’m nervous, so nervous. I’m not even sure for what if I’m being completely honest.” 

“If he’s here, you take it one step at a time. I guarantee you he’s not going to ignore you completely; he has a heart,” Gwen answers. She’d done a pretty good job not bringing up Peter thus far, but she knew you well enough to understand that most of your nerves were a result of wondering whether or not he would be making an appearance tonight. 

You continue to chew on the tip of your thumb. “Mhmm.” 

With a ding, the elevator stops directly inside the Osborn’s apartment. The party is clearly in full swing, with guests in every possible crevice. You let your eyes wander to Betty and Ned, who are chatting amiably. You nudge Gwen, and she gives you a smirk, her reaction a tacit affirmation of what’s budding between said duo. You take in a few other familiar faces but no one of genuine interest. 

Stepping out into the foyer, you link arms with Gwen as you familiarize yourself with your environment. It’d been over five years since you’d been at Harry’s, and while you remember some things, the lack of time you had spent at his house before the Blip meant that you didn’t exactly know where you were going. 

The space was beautiful, though, decorated with expensive furniture and rare paintings and equipped with enough rooms for at least two families to reside. It reminded you a lot of your apartment, and now, you and Harry had another thing in common: no father around to make the home feel a little less large. Harry’s situation was much different than yours as his father chose to be absent, and yours had, well, died, but it was something that you figured he could empathize with you on in some capacity.  

Walking through the halls of the penthouse and settling in the kitchen, you let your eyes rest on a picture hanging from the wall of Harry in his Midtown High lacrosse uniform, the smile he wears so cocky and confident that it’s almost blinding. Ever the New York socialite. It makes you giggle. 

“Wonder where Harry is,” you ponder. 

When you receive no response from Gwen, you glance over at her. “God, I didn't think MJ would be here.” You follow Gwen’s eyes to where MJ sits on a stool at the kitchen island, head resting on her palm as she scrolls through her phone. The blonde gapes at her crush, and you giggle at her frazzled reaction. It gives you some comfort to see that you aren’t the only one nervous to see someone you have feelings for. Yeah, you want what’s happening between you and Peter to work out, but Gwen deserves happiness more than anyone. She’d been subject to some shitty romantic partners, but MJ had the capacity to change Gwen’s perception of love. She had already started doing that. 

“Go talk to her, loser,” you hip-butt her. 

Gwen’s emerald eyes light up at your encouragement. “You sure? I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

“I’ll be totally fine,” you assure her. That’s maybe 50% true, but you don’t want to give Gwen any more reasons to worry about you. Plus, you’re not a child and don’t need a babysitter. Most of the time.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you later,” she squeezes your shoulder. “Keep me updated, Y/N, please.” 

You give her a nod, your lips turning up into a smile. “Make smart decisions.” 

Gwen giggles at how you mock your stepmom, then skips toward MJ, her curled blonde hair bouncing with each step she takes. 

Distracted by your friend and her crush, you miss entirely the person approaching you from behind. 

“Holy shit, you’re here,” a familiar male voice observes. “I didn’t think—oh my God, this is like the best surprise ever.” Your question about where the party's host was had finally been answered. 

You whip around to face Harry, and you grin at him, as he pulls you into his arms. “Shit, Harry, didn’t think I’d get this reaction from you. Am I that important?”  

“I’m so excited to see you,” he acknowledges. “And yeah, you’re pretty much the life of the party. You know that. Come with me.” And with that, he’s pulling you by your arm into another part of the house. You end up in the living room, where there are even more people than there were scattered throughout the house. 

“Thank you for that compliment. I know the party was incredibly dull without me, but now I’m here, and you can officially start to enjoy yourself,” you tease. Harry rolls his eyes playfully and continues leading you on your original path. 

You set eyes on more familiar faces. Some people from your classes that you’ve interacted with a few times here and there. Others are strangers, while some others look vaguely familiar. 

“Everyone, look who decided to make an appearance!” Harry bellows, grabbing your hand and lifting it above your head to draw attention to you. People’s conversations halt as they stop to listen to Harry. “The one, the only, Y/N Stark!” 

The room is silent for a good few seconds, people staring you up and down and whispering to their friends as the realization of who you are—or rather who your father is—sets in.

A few more seconds go by until you decide to break the awkward silence. “Well, what are you all staring at me for?” You laugh awkwardly. “Isn’t this supposed to be a party?!” 

That’s all it takes for the crowd of moronic teenagers to erupt into raucous screams. 

“You were right,” Harry calls to you. “You really are the life of the party.” You laugh awkwardly. Maybe this party wasn’t such a great idea after all? 

_____

You end up having more drinks than you probably should have. When your head starts to pound, and the ceiling spins above you, you decide it’s time to slow down. You were pretty sure Harry was crossfaded, as he was much more talkative (and flirty) than usual—telltale signs that he wasn’t sober. You knew his vices of choice were weed and sometimes—only sometimes— coke, but he had sworn that he had kicked that habit. You weren’t sure what he was on tonight, but you were positive it was a combination of at least two substances. 

So after stumbling with him back into the living room, tripping over your platform Versace heels a few times, and almost knocking over a few vases, you finally come to sit on a vacant couch. 

“So, how’d you get your dad to agree to this?” You gesture around the room. 

“Told him I was only having a few people over. He won’t know the difference, and either way, he’s halfway around the world,” he answers. “Plus, it’s not like he gives a shit about me anyway.” 

“At least your dad’s alive,” you sigh (somewhat dramatically, you might add), and collapse on the couch behind you, your dress riding up slightly in the process. You observe how Harry’s eyes flicker over towards the tops of your newly exposed thighs, and while the attention would normally make you giddy, you feel the compulsion to pull the skirt of your dress further down your thighs.   

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, but you watch as he examines you out of his peripheral vision. 

“You, um, you look really nice tonight, Y/N. Like really, really, fucking pretty,” he blurts out. 

“You already told me that, like, one hundred times, silly,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he answers awkwardly. “Just thought I’d tell you again.” 

An uncomfortable silence settles between you for a few moments after the barraging of compliments that Harry paid you. 

“Hey, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you finally speak up, standing up abruptly and smoothing your skirt off. 

Harry’s quick to respond, standing up at almost the same time as you do. “Yeah, yeah, of course. You good?” 

You force yourself to smile. “Mhmm. I’ll be back in a jiff.” You watch how Harry regards you strangely at your awkward choice of phrasing, and you cringe as you turn away from him. 

You stagger towards the bathroom, and when you arrive at the one closest to the kitchen, it’s packed, even considering how large it is— filled to the brim with girls doing various things like applying makeup, or smoking, or snorting illegal substances off the marble countertop. You’d pushed past two girls making out, hands groping each other wildly, not a care in the world for the fact the others were in the bathroom, too. 

Not in the mood to be overwhelmed by a gaggle of girls, you exit the room as quickly as possible and go to find another vacant bathroom. In your slightly drunken stupor, it feels like it takes forever to walk down the halls of the penthouse, and you brace yourself on the wall with the palms of your hands. 

Trailing down a long hallway that’s completely uninhabited, your hand closes around every door knob you come in contact with, but each time you open a door, you fail to find a bathroom. Pouting frustratedly, you decide that if the next door you open doesn’t lead to a bathroom, you’ll give up on the whole thing and return to Harry. Plus, it wasn’t like you actually needed to use the bathroom; you just needed a breather. 

Setting your sights upon one last room, you absentmindedly tug the door open. Your mouth instantly falls open as soon as you do this. 

The good news about the current sight before you was that you had in fact found a bathroom. The bad news was that you had stumbled upon two people in quite a compromising situation, one of whom was the person you’d been looking for the entire night. You never would’ve imagined walking in on with a girl’s legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her fervently. They were practically dry-humping each other, and you were even sober enough to hear the tiny whimpers that she emitted. 

It takes you a few seconds to process the scene that unfolds before you, and when it all finally resonates with you, you let your mouth fall open in shock. “What the fuck?” 

Peter pulls away from his partner, who you finally recognize as a girl you had APUSH with during your sophomore year. You think her name is Kelly? Maybe Karen? Maybe Kristen? Even without the disdain that you currently held for her, you could objectively say that she was a bitch. 

Peter’s eyes are the size of saucers, and a deep crimson blush paints his cheeks. “Y/N.” 

“I can’t believe you,” you seethe. “You were rejecting me less than two weeks ago and now you’re hooking up with her.” 

“I have a name,” Kendra? Kirsten? Chrysanthemum? snaps back at you, then turns to Peter, a perplexed look on her face. “She tried to get with you two weeks ago?” 

“‘I have a name,’” you mock. “And he tried to get with me first. Can we talk about this outside? I don’t really want her knowing our business.”

Peter obliges you, and you make your way into the hallway together. 

“I don’t really know what to say to you, Y/N,” Peter answers sheepishly. 

Crossing your arms over one another you scoff. “You’ve said and done enough.” 

“Y/N,” he sighs, then pauses abruptly, running an awkward hand through his hair. “After everything that happened at your dad’s funeral, I felt so shitty, we should’ve talked about us at another time. It was wrong of me to treat you that way.” 

You instantly perk up at his apology, uncrossing your arms. “So what are you saying?” A large part of you is optimistic that Peter wants to try to work things out with you, but judging by his tone and disposition, you know your hopes are futile. 

“I still don’t think it would be a good idea for us to be together,” he replies. “Things aren’t great right now for either of us.” 

“But it’s okay for you to move on? If I would’ve walked in, like, five minutes later, you probably would’ve been fingering her,” you snap crudely. 

“Who am I to tell you what to do with your life? Who are you to tell me what to do with mine? You should be able to be with whoever you want,” he replies back in the same tone. 

A wicked smirk settles on your face as you analyze his words. “Oh yeah? Anyone? Well, then I guess I’ll see what Mr. Obsorn’s up to at this very moment.” 

He gapes at you. “You’re being cruel.” 

You pout tantalizingly. “You used to like it when I was mean to you. Now you don’t like it anymore? Strange.” 

Peter’s already dark brown eyes flame so deeply that they almost turn black. “Fuck you.” 

Already having turned on your heel to return back down the hallway, you let out a coquettish giggle. “Yeah, yeah, you already had your chance!” 

You wait until you’re finally out of Peter’s line of vision to let the tears fall. 

_____

It hadn’t taken much to convince Harry that you wanted to find yourself in some place more private. After your debacle with Peter you’d sauntered over to where he was, still situated patiently on the couch that you had both been occupying. It had only taken a few swishes of your hips, some hair tousling, and a kiss on Harry’s cheek before he had led you to his room. 

You hadn’t been in his room since before the Blip when you’d been forced to work on a lab report together for AP Chemistry. Your purpose for being in his room now was clearly very different. 

Within a few minutes of being alone, he’d pinned you against his bedroom door and placed his lips on yours. His hands had traveled straight to your waist, and before you knew it they were traveling even further down until they rested on your ass. The whole interaction was as lackluster as it had been the only other time you’d tried it with Harry, but you didn’t have the capacity to think straight. 

He’d led you to his bed to make you more comfortable, taking note of your reaction every few seconds. You did your best to focus on the scent of his expensive cologne or how soft his hair felt as you tangled your fingers in it, or how comfortable his duvet felt underneath you, but none of this did anything to quell your nerves or, quite frankly, arouse you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers gently into your ear, moving some loose strands of hair away from your eyes. “I’ve been thinking about doing this with you again forever.” 

You cringe at his admission, but once again, do your very best to suppress the apprehension that you feel. This is obviously a terrible idea, born from impulsivity, alcohol, and anger, but you can’t will yourself to stop. 

You try to relax as his lips trail down from your ear to your jaw and finally to your neck, sucking tiny patterns into your skin, while his hands trail slowly underneath your dress and up your thighs. His hands are soft on your skin, but his movements are abrupt. Instead of savoring the experience, it seems as though he can’t wait to get it over with. To get you out of your clothes so that something favorable can happen. 

 But all you can think about is Peter. How Peter would hold you so much more tenderly, how he would paint your neck red with his kisses, and how instinctually you’d part your legs for him so he could touch you where you needed him most. How he’d trail his hands over your ribs, kiss down your stomach, and use his tongue to make you cry out his name. And it’s at that moment when you decide that you can’t do this anymore. You can no longer make stupid, capricious decisions. You can’t be with Harry in any way that’s not platonic. But most of all, you can’t be without Peter. 

Mustering up the courage, you finally pull away from Harry’s kiss. “Harry, I can’t do this.” You grab his hand soothingly, hoping that this will mitigate some of the imminent hurt he’ll feel. 

He regards you with concern. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

“No, no, it’s not you, it’s me,” you squeeze his hand. Cliche much? “I just feel like maybe, this is not the right time to do this. We both were drinking and that makes things so much more confusing. And, like, maybe we’re rushing into this?” 

You’re not prepared for the way that Harry’s expression instantly morphs from one of confusion into one of anger. “I’m confused—what are you saying? Y/N, I’ve waited for you for twelve fucking years.” 

“Harry,” you caution, finally sliding out from under his grasp. You cross your legs over one another and prop yourself up a few inches away from where he sits. “I don’t understand why you’re getting so mad about this.” You knew it was better to play stupid than to try to console him and tell him that you knew full well why he was feeling what he was. It was obvious that you had led him on and clear that you’d been doing so for years. But couldn’t he at least cut you some slack, especially during this difficult time?

“I’m mad, Y/N because I’ve spent so much of my goddamn time trying to get you to like me, trying to make you realize that I’m head over fucking heels for you,” he snaps. “I don’t know how much clearer I could’ve been. Calling you every damn day to check up on you, buying you sympathy gifts, spending this entire night with you when I could’ve actually been hanging out with other people.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you hold up your hand to signal to him to pause his rambling. “You’re telling me that you did all of that, so what—so I’d suck your dick? So I’d let you go down on me? Do you realize how that sounds, Harry.” 

“Stop playing dumb. You’ve known all along how I feel about you. How badly I want you,” Harry laughs bitterly. “And you completely strung me along. The flirting wasn’t fucking one-sided, Y/N.” 

“I wasn’t entirely sure,” you mutter, looking down at your lap in embarrassment. “And I was just being nice.” Even you realize how much of a lie that is. 

“‘You weren’t entirely sure,’ oh please, look me in the eye and tell me that. Look me in the eye and say that to me with a straight face, Y/N,” he dismisses you. 

Your lip quivers, and you let out a shaky breath. “Stop it, Harry.” 

“Oh, you’re about to cry, Y/N?” He taunts. “I should be the one fucking crying. You’re pathetic.” 

You quickly wipe at the tears forming in your eyes. “Harry—Harry, you’re being mean.” You were pretty sure Peter had just told you the same thing a few minutes ago, but that wasn’t important right now. 

“And you’re a bitch,” he states tersely. “You need to leave.” 

“Harry,” you plead, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off abruptly, and your hand falls back into your lap. You can barely see through the sea of tears flowing from your eyes. “Don’t be like this.” 

“Get out,” he spits. 

You climb off of his bed as quickly as your legs will carry you, doing your best to remain calm. “Fuck you,” you choke out. “Every time you think about why we stopped being friends—every time someone asks you what happened between us—every time you miss me—I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember that you treated me like garbage because I wouldn’t let you fuck me.” 

Harry remains silent, facing away from you and offering you no reaction. Just as your hand is on the doorknob to leave, Harry calls out your name to stop you. 

“Oh and, Y/N,” he begins. You stop where you stand but don’t offer him the courtesy of turning around to meet his gaze. Just by the tone of his voice, you knew that he wasn’t going to say something pleasant. “I know all about you and Parker.” 

You’re not even sure that you’re breathing at that point. 

“I bet your father’s rolling in his grave right now,” he lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “I mean, Jesus, what kind of whore hooks up with someone at her dad’s funeral?” 

“Go to hell,” you snap back, grabbing the handle to his bedroom door and slamming it shut. 

“Maybe I’ll see you there!” Harry calls back. 

It hits you at that instant that Harry is the second boy to reject you in about two weeks. It seems that regardless of how much you beg or how much you solicit yourself, you can never seem to attain the attention and affection of anyone fully. 

It stings that you’d expected Harry to never be like the other boys that you and your friends complained about. He’d always been so respectful, so caring, so patient. Now, he was treating you like a stranger, as though you’d done the most egregious thing known to mankind. If this was the way that Harry truly was behind closed doors, then frankly, you wanted nothing to do with him. 

_____

After your blowout with Harry, you’d gone searching for Gwen all around the apartment, and with a misplaced phone, you couldn’t contact her to find out where she’d gone. When you finally found your phone, you saw that she had texted multiple times looking for you. The last text she’d sent you had informed you that she was leaving with MJ but that she’d looked all over for you. 

So, you grabbed your belongings and exited the apartment as quickly as possible. You hadn't exactly planned out what you’d do after leaving though… 

You spent a good half hour wandering around the streets of the Upper East Side aimlessly, letting yourself sob uncontrollably into your tweed Gucci jacket. You had undoubtedly ruined the white fabric with your mascara-stained tears, but you didn’t care enough. 

You missed your father. You needed Gwen. Hell, you would’ve even settled for being comforted by Pepper. But ultimately, you just wanted Peter. You hated that he was all you could think about. Even after getting into a fight with him that night, you still needed him. You couldn’t part ways with him so quickly, and you knew he felt the same way. You knew that he was pushing you away to protect himself, and you understood that. But you knew now more than ever that you were ready to commit to him. 

You knew that the way you had pushed him away in the past was beyond fucked up, and you knew that making him adhere to your time frame meant that he didn’t owe you anything. And, of course, there was the whole Harry situation. You regretted everything that had to do with Harry—not only what had transpired tonight. But maybe, just maybe, if you could go to him, and have a real heart-to-heart, then maybe things could be different. 

Another capricious decision leads you to get on the train to Queens. You hadn’t been on the Subway in years. Your father had always denounced public transportation, explaining there was no reason for it when Happy was there to take you anywhere you wanted. Now, you certainly could’ve called your godfather to pick you up, but you didn’t want him to see you so defeated. Plus, you needed the time to think about what you’d say to Peter. How would you rectify this situation? If you could rectify this situation.

The trip feels so long and arduous—especially given the time—as it requires you to get off at various stations, sometimes walking for ten minutes at a time to catch the next departing trains. Part of you enjoys this, though, as it gives you time to think about how to approach this issue, and sober up too. 

When you arrive in Queens, it’s 1:08 am exactly. You had texted Pepper and told her you were sleeping at Gwen’s. Hopefully, she didn’t question it. 

You know the way from this station to Peter’s apartment. A walk that normally felt like a few minutes currently felt like hours. Finally, his apartment complex coming into your line of sight makes you wish that the walk could’ve possibly been a little longer. But you muster up all the strength that you have and enter the building. 

The elevator ride upstairs has you wringing out your hands nervously and pacing back and forth. It feels like the exact same experience that you had earlier today going up to Harry’s apartment. This is the worst kind of deja vu ever. 

The next few minutes feel like a blur as you walk to Peter’s apartment, doing your best to breathe and not to cry. You exhale shakily and finally let your knuckle come in contact with the wooden door that leads inside the Parker’s home. 

May opens the door a few seconds after your knock, an incredibly shocked look on her face. Ever the beautiful woman, she has her long hair placed in a haphazard yet stylish bun. Glasses rest crookedly on the bridge of her nose, and she wears some comfortable-looking loungewear, notably a Star Wars t-shirt (that you’re pretty sure belongs to her nephew). She was obviously sleeping before you woke her up, and now you feel terrible. Even more than you already did. 

“Y/N,” she states, blinking a few times to take in the sight of you. “What are you doing here, sweetie?” 

“Um, oh, God, I’m sorry,” you breathe out nervously, feeling the tears starting to fall from your eyes for the umpteenth time that night. “I came here looking for Peter, but I just realized how crazy it was for me to come here uninvited in the middle of the night. I’m gonna go now. I’m so sorry for wasting your time, Ms. Parker.” 

“No, no, Y/N, please, please come in. Talk to me, something is obviously wrong. Talk to me, honey,” she urges you, grabbing your arm to lead you inside her home slowly. 

“I, um, I messed up really badly, and I’m trying to make it up to Peter, but I’m doing a shitty—I mean, I’m doing a really bad job, and he won’t forgive me. But I need him to. I need to talk to him so badly,” you ramble hysterically, your chest rising and falling in uneven, labored increments. “It’s just been a really bad night.” 

“Oh, Y/N,” May coos softly, wiping your tears away with her thumbs. “It’s going to be okay. It is, honey, I promise. Peter’s taking a shower, okay? But you’re more than welcome to stay here and wait until he finishes. Do you want to do that?” 

“Yeah,” you nod abruptly. “Please.” 

“Okay,” she offers you a concerned smile. “Come here, honey.” 

She guides you over to the largest couch in the living room and takes you into her arms, rubbing comforting circles into your back. You will yourself to stop crying but you can’t. The tears feel like they’ll never stop. 

Another fifteen minutes pass until you hear the water shut off in the bathroom. When it finally does, your heart jumps. 

“You know,” May states gently. “I’m not sure what’s going on between you and Peter—even though I can probably make some assumptions—but I want you to know that he does care about you, and I’m sure he always will.” 

“I don’t know. I feel like he hates me,” you mumble, wiping some more tears away from your eyes. 

May laughs. “Never. He could never.”

You fiddle with your fingers nervously. “Yeah, I’m not so sure. Like I said, I really messed up. I don’t know how to fix it.” 

May continues to rub your back soothingly. “Well, you’re here now, and that has to count for something.” 

“I don’t even know what I’ll say to Peter,” you sigh. 

“Just be honest with him. He’ll be able to tell when you’re putting up a front, but he’s not as stubborn as you peg him to be. Peter just wants you to know that you care,” May answers. 

“I do care; so much,” you agree fervently. 

The sound of Peter’s bedroom door opening brings your conversation to a halt. You hold your breath as you wait for Peter to appear. You have no idea how he will react or if he’ll even hear you out. You try to take May’s advice and praise yourself for even seeking him out. However, your anxiety berates you and calls you obsessed, desperate, pathetic. He already turned you down one time, so why are you continuing? You don’t even know.  

May calls to him. “Hey, Peter, you doing okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m exhausted, though,” he yawns. You watch as he emerges from his room in nothing but a pair of loose plaid boxer shorts as he simultaneously dries his hair off with a towel. You subconsciously shift in May’s arms to get a better look at him, your eyes gliding across his taut abs and the cords of muscle that adorn his arms and hands. Your tongue instinctually darts out to wet your lip, but you do your best to quell the budding arousal that you’re experiencing. Now is certainly not the time for that way of thinking.  

As he walks closer to you, you feel like you’re going to faint. You can’t remember the last time that you were this nervous. 

When he finally does set eyes on you, you see many emotions flashing across his face: anger, confusion, hope? 

“Hi, Pete,” you choke out, offering him a cautious wave. 

“Y/N,” he states. You can see a tiny wave of concern flash across his face as he takes in your fully disheveled state. “What’s wrong?”

“So many things,” you reply through teary eyes. “So many things went wrong tonight. But, please, please, Peter, let me talk to you; please hear me out.” 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” May announces softly. You pull away from her, and she gives you a knowing look as if to say, “You’ve got this!” She then slowly makes her way to her room; however, you’re pretty sure she lingers outside of it around for a few minutes. 

Peter makes his way over to where you are on the couch, but instead of sitting, he remains standing with his arms crossed. 

You swallow nervously before answering. “I know you say you don’t want to be with me. That you think it’s a bad idea for us to be together, but I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me to be apart from you. I think about you all the time. I—I don’t know how much longer I can go on without you. And I don’t want to beg you to be with me, I know I look so pathetic coming here and pleading with you, but I don’t know how else to apologize.” 

He stares at you blankly. “Y/N, the reason that I say we can’t be together is that I know how easily you change your mind. How easily you get confused and bored and how difficult it is for you to make sense of how your actions hurt others. In a relationship, that’s not okay. I just feel like—I don’t know, you have no regard for how other people feel sometimes.” 

“You’re right,” you agree. “But you had no regard for how I felt tonight. You totally dismissed how I was feeling after I walked in on you and Kameron. Do you know how badly that hurt? The way that you made me feel is the way that you seem to feel when Harry and I do anything together..” 

“First of all, her name is Keira. Secondly, I saw how you and Harry were at the party tonight. You were practically sitting in his lap begging for him to sleep with you,” Peter retorts. 

“I didn’t go to the fucking party for Harry. I went to the party for you. I can barely get out of bed most days, but I got up today for you, and I made myself look pretty for you, and I went searching around Harry’s entire fucking apartment for you,” you sob. “And when you rejected me tonight, I made a complete fucking fool out of myself. I thought that trying to distract myself with Harry would make me feel better. But it didn’t—he hates me just as much as you do. He called me a whore and a bitch.” 

Peter immediately sits next to you on the couch, his eyes filled with rage. Once again, seeing Peter in such a worked-up state made your thighs clench together. “He called you what?” 

“He said I was a whore,” you repeat, wiping away some more tears. “He knows about us, and when I rejected him, well, he went off. Said all of these horrible things to me.” 

“That fucker,” Peter mutters under his breath. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“But I’m not your girlfriend, so you shouldn’t care,” you reply dryly. 

Peter stares at you for a few seconds as though fully taking you in. Thoroughly analyzing your facial features and trying to understand the implications of your words. “Y/N, it’s impossible for me to stop thinking about you too. I’ve tried so hard to remind myself of what I said to you the day of your father’s funeral. Tried to force myself to stick to my words. But I didn’t mean any of that; I was an asshole. Hell, it killed me to reject you again tonight. And I do believe that we’re bad for each other; but not all the time. I do believe that this might not work. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that it could?” 

Your ears perk up at his words, but for once, you choose to keep your sarcastic remarks to yourself. 

“I think it could,” you reply quickly. “I know it could. Because I want you, I want you so badly, and I’m willing to work for it. To work to make this good for the both of us.” 

“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your mouth. “You sure?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod enthusiastically. “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.” 

“Maybe we can try this and see how it goes,” he suggests, his hand having found its way to your cheek to stroke it. 

“I’d like that,” you say. “I’d like that a lot.” 

When he finally leans in to press his lips to yours, you swear you ascend to heaven. Where you had tensed up as Harry had kissed you, you relax under Peter’s embrace, letting him guide you through laying back on the couch and moving his hands to skirt up your thighs. You buck against him as his tongue moves in tandem with yours, and you tug at his wet curls. 

“Wanna go to my room?” His fingers glide up and down your arm gently. 

“Yes, please. But wait, don’t you think your aunt is going to be suspicious?” You inquire with a smirk. 

He trails kisses from your cheek down to your neck down to your collarbone. “She’s asleep.” 

“You’re positive?” You whimper, your arm resting comfortably around his neck. 

He finally tugs you up from the couch and ushers you toward his room. “Spidey senses remember?”  

“Is that what those are for? Not getting caught during late-night sex?” You giggle as he closes the door to his room behind you. 

“We’re having sex?” He stares at you with wide eyes. 

“Oh, God, shit, I just assumed?” You panic. 

“Just messing with you, pretty girl,” he steps closer to you and grins. “I wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you in this dress.” He grabs your hips to pull you closer to him, then kisses you softly again. 

You feel like you barely blink before he has you on his bed, underneath him. You melt under his embrace, reveling in the feeling of his gentle kisses on your lips, your cheek, and your neck. 

You bring his larger hand around to the small of your back so he can find the zipper on your dress. “I’ve been waiting for you to take it off me since I first saw you tonight,” you answer breathlessly. 

He quickly obliges you, his fingers deftly pulling down the zipper to reveal your back. He plays with your spine, rubbing tiny circles into it, as he simultaneously uses his bare knee to spread your legs wider for him. You moan as his knee comes in contact with your wet center. You sit up momentarily for him to help you out of your dress, and you swear he looks as though he’s seen God when you’re finally out of the garment. You tuck your knees under your lap and straighten your spine so he can take you in. Your cheeks have a beautifully rosy glow, your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, and your skin shines beautifully under the dim lighting of his bedroom. You watch as his eyes flicker toward your erect nipples, then down toward where you need him the most. 

“You’re the most beautiful person in the entire world,” he answers as earnestly as possible. Connecting your lips with his again, you bring his left hand to cup your right breast. His slim fingers instantly go to tweak your nipple, and you moan into his mouth. When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, you almost pass out. He’s barely even given you any stimulation, and you already feel like you might come. You let your hands play with his hair as he alternates between swirling his tongue on your left and right breast. 

“Touch me, Petey,” you practically beg. “I’m so wet for you.” 

Peter lets one hand travel down from your breast to your panties. He curses when his fingers come in contact with the soaked material. “Gonna take this off, okay? Lift your hips for me.” 

“Yeah,” you agree. “Okay.” He tugs the material down your thighs, leaving you fully naked. 

His hands rake over your stomach. “My beautiful girl. I really did miss you so much.” 

His words alone are enough to make you cry, but when he drags his index finger from your clit down your opening, you think you might start crying real tears. “Peter, Peter, please don’t tease.” 

“We’ll see,” he shrugs. “How badly do you want my fingers?” 

“More than anything,” you plead. “Please.” 

“Someone’s desperate,” he tsks. “Good thing I’m feeling generous.” 

You could almost laugh at how submissive you’ve become to him. But it’s so hot to see him assert some dominance over you that you don’t mind it at all. 

You yelp when he finally inserts his finger into your pussy. The wet, squelching sound, in combination with his rapid thrusts, makes your head fall back in euphoria. You let your hand travel down to play with your clit, and he adds a second finger, then eventually a third. 

“You make me feel so good,” you cry out. “God, Peter.” 

The stimulation of your clit in conjunction with the feeling of Peter’s fingers curling upward is heavenly. When he curves his index finger upwards to hit your g-spot, you let out a yelp, and your eyes widen. You’re so close and it’s only been five minutes.

“You gonna come for me?” Peter murmurs, speeding up his pace. You give him an enthusiastic nod, and when he leans forward to take your right nipple into his mouth, swirling it around his tongue, you let out one last cry and finish on his fingers, stifling your moan with your free hand. 

“That was—that was good,” you offer Peter a blissed-out smile, reaching up to caress his cheek. 

You return to kissing each other for a few minutes, moaning as your sensitive clit comes in contact with Peter’s boxer-clad erection. He finally pulls away to remove his boxers from his body. Your fingers glide across his abs as he strips himself of the last piece of clothing she wears. 

He’s just as pretty as you remember—painfully hard against his stomach, at least over 6 inches, and pink tip leaking with precum. You have the urge to get on your knees and place him into your mouth and make him cry out your name. You take him in your hand and wrap your hand around him, letting your thumb brush across his tip and collecting some of his arousal on your fingertip. 

He bucks his hips against your hand and groans out. “Jesus, babe.” You beam at the pet name he gives you. You set a comfortable pace, stroking him faster from tip to base. You take the opportunity to mark up his neck and play with his abs. 

“Do you like the way I make your cock feel?” You purr in his ear. “You’re so hard for me. Can’t wait for you to be inside me.” 

“If you keep doing that, I’ll come all over you,” he moans enthusiastically. “Let me fuck you.” 

You separate for a minute for Peter to grab a condom from his bedside table. “I see you planned for this.” 

“I was hopeful,” he shrugs with a tiny smile. Unwrapping the package, he’s quick to place the condom on himself. 

“I want to ride you,” you assert when Peter pulls you back into his embrace. Peter kisses you again, this time much more slowly and sensually. You settle on top of him, rubbing your core against his cock. You moan into his mouth as he grinds himself against you. 

“I missed you a lot, Y/N,” Peter repeats slowly. “I’m really glad we made up. I—I care about you so much.” 

Your mouth falls open in pleasure when Peter slowly inserts himself inside your pussy. “Go slow,” you breathe out. 

He grunts as he slowly sheaths himself inside of you. Despite being soaked, it takes you a minute to adjust to his size, as you hadn’t had sex in, well, over five years. Your fingers could only have so much of an impact on you. 

When he finally bottoms out, you both share a collective moan. Peter brushes a few strands of hair out of your face. “So gorgeous.” 

You lift yourself up slowly to ultimately land back on his lap again. “Peter,” you whimper. “Oh my God.” 

You rise up and down more quickly on his cock, stifling your moans in his neck. When he starts to meet his thrusts with yours, your head falls back. Peter keeps a secure hold on the small of your back as he continues a consistent pace. 

“Missed you. Missed your tight little pussy,” he moans into your ear. He licks and sucks at your breasts, marking them up with his teeth, and swirling your nipples under his tongue. 

A comfortable silence arises between you two. The way that he stares into your eyes and cradles your body in his makes your stomach swarm with butterflies and your head go dizzy. When his hand goes down to your clit, you feel the familiar sensation building in your stomach. A look of desperation flashes over your eyes as Peter speeds up his thrusts, and allows his fingers to dance more quickly across your clit. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” you chant. “I’m gonna—keep going just like that.”

One particular enthusiastic thrust makes you scream out, and your hand instantly flies to your mouth to cover it. 

“You feel so good around me,” Peter grunts. “I’m close, too.” 

The more Peter continues at the pace he’s established, the closer and closer you get to that very special precipice. And then, like an explosion, it hits you out of nowhere. 

You shriek, rising up and down on Peter at an animalistic pace. “Peter, fuck, Peter, I’m coming. Oh my God, baby!”  He presses his lips to yours quickly and moans into your mouth, as your pussy contracts, and you gush all over him. Your vision is enveloped by nothing but complete white, as you experience a level of pleasure that you’re sure you’ve ever achieved before. Making love to Peter after having resolved most of your problems makes you feel giddy in a way that you’d only dreamed about. To feel so loved and appreciated and worshiped by him are things you wouldn’t trade for anything. 

That familiar look settles in his eyes after you’ve orgasmed, and you work to help him reach his own climax. “Y/N, shit, Y/N.” 

“Come on, baby, give it to me, Peter,” you beg, repeating your past movements. “Come for me, Petey.” 

With those words of encouragement, he lets out a choked groan that makes you moan out with him and buries his face in your neck as he explodes into the condom. 

When he finally comes down from his high, he helps you off of him to lay next to him. Grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom, he helps you clean yourself up and then settles into bed next to you. 

“Hi,” you say softly, moving some curls away from his forehead. 

“Hi,” he iterates, his hand coming to rest on your hip. 

“I’m so sorry for everything. I know I’ve said that already, but Peter, you mean so much to me,” you state sincerely. You can feel a lump forming in your throat at your admission. “I understand that it took so much for you to forgive me, and I understand that you didn’t actually want to in the first place. But I can’t be without you in my life. I just need you to understand that.” 

“It was killing me to be away from you, too, Y/N. Like I told you, I missed you just as much,” he replies softly. 

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. I hope you realize how much I truly mean that,” you tell him. “I only pushed you away because I was afraid of losing you. I thought that if I let you be there for me, then you’d get tired of me and my problems. That you’d leave me.” 

You register that you’re crying when Peter swipes away some translucent droplets from your cheeks. “I could never leave you. You are incredibly annoying sometimes, and so stubborn, and a little bit aloof, but that doesn’t stop me from caring about you like I do.” 

You take the opportunity to bring your reunion to a close by wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him gently. “Goodnight, Pete.” You snuggle into his embrace, and he lets his head fall into your neck comfortably, his hands still rubbing languid circles on your back. 

You sleep wonderfully that night—certainly the best you have in weeks. When you finally wake up around 11 am the next morning, you notice that Peter is still asleep next to you. Smiling softly at him, you rake your fingers through his curls and place a kiss on his forehead lovingly. 

Untangling yourself from his sheets and letting your feet hit the floor of his bedroom, you rummage through his drawers for an oversized t-shirt to pull over your body. Tugging your panties over your legs, you also pull on some of Peter’s fuzzy socks to keep your feet warm. 

In your exhausted but elated stupor, you barely have time to think about the fact that May is probably up and waiting for Peter in the kitchen. 

It is a Sunday morning after all. 

Dragging your feet to the kitchen, you let out a tired yawn. 

“Good morning, Peter—oh wow, Y/N?” May yelps, almost dropping the coffee mug in her hand. “I didn’t know you stayed the night.” 

“Oh, um, yeah, it was late by the time that Peter and I finished talking, so I just slept over. I hope that was okay,” you answer uncomfortably. 

Her eyes rake over the outfit that you wear. She obviously knows what you stayed over to do. “No problem.” 

You quickly pivot on your heel to walk back to Peter. “I’m going to go wake up Peter.” 

May nods awkwardly, and you make your way back toward Peter’s room. 

When you arrive back inside Peter’s room, you take a careful seat back on the edge of his bed. The action awakens him, and he turns to face you. 

“Hey, baby,” you call to him gently. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Because you were here, yeah,” he offers you a cheeky smile. “Why are you smiling so wide, pretty girl?” You blush at the nickname as he takes his hand in yours. 

“Mmm what is it baby?” you asked groggily.

“I want you,” he replied unashamedly. You could feel Quill shifting his weight behind you. He was peering over your shoulder, trying to look at you. He had missed you all day and you were finally home. What he didn’t know was that you were tired, and not in the mood.

“Oh really?” you mumbled.

“Mhm, I missed you today.” You couldn’t see him but by his sweet tone of voice you could tell that he was sticking his bottom lip out and giving you puppy dog eyes. You smiled and turned around, cupping his face in your hands.

"You know you're adorable right?" you teased.

He smiled, "I know, that's why you can't resist all of this." He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh. He was just too cute. You didn't want to tell him no.

When you stopped laughing he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss quickly elevated, his hand snaking up your tight shirt and pressing heat against your lower abdomen. While your eyes were closed, sleep called your name once more, but you ignored it.

Peter pulled back for a minute and reached over to the night stand. He grabbed a condom and pulled his boxers down and put it on, tossing the wrapper back onto the table. He switched positions and crawled on top of you. His face drew closer and he kissed you while he pulled down your sweat shorts.

He got the lube too and squirted some on his covered dick and rubbed the leftovers around near your entrance. With dick in hand he guided his length into you, easing it in as to not hurt you. He let out a long sigh when he got to moving. At least he was feeling good, you thought. Peter was making you feel good too, but you were so tired that if it weren't for the movement you would have fallen asleep.

The pleasure wasn't building like it usually did. You wanted to cum, you wanted to show Peter that he was doing a good job. But you weren't feeling it, and you knew you weren't going to cum. You didn't want to hurt Peter's feelings so as he reached his peak speed and his head lolled back you moaned extra loud, "I'm gonna cum!"

"Me too," he groaned back. His hips pounded into you and his balls slapped against you as he came in his condom. You kept on moaning a little, acting like you had actually cum too.

Peter slowed then pulled out. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and went to the bathroom to clean up. He went to take his condom off and realized there was no cum on the outside of it. You said you had cum, but there wasn't anything other than lube on there. Quill didn't want to assume you had faked it, but he didn't want to ask right away either.

He threw the condom away and went back to your bedroom. You were already out cold, and when Peter saw he sighed and crawled into bed, completely dejected. He was embarrassed that he couldn’t make you cum, and a little annoyed that you wouldn’t just tell him. But he let those thoughts drift away so he could fall asleep.

The next morning you woke up early for work again. Peter was still asleep so you didn’t wake him and instead went about your morning routine. Three minutes before you needed to leave you wrote a little note on the refrigerator for him, “I hope you slept well hunny, I’ve already left for work by the time you wake up but I just wanted to say I love you and I’ll see you later <3”

About an hour later Quill rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the kitchen. He wasn’t a morning person by any means. The coffee machine beeped and he pushed himself off of the counter to pour himself a cup. He set his mug down on the counter and went to the refrigerator to get milk and creamer. Your note, which he noticed just then, made him stop mid pull. He shut the refrigerator and took the note off so he could get a better look at it. A tired smile spread on his face.

Then he remembered last night. It was odd that there wasn’t anything on his condom, and you didn’t get up to clean yourself off right after he did. Now that he thought about it, you went straight to sleep. How unusual. He pushed the thought aside and decided he would bring it up later. It wasn’t making him mad, but he was a little wounded that you had faked it, or if you even did fake it.

Lucky for you, work was slow and you got off early. On the way home you picked up lunch for you and Peter. It was in a way an apology for your tiredness last night and faking your orgasm, whether he knew about it or not.

Keys jingling together you unlock the door and step in with takeout in hand. “Quill I’m home!” you shout.

He power walks out of the bedroom and just about tackles you into a bear hug. You giggle and kiss his stubbled cheek. “I missed you,” you say into his ear.

“I missed you moooore,” he replies. “How was work?”

“Better than yesterday, I’ll tell you that. Plus I got off early, so that’s even better. I get to spend more time with you.” You kiss his cheek again and he smiles before setting you back down. The food gets set on the kitchen counter and you pull out the chinese you got. You hand Peter his usual order and take out your own.

There’s only the quiet sound of eating for a few minutes before Peter says something. “Y/N I need to ask you something.”

You look over at him. He rarely calls you by your first name. That means he’s being serious. “What is it?”

He wants to ask about your orgasm but you’re right in the middle of eating and he doesn’t want to interrupt you. He can just ask later, he thinks to himself. He thinks of something else to ask and quickly thinks of, “Can you pass me some soy sauce?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him but hand him a few packs and go back to eating.

Later that night, a few hours later, you were laying in bed doing nothing in particular. Thoughts of last night were filling both your heads. Peter was set on trying to ask you about it, and you were set on trying to make up for it.

The both of you were sitting up in bed and you set your phone down on your bedside table and leaned over. You set a hand on Peter’s bare chest and he instantly stopped what he was doing. His eyes shot to yours, a sly smile on your face. He could tell exactly what it was you wanted.

“Peter,” you whispered against his lips. Your mouth was an inch away from his and your eyes were drifting between his and his lips. He parted his mouth and leaned forward, capturing you before you could make a move. You were trying to take the lead, but he wasn’t letting you.

He overpowered you, flipping you around and putting you on your knees. His bulge was against your ass and he was rubbing circles against it. The intensity he was showing was like nothing before. Whatever it was that was riling him up you needed to find out. It would have to wait until later though, because your panties being dragged down your thighs was the only thing you could think of.

A condom and lube had already been taken out of the drawer, and Peter was putting them on. The room was silent other than the rustling of sheets and your heart hammering in your chest. Then there was the squirting of the lube and you knew it was about to come. The cold goo was smeared on your folds and slightly inside of them by Quill’s rough fingers.

His tip, covered by a condom, was right at your entrance in a second, and in just one more, it was inside you. Your whole body was pushed forward with the force that Peter was thrusting. You were moaning and panting, and he was smiling between his own groans. His goal was to make sure you never had to fake an orgasm again. And with the way things were going you wouldn’t need to.

“Oh- Oh my god!” The way he was slamming into you was so quick and hard the pressure inside of you was building like a balloon being blown up.

His hands were holding you and keeping you from falling over. If they weren’t you would have smacked into the headboard. You couldn’t stay on your hands any longer, you dropped to your elbows, back making a beautiful arch for Quill.

The unbearable speed was tiring Quill out, but it was also making his orgasm come even quicker. He grabbed your shoulders, giving himself even more leverage to thrust with.

Your knees were trembling, jelly below you. But you wouldn’t have to hold that position for much longer. That balloon inside you popped like too much air had been blown into it. Your walls clenched around Peter’s cock, and the cum he was searching for yesterday covered his condom. He kept his pace, legs killing him and pelvis hitting your ass.

He let out a loud groan, and cum leaked and squirted from his tip. He let go of your shoulders, seeing a red handprint there. He pulled out of you, your cum dribbling out when he did. He smiled, satisfied that he had done what he set out to do.

Your lower half ached and you all but collapsed onto your pillows. You flipped over and saw Peter above you, buttcheeks against the heels of his feet and catching his breath. You laughed just a little and he opened his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“That was something else,” you admitted with a smile.

“Good.” He crawled onto his stomach and laid next to you with his head on his arms. You scooted over closer to him, laying on your back with your hands set on your stomach.

“Y/N,” he sat up, “last night,” he started.

“I already know what you’re going to say. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I was just super tired last night and I didn’t want to deny you.” You looked down at your stomach but Peter turned your face back to his with his thumb.

“It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I didn’t catch that you weren’t in the mood. If you ever don’t want to do stuff just tell me okay? I won’t be upset. Besides, it’s not good for me if you aren’t having as much fun as I am. I have a right hand if I get that desperate.” He waved his right hand and grinned.