#tasm peter

It wasn't like you were only competitive and hard-working because of Peter. You would never give him that satisfaction, even if it was the case it was the truth.

No, you had always been this determined and hard working, even in simple high school chemistry labs. But the pool had certainly widened since high school, high achievers with much sharper teeth swam alongside you now.

You had to prove yourself more than ever before, but the reward of the Deans List and praise from your family and professors was worth the endless work and study-sheets.

You had actually worked hard to get to where you were now.

Unlike some people, where it came naturally. Or their parents had money, and could weasel their way into the Dean's mind like snakes, to cater to their golden child.

The mere thought of Peter Parker made your jaw clench so hard you worried teeth would crack.

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even though this was in your mind, and your mind alone- that you gave him even the slightest bit of time in your day. Or night, in this case. It was now 12:05.

Six minutes after the deadline for your secondary thesis, your countless months (years really, you always just used a near dying pen and a napkin to jot it down) of jumbled ideas, random thoughts and hypotheses spewed out onto a nice, neat document.

Organized, somehow, when your mind felt like it was moving a mile a minute, jumping from one thought to the next.

And somehow, he was in the mix. Of all the things you could think of, he was right up there with the worst of the worst.

You should be celebrating, it was done, and you were free. But all you felt was built churning in your gut, making you queasy.

Whether it was the lack of sleep, the limited and very poor diet and the endless stress and perfectionism, or if it was Parker on your mind- you didn't know. It would be funny if you told him the thought of him actually made you sick.

But that would tell him that you thought about him. And you couldn't have that.

You were winning. You had to stay winning.

You dragged yourself from the mirror, slamming the laptop shut before you let out a deep sigh. It was as if the weight had lifted, just a smidge from your shoulders, but there was still the pressure of nerves.

You had to win this. Winning this meant a free week at an all inclusive resort in Mexico, with a guest of your choosing. You needed a heavy handed pina coloita, and a beach with clear waters more than anything after this year.

If you lost that… if you lost that to Parker…

You shook your head, trying to rid the cobwebs of dread and anxiety that coated your mind. You were free, for now, at least. In a few days, you’d present your research. The next week, you’d have plane tickets to Mexico in your hand.

Tomorrow, you’d go to a cafe with your best friend Gwen, buy nine dollar iced vanilla lattes and check out a new antique store you’d been dying to explore.

It was going to be a good day.

And for now, you had to just focus on taking the days, one at a time. And not think about Peter Parker, and that charming, smug smirk. 

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The nerves had threatened to consume you alive a week ago.

They started to slither their way back to the surface as you tried to enjoy your much deserved break from school work.

It had been nearly seven days on the dot since you had presented your findings, Dr. Banner silently cheering you on from the back corner of the room, which was much needed, a contrast from the cool and collected looks of the committee staring at you as you presented.

You had worn black that day, knowing it would save you from the embarrassment of visible sweat stains, thank god. You had even traded your three espresso shots for a measly one and a half, knowing it would churn with the nerves in your stomach and possibly make you a jittery, vomiting mess in front of everyone.

All and all, it had gone as well as you thought it could go. Dr. Banner thought so at least. Not even the sight of Parker could break your stride as you left the little meeting room, his eyes being the first thing that met your gaze as you left.

He was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on.

And that pissed you off even more.

How’d it go bunny? He had asked, a twinkle in his eye as he took you in.

You refused to let yourself curl inwards as much as you wanted to, it was something you would not allow in his presence. Your eyes had rolled at the pet name he had refused to drop, despite your countless requests to drop it.

You were not a bunny. You were not his bunny.

“Excellent. Break a leg Parker.” You had snapped, brushing past him, the smell of his husky cologne choking you. He sucked the air out of every room and hallway he was in, not just because of his larger size, but because he was just that much of a cocky prick.

You almost guaranteed he had called every girl something sweet to get into their pants.

Over your dead body you’d ever be one of them, the rake.

He chuckled at your comment, knowing you meant it literally. You never filtered yourself around him.

“That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble someday bun.” he called as you walked away, turning the corner before you could let yourself react. He did not ruin the perfect, checking items off your list day.

And he wouldn't ruin it today.

In a week, you’d know if you had scored two tickets to Mexico, and the excitement mixed with anxiety made you want to stay curled up in bed, under twenty blankets. You squeezed your knees into your chest, attempting to take deep breaths, though they came out shaky.

You had to pull yourself together, rip it off like a bandaid. Tune everything else out, make everything into a list.

You pulled yourself out of your tangled position, reaching for a notebook you always kept handy at your bedside table, for exactly this reason.

All that could be heard was your shaky breaths, the loud hum of the wonky AC you begged your landlord to look at for the last month, and your pen scribbling on the page so hard you thought it would rip.

1. Put on an outfit

2. Fix my hair

3. Make my bed

4. Fill up water bottle

5. Check the stove is turned off

6. Subway

7. Find out if I did all that work for nothing (I don't care about the ‘experience’)

8. Start making my packing list with Gwen, or drink myself sick in sadness

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You arrived with five minutes to spare, and you had cursed everyone in existence for your lateness.

You scrambled to try and fix your hair before stepping inside, but it was no use. The wind was picking up, despite spring being in full swing. If you had spent less time panicking, and picking your outfit, you honestly could've used the walk.

Maybe then you would've avoided the subway delay, and the hundreds of people that lacked spacial awareness to move out of the way, rather than standing around in congested herds.

Shaking the past from your mind, there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs now, you carried yourself forward, headstrong and confident through the doors.

You would win this.

If you told yourself that enough times, maybe it would come true.

You blinked to adjust to the flickering buzz of the fluorescent lights as you stepped inside the older building, making your way up the stairs to the same conference room you had entered a week earlier. You followed the low mumbling voices, surprised there were only a handful of people hanging around the doorway.

Had the other students already gone inside? Or had they been eliminated already?

You rubbed your hands subtly on your skirt before fidgeting again with the rings on your fingers, before an older woman directed her attention to you. Her face lit up.

“Ah Miss. Y/L/N. Right on time. Come on in and we’ll get started.”

You swallowed, trying to plaster a smile on your face despite it most likely looking something like a grimace as you stepped past some people to make your way inside.

All that waited for you was empty chairs- almost, all empty.

Peter sat at the desk that faced the dozens of other chairs,his long legs brushing the chair you assumed was yours. You avoided his gaze as you sat, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt before folding them neatly in your lap.

“Not even a hello? I’m hurt, bunny.”

“Not now Parker.” you bit out, not sparing him a glance as everyone sat in their seats.

“You’re late, you know. I was beginning to get worried.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“I was not late, and you are so self absorbed and lack the human decency to worry for anyone but yourself. I could be skinned alive in front of a live audience, and you would be at the concession stand.” you snarled, earning a chuckle out of him.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Are we set to begin Miss. Y/L/N?”

You felt heat rise across your body as you quickly averted your eyes, trying to fix a smile on your face. “Yes ma’am. I apologize."

“Good. So to begin, we all want to thank you both for your hard work, time and dedication with your work. Both of you should be proud of your hard work.”

You nodded, trying to seem engaged as she droned on about academic honours and such. You needed her to get on with it. Your attention started to wane, zoning in as soon as she grabbed her score sheets from last week.

“It was extremely tough to decide who to give this award to. Your scores were identical. Both of you are tied for first.”

You closed your eyes, clenching your fists and started to pray for a genie to come in, and give you three wishes.

This could not be happening.

“You both scored a 97. That is something you should each be extremely proud of. Therefore, you both are winners.”

Yes, yes she had said that already! Jesus fucking Christ woman…

“Does that mean we rock paper scissors to see who wins?” you asked, eyebrow raised as you shifted your gaze to look at Peter.

“I always throw a rock, but I’m sure I could mix it up this time with paper.”

“Well don't give away your tricks now.” he muttered under his breath.

He was calm and collected, as he always was.

Why the hell wasn't he concerned about this?

“As fun as that would be, we collectively agree it is not fair to give someone the pair of tickets, rather than the other. So, for the first time in the history of this competition, you will each be receiving one ticket.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. Fuck.

“Oh?” you sputtered, feeling Peters stare on the side of your face as you collected yourself.

Everyone was smiling. You felt like smacking your head off the table in front of you repeatedly, until you were unconscious and blood coated the walls.

“Congratulations you two! Start planning matching outfits. We will send all the details to your emails within the next few days.” Someone said, who you couldn't focus on, as your head was buzzing so loud it was as if mosquitoes had swarmed your ears.

You felt dizzy.

All this work, the effort and countless nights you had put into this project.

And you were to share the celebration with Peter fucking Parker.

Your arch nemesis.

The universe had played some sick, cruel, twisted joke on you, pointing down from above and laughing so hard the earth had begun to shake. Chair legs began to push against the tile, squeaking as a steady buzz of chatter hummed in the room, and yet you felt frozen in your seat.

“Matching outfits eh? What do you think, pineapple, or Hawaiian button- ups?” Peter's teasing voice broke you from your spell, making the room come back into focus, and then some.

It was too loud, too hot, too much.

And he made everything worse. He always made everything worse.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you.” You pointed, shooting up from your seat- your eyes sharp enough to stab daggers into his chest. Steam might as well have been spewing from your ears.

He was hazed over in a paintbrush stroke of red, anger clouding your vision. He swallowed every single frame of vision you had, whenever he was in a room.

This time, it was no different. He threw his hands up in mock defense.

“Congrats to you too bunny. We’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure.” was all he said, and you couldve sworn a sliver of hurt was etched across his features, before it had adjusted itself back into the cool, calm and collected nature he displayed so well: with that taunting smile, those stupid fucking dimples appearing as he brushed past you, too close to be anything friendly.

You heard his name called by someone, another voice calling yours to talk more about where you had landed marks, and where the three had been taken off.

You didn't care anymore.

You just needed to call Gwen, and tell her about the nightmare that had just taken place, in real time.

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It had been two weeks and you still could not get the last conversation with Peter out of your head.

You had gotten everything out of your system, when you were out at the bar with your friends, when you had started packing your bag while on the phone with your mom, and now in the car as Gwen drove you to your terminal.

“I wanted to go with you so bad Gweny.” you sighed, looking longingly out the window as the rain pattered down. There was no point lingering on the past now, you knew that. You had psychoanalyzed the whole situation to a tee, including Peter's reaction.

You don't know why that little flash of emotion had stuck with you so much.

Was it the fact you were the one who had cracked his facade? Or was it just suppressed joy that your harsh words had landed their blow as intended?

You hadn't seen him since that moment in the room, and it wasn't exactly like you wanted to seek him out. What were you going to do, apologise? You had meant what you said, and he needed to hear it.

You had to stand your ground, and you were going to continue to show him, and others- for that matter that you weren't one to be walked all over.

“I know babe, but its okay! WIth all the juicy drama deets I’ll get, it will make me feel like I’m right there with you.” she laughed as you rolled your eyes. “There won't be any updates because as soon as we land I am getting as far away from Parker as I can get.”

She sighed, watching the wipers move back and forth, the traffic pretty well at a standstill. “I’m sure it will be a fantaboluis love story for the ages. The one bed trope, enemies to lovers and all.”

“If that's the case I’m drowning myself in the ocean.” you snorted, popping a gummy-bear in your mouth.

Traveling made you nervous, which made you snacky, and somehow, hangry at the same time.

“You know, my dad has been thinking about another vacy soon. Would you want to come back to Mexico together?” she asked, reaching over to squeeze your hand, noticing you had begun to fidget.

Gwen's parents were quite wealthy, and something like a week long Mexico trip was pocket change to them. Still, it didn't make her offer any less meaningful.

“That would be awesome Gweny. I’d love to. I’m sorry again about this all not working out..” you sighed, admiring her freshly manicured fingernails.

They were sparkly and long, compared to yours, which were torn up and chewed from anxiety. You cursed yourself for not stopping your nervous tics, the skin around your nails all bloody and scratched. You picked at your skin, your nails, your lips.

And it was ten times worse this week, for obvious reasons.

Still, you had at least tried, painting them a bright, summery colour. You tried to stray from anything dull and flat for this trip, focusing more on bright colours and fun patterns. You had a whole compartment in your suitcase just for whimsical jewellery and hair pieces you couldn't wait to play around with.

You tried to hold onto that as Gwen found a spot to briefly park, close to the automatic doors that allowed the chill and crisp breeze inside.

“Dont you dare apologize! It’s going to be great. I promise. Pinky.”

She stuck out her pinky, and you couldn't help but let yours entangle in that security of oath.

“If you say so.” You sighed, sad to leave her side, as you stepped out of the car, pulling up your hood before you started to grab your bags from the trunk.

The warm smell of florals clouded your senses as she wrapped you in a warm embrace, not caring the rain was spilling down into her seat, her door slightly ajar.

“Be safe. And remember this is a vacation. It's supposed to be fun. Let yourself have that, babe.”

“I love you.” was all you could whisper, trying not to cry.

It was only a week. A week, seven days, you kept telling yourself.

You blamed it on the nerves, and the fact you hadn't traveled alone before. And the fact you got homesick. And because you were going to be on a four hour flight crammed next to Peter Parker.

“I love you too. Next time.” she smiled, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Send me pictures! Love youuu!!” she blew kisses as she got back into the driver's seat, speeding off into the rainfall, as you waved- knowing she’d spot you in her rearview.

You collected yourself, hastily scrambling to get inside before your shoes soaked from the inside out, when you bumped into something hard and solid.

A flannel you knew all too well was what you grabbed onto to steady yourself, looking up to see your walking nightmare staring back at you.

You quickly regained your composure, shrugging him off as you took off your coat, praying you didn't look like a drowned rat when he looked like… well, that.

The backwards baseball cap and watch that adorned his veiny arms really was doing something wonderful for him. You hated it.

“Well that was a very sappy, romantic goodbye. I almost shed a tear.”

“You had nothing better to do than to watch me say goodbye, like a pervert? Do you always just watch women do mundane things and make snarky comments about it?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged, and you fought the urge to run his feet over with your suitcase wheels.

“You couldn't have been useful and I don't know, maybe checked in?”

“I wanted to wait for you.”

“Oh so this is a bonding exercise.”

“Would you like it to be? I can get really personal if you want me to, bunny.”

You turned away, heading towards the check in desk. Wanting to get this over and done with, because the nerves had started to claw their way back up, not hindering due to Peter's stupid banter.

“I can be anything you want me to be.”

“I want you to be quiet and check in your bag.” You snapped, turning and almost causing another crash between the two of you again.

He was getting under your skin already. You needed to calm down, and get a grip.

“Noted.” he nodded, grabbing your bag, rolling it over to get your luggage tags. There was nothing but silence between the two of you as you each scanned your passports, letting the machine whirl and print out passes, before silently putting them on your bags. He grabbed your suitcase before you could protest, heading off to the desk.

You huffed in annoyance, hating when others did things for you without asking. Did he not think you were capable of weighing your goddamn luggage?

A loud laugh echoed from his direction, the airline worker beaming from ear to ear at a joke he must have made. She looked love-whipped, and you pitied her. So many girls looked at him in the same way, like a newly fostered puppy.

What effect did he have on people, and why did it not work on you?

You shook the thought from your head, because if anything you should be thankful his charms didn't work on you. The last thing you needed was to be a fly in his spiderweb entrapment. He would eat you alive, if you let him get close enough.

After what felt like forever, he finally made his way back to you, a look of achievement on his face as the lady at the desk watched his every move, whispering to her coworker beside her.

“All good. Security?”

“Oh, you didn't want to eat her face off first?”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. You tried not to look at his biceps.

And failed.

“What makes you think that?”

“Maybe because she looks like she wants to eat yours?”

He laughed.

“What?” you said, annoyed beyond belief. This trip was going to be a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. And you hadn't even gone through security yet.

Oh brother.

“Are you… jealous?”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. Did you sound jealous? Oh god. This was bad.

“No! Of course not. I’m pissed off you took your sweet time.”

“Our flight isn't for another two hours. Are you seriously worried about being late to sit in chairs and people watch?”

“Yes.” you grumbled, adjusting your carry on bag on your shoulder, fidgeting with the strap anxiously. He didn't know of your travel anxiety, or more so your overall general anxiety, not that you expected him to or planned to inform him of such info.

Everything tended to make you a little anxious, but crowds, airports and overall travelling made you super anxious. It was the last place anyone wanted to be at, of course- and the nervous energy that hung in the air like a thick cloud made you feel queasy.

What if something happened, where you were late to the flight? What if you had troubles at security and they thought you had a bomb and pulled you aside for a five hour long interrogation? What if the flight was delayed? What if you were sick…

“Hey? Helloooo bunny?” Peter waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your dazed trance.

”I was just kidding bunny. I’m sorry I took longer than expected. She had a lot of... personal questions.”

“Of course she did. Lets just get this over with.” you mumbled, trying to ignore the fact he had actually apoglized to you. That had to be a first, possibly ever, for him to do to anyone.

Once the hard part was over (no secret bombs on you, as expected), you followed your airport routine checklist to keep you grounded as you waited for the flight.

1. Find your gate

2. Grab a much needed caffeinated beverage (why was the flight so god damn early?!)

3. Grab snacks for plane

4. Fill up your water and use the bathroom as many times as needed once it was scouted out

5. Wait at your gate

As the minutes grew closer to boarding time, you began to get more anxious, and it had gotten to the point Peter had for sure noticed it. Your very visible leg bouncing and constant surveillance of the gate was noticeable to anyone who had eyes, really.

“You okay?” he finally asked, breaking the silence between you two. You nodded, barely registering what he said. You just wanted this over with. To be in sweet and sunny Mexico, away from the large crowds, the loud noise, the constant movement and rush.

“You sure? Because you look like you're two seconds away from becoming Twitchy the squirrel. Was that second coffee needed?”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Oh so she speaks. Finally.”

You sighed. “I just… really hate airports okay? Sorry.”

You turned to meet his gaze, and you could've sworn something like sympathy was reflected back at you.

“What about them do you not like, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Everything.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

And that was that.

When it was finally time for you to board, you practically leapt out of your seat, headphones nearly sliding off your head from the force. You felt yourself shut down again as you both made your way onto the jet bridge, but you knew it was the exhaustion heavy in your bones from the constant stress.

You prayed you would be able to get a wink of sleep on the plane, but that would be unlikely. It was only once you were both seated, the plane starting to make its way down the runway you felt yourself trying to speak again.

Your tongue felt thick, your mouth filled with invisible, weighted sand. You needed a distraction during this takeoff, or else you would have an anxiety attack in the bathroom, no matter how many flight attendants yelled at you to take your seat.

You needed Peter Parker to say something.

Anything. And thats how you knew you were completely and utterly fucked.

“I think we may be lucky this time if the plane crashes.” he muttered, making you tense up even more.

Okay, maybe you didnt need him to speak anymore.

“What on earth could you possibly mean?” you gritted out between clenched teeth, your hands wrung in your lap.

“I mean we definitely have a doctor on board. I think I also saw a guy from the military. And I know the girl we passed two aisles ahead is a therapist.”

“How on gods green earth do you know that?” Your legs began to bounce as you felt yourself starting to leave the ground, tilted up on an angle.

“I saw her reading some fancy book. And she has the glasses they all wear.”

“And we’re talking about this because…?”

“Its good to be prepared. Or its just a game you can play.”

You sighed, your hand instinctively reaching for Peters as you started to soar, pinching your eyes shut.

His hand was warm and soft, enveloping yours with a gentle squeeze on reassurance.

“Do you think the therapist could help me with you?” you asked, not fully grasping the situation at play. The fact you were holding onto Peter's hand for dear life, and the fact he was letting you squeeze his hands so hard his bones were sure to ache afterwards.

“I think you’ll be needing my assistance if we end up stranded on an island.”

“To attract bait?”

“Exactly.” he smiled, looking down to where your hands were intertwined.

You quickly adjusted yourself, flustered as you settled back into your seat, in hands and arms in your own arm rests.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. Just shrugged.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself now.” you quickly looked away, smoothing the wrinkles in your sweatpants as you stumbled over a one sided conversation.

This was weird. You were making this weird.

“You don't have to.” he murmured, before slipping on his headphones and shutting his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

Conversation done. Ended.

So why in the hell were you slightly upset at that, when all you wanted for him was to shut up?

It was nerves. It was just nerves, and this flying day was making you antsy.

Of course you wanted the distraction to continue. But instead of making another scene, you tried to do the same- by shutting your eyes and trying to make yourself comfortable (never going to happen).

You gave up and started making a list of things for when you landed.

1. Grab carry on

2. Unboard the plane

3. Grab luggage from correct area

4. Find your driver

5. Triple check th-

“Wake me when they come by with snacks please n thank you bunny.” a featherlight whisper tickled the hairs on your neck as he adjusted himself back in his seat, hands folded in his lap as he drifted off.

Leaving you alone with endless depths of worry that pooled in your mind.

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You couldn't fully let the tension out of your shoulders until you were within the safe confines of your room at the resort, your bags dropped and your shoes kicked off.

The tile was cool against them, the air conditioning humming steadily in the background.

It was a beautiful resort.

Nothing within your tax bracket, to say the least. Though everything seemed to be as a broke university student.

Everything had been smooth from exiting the plane, your bags were a) boarded on the correct plane, and b) were not lost or damaged (though it always too forever for them to emerge from the plane, which made you think the worst of the worst happened).

Peter had continued his endless jests on the drive over, and they refused to cease until you had practically shut the door in his face. Not even the warm towel and complementary drink when you arrived shut him up (though why were there warm towels in Mexico)?

But now you were here, you were alive in one piece.

You had survived the travel day, and once your suitcase was unpacked, because of course- you couldn't possibly think of resting until that was done and you had changed out of your dirty outside clothes, you could plop down on that comfy looking bed and doze… wait.

An anomaly broke you from your peaceful moment, as you observed a door.

A door that led directly to Peter's room.

Oh fuck.

You quickly ran over to it, locking it firmly. Not that you thought he would barge in unannounced, but Jesus you felt better with it secured.

Of course it was like this, because why would it not be? You were a shared party, so it made sense there would be a shared door. Still…

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned against the wood, trying to ground yourself. You were just overly tired and emotional from the long day, you couldn't let these little, insignificant things get to you.

Plus, it could be a benefit if there was an intruder. You could just lead them right to his room instead.

For now, you had to focus on what you could control, aka oragnizing.

You got to work, letting your mind carry you away before you heard three quick raps on your door. Your other, door.

You frowned, quickly unlocking your shared door, wondering why the hell he was choosing to abuse this method of annoying you.

It was truly cruel. You werent even this low.

“What?!”

“Dinner time.” was all he said, inviting himself in.

“Uhm,come on in?”

He beamed from ear to ear, that little dimple appearing like an old friend, always showing when he knew he truly got under your skin.

“Damn you’ve unpacked?”

“You havent?”

He shrugged, spinning around to get a glimpse of your room. “The same as yours, I imagine.” you grumbled, stomping off to the bathroom, for no reason other to get rid of him.

“No one really unpacks on vacation bunny. Anyone who told you that was a liar.”

“I like my things the way I like my things.” was all you said as you grabbed your makeup bag, trying to fix your mascara.

“You sure do like your things…” he muttered, making you scoff.

Now it was two in the mirrors reflection, and you wanted to turn around and stab him with the wand. “Why are you here Peter? I’m busy.”

“Telling you it’s dinner time and we should go.” he said, leaning against the doorframe like some kind of book boyfriend. All tall and broading, swallowing the frame as he crossed his arms, biceps bulging against his crisp white button down.

He needed to get a grip.

“Okay first off there is no universally set dinner time. I know people who eat at 9 o’clock, thank you very much.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “And secondly, why do you not get the hint?”

“Am I not allowed to watch you do a simple task?”

“No.”

He scoffed. “You wound me.”

“Good. I’ll stab this mascara wand in your eye.”

“That is surprisingly very arousing.” he commented, making you whip around in disbelief.

“I suppose anything you do is though. Even when violent.”

“Peter.”

“Fiesty.”

“Get. Out. Please.” you gritted between clenched teeth. You had to fix your hair and get dressed before you could make an appearance at dinner, and if he argued about staying for that, they’d find a body and a note.

He thew his hands up in mock surrender as he moved away from the doorframe, disappearing from your view. It was only when you heard a door open and shut you could feel your chest sag, the air whooshing out of your lungs.

You fixed yourself, slipping on a dress Gwen picked out for you. Gwen.

You quickly shot her another text, telling her every last detail that occurred over the last five minutes. Tossing your phone on your bed, you gathered your wits about you before you opened the door- your door, to yet again be met with Peter's broad chest, which you almost ran directly into.

“Shall we go?” was all he asked. You couldn't even get a response out, shocked at the mere audacity. To be fair, his headstrong attitude was quite attractive, even if it was just to piss you off.

But you tried to not mix the words “Peter Parker” and “attractive” together, even though you repeatedly failed. It was like Pavlov's dog with the bell. How could you not slightly salivate when he looked like that?

But it was his damn attitude.

And you hated him, you reminded yourself as you trailed slightly in front of him, letting your hips dramatically sway as you made your way to the main buffet.

“I got us a reservation at one of the nicer sports here.” he said, his words guiding you in the opposite direction of the original plan.

“What if I said no, I’m not going to dinner with you?”

“Well you did say that. And now here we are. I can be persuasive.”

“You can be a real pain in the ass.” you snapped, falling back to meet his long strides, as he was now the one in charge.

Clearly.

He gave you no more details, so you had no choice but to follow him. It was nice honestly to not have to plan for once. But it still made you uneasy.

“I think you like me, sometimes.” he shrugged, a smirk growing on his face at your clear annoyance and disbelief at his audacity.

“I can tolerate you.”

“I can handle tolerate.” He guided you with a warm, calloused palm on the lower of your back, into a dimly lit restaurant, tables flickering with candles, illuminating the dozens of roses scattered among the premises.

It was beautiful. Far out of your wallets reach.

A glass of wine was poured into your glass as you sat down, curtsy of the house. Whatever that meant.

You basked in the silence, the murmured chatter of the tables around you, filled with couples. You felt like a sore thumb. But the way Peter was currently looking at you, made you feel as if you fit right in.

He looked at you like you were his.

And you liked it. You hated that you liked it.

“Why so fancy?”

He shrugged. “It was the best I could give you.”

An eyebrow perched to your forehead at his statement. “You do not like me.”

“I never once said, or implied that bunny.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes-”

“Are we seriously going to bicker back and forth like children on vacation?” he asked, amused with a tinge of annoyance laced in.

“Yes.”

“Jesus I need a drink.” he laughed, raising his glass to yours.

A truce. “Amen to that.”

 ⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

Peter was a sensible man.

At least he thought he was.

He tried to be smart, but with you, he seemed to turn stupid.

You made him excited and eager to engage in whatever it was you two were playing. He yearned to figure you out, you were a puzzle stuck in his mind, one he wanted to unwind like a rubrics cube.

How he could find someone so attractive was beyond him.

He hadn't met anyone before, who had made him this stupid.

This need for attention, only from one person. And now, that need to figure you out had changed course to figure out how to get you back to your room without you vomiting everywhere.

Dinner had been fun. He never figured that would be possible with your instant bickering, but the two of you had settled on something of a truce.

He had suggested dropping any hard feelings, just for the week. Friends, or something of the sort. Not that he had any hard feelings to begin with, and not that he wanted to be friends. The word almost pained him to say.

But it was better than the annoyed glances you spared him, mixed with hints of attraction.

He had to embrace those longing gazes you gave him when you thought he didn't notice, because confronting that without a hint of sarcasm in his voice would likely scare you away.

“Am I scaring you?” you had asked, somehow concerned with his well being as you stumbled back to your room, gripping his arm like it was a teetering life-ring thrown at sea.

He smiled gently, unable to control it around you. “You could never scare me, bunny.”

He didn't know why the nickname had stuck, but it had. You claimed to hate it. But those concerns weren't vocalized now, and hadn't been in a while.

Peter remembered the exact moment he had assigned it to you, the first day you walked into lab, dressed in frilly pinks and whites. Your nose had scrunched at something your friend had said as you two sat down, and it had reminded him of a little baby bunny.

It was adorable. He wasn't sure if you had picked up on the habit, but he refused to spoil it, for fear you'd stop. That, and the constant nail strumming across any hard surface, before you wrung them in your lap, fidgeting with whatever clothing hugged your pretty curves that day.

The way you gripped his arm this time, a painful, nails clawing into skin in warning grip broke him from his trance as he led you closer to the rooms, eager for you to lean on him instead of the walls for support.

“Did we overdo it bunny?”

“No, no I just feel dizzy. And I really, really fucking want Goldfish.” you admitted, fumbling for the room key in your little bag.

He always wondered why women's clothing never had decent, or any pockets, for that matter. It drove him mad, at the mere thought of such inconvenience.

As mentioned, he was a sensible, practical man. You were the smartest person he knew. Maybe you knew the answer.

“Because designers hate women and the whole world hates women.”

“I don't hate women”. he shrugged as you finally pushed your door open, with much more body force then required, stumbling into your air conditioned room, yet the chill did nothing to soothe the pink tinge in his cheeks when he was around you for too long.

“I know you don't. You try to get into their pants and get more benefits on flight packages.” you mumbled into the sheets as you face planted into the bed, causing him to bark out a laugh.

“You’re cute.”

You mumbled something else, too muffled by the sheats to be heard by him. He wanted to help you get comfortable, knowing that it would especially help with any anxiety you'd have, whether it be about organizing, getting an alarm scheduled, even though you were on vacation he was sure that aspect didn't matter…

“Are you going to be okay, bunny?” he asked softly, coming over to the bed to rest a hand on your back.

Your skin was soft and smooth, smelling of vanilla and citrus.

He wanted to bask in it.

“Yes, yes promise. Pinky.” You weakly held up your hand, extending a pinky in offering. He quickly accepted it, wanting nothing more than to touch you, even if it was brief contact.

The promise hummed true in his chest, warming his insides as he slipped from your room, unable to stop looking over his shoulder as he made his way back to the hallway- determined and on a mission.

You were mumbling more nonsense, the sound drowning out in the background as he made his way quickly down the hall, in order to find the nearest convenience store, or something of that establishment within the resort.

He needed to grab you Goldfish, and a nice little drink, like a Gatorade . That always made him feel just a wee bit better when he had thrown back too many beers back in his day (when he actually used to be a serious partier, now he just smoked weed and drank wine with beautiful women aka you).

Even if it was just a placebo effect, he hoped it’d do the same to you when you’d find yourself batting in and out of consciousness, blindly grabbing the nightstand and willing to drink plant water you'd be so parched.

After a few more minutes of looking, he managed to navigate his way around to pick you up everything you needed. He was almost positive you had packed your entire apartment, you were so organized and prepared and he admired that about you.

You were just so smart. It drove him wild.

Jesus Parker okay keep it in your pants until you're back in your room.

With quick haste, he managed to sneak back into your room, through the shared door that was unexpected, but welcomed.

You looked like you had fallen asleep, by the steady sound of your even breaths, and the way your lashes had fluttered against your cheeks. But as he neared, it started to stir.

As if you were excited to see him. Or maybe you just hated him that much.

But if she hated you so much, why does she look at you like that sometimes? Why is she letting you comfort her, when she cannot stand to be aided?

The thought made him smile to himself, and he placed a gentle, soothing touch to your lower back again, just to make himself known.

“I’m not sure if you're awake or not my love.” he murmured softly, knowing damn well you were. “But I brought you some treats, including some Goldfish.”

He placed down your snacks, drink and various over the counter meds that helped him when he was under the weather. Additionally, he placed a chilled washcloth down, one he had brought from his room.

He felt guilty going around your room when you weren't fully awake and alert. It didn't feel right to him, even if it meant only grabbing a mere washcloth.

“I hope you feel better and we can continue this truce tomorrow.” he smiled, placing a kiss to his fingertips before letting them brush the exposed skin of your back, your dress cut and tailored perfectly to reveal your beautiful skin, teasing him for a taste.

Before he could let his mind wander any longer, he wished you goodnight, shutting the door behind him. Letting his hand linger on the knob, he sighed.

Cursed himself.

And after he had stripped naked, pumping himself dry in the shower to the thought of you- the way you laughed when you thought he wasn't around, the little smile you did when you thought he wasn't looking, the way your heartbeat fluttered around him when he was close enough… the little sounds he was sure you’d make, the way you’d look under him…

And he had finished the night by cranking the handle to ice cold, forcing himself to sit in misery until his mind could settle enough for some semblance of sleep.

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

My love.

He had called you my love. His love.

It had made your heart kick into overdrive.

It was a silly reaction to something so simple but fuck.

You were fucked.

You were not as drunk, and or hungover as you thought you would be. Your heart nearly melted when you broke from your spell of unconsciousness, noting all the little things he had left you. Including goldfish.

The little bugger was sneaking his way into your heart more than your logical mind could combat it. Maybe it was the lack of academic drive that had you place your guard down, to make this little truce with him.

Maybe it was because you felt you were on equal ground, in the here and now. Maybe it was because you secretly wanted to be truce-like with him, and there were feelings that were hidden that were now being shifted and thrown around like a tsunami when you had somehow managed the storm thus far.

It was terrifying, the way you had let yourself cave in so easily.

Was he that bad?

Yes, yes inner monologue, he was.

And even though a truce had been put in place, thankfully before you had finished that first glass of wine, you still had to be at least semi-cautious.

It was vacation afterall, so you figured it couldn't be the end of the world if things went to shit. You could just leave it all here, and never speak of it again.

But what if it was more? What if you wanted more?

You quickly snatched your phone, texting Gwen a much needed update before you managed to drag yourself out from under the sheets you did not remember putting yourself in, barrelling towards the washroom for a much needed shower, to wash away the icky wine feeling that gave a slight weight in your temples.

The hallway was quiet when you emerged from your room, nothing but the chirp of birds and the breeze swaying the palm tree leaves.

It was beautiful.

The realization that you had made it, you were really here hit you as you made your way down to breakfast, watching the sun rise fully, the sky tinged slightly with pinks and oranges before it gave away to a light blue.

You had made it, and you were free from work.

This was a reward, and a relief.

You had to appreciate the little things, and let yourself indulge just a bit this week. You finally had time to read all the fun fantasy books you had been stockpiling for school to be briefly over, which you could read by the pool and bathe in the sun.

There was nothing you had to do today. And that slightly scared you, but the feeling of relief was that much stronger.

1. Eat breakfast

2. Change into my bathing suit

3. See if Peter wants to hang out

4. Read my book by the pool

5. Possibly ingest a fruity cocktail…

Peter didn't join you for breakfast, the dining hall was rather empty as it was rather early considering everyone was here on vacation. But you enjoyed your food anyways, happy for the peaceful quiet, to get your thoughts in order as you nibbled on some fresh cut fruit.

And yet as you continued to eat, you wondered if it would have been nicer to have some company from someone.

Maybe even Peter himself. 

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

A day or so later, you made the bold decision to knock on Peter's door, and invite him for breakfast. Part of you wished you hadn't, because whenever you were around him, your body seemed to betray you.

You were in tune with it now.

You refused to ignore it any longer, as much as the deceptive part of your brain tried to tell you otherwise. Your breathing quickened, your heart rate sped up, your skin grew hot, not just from the warming sun. It was vulnerable, and you didn't like it one bit.

You prayed he didn't notice your longing glances when he wasn't looking, conversing with another, or merely distracted.

You wanted to study him, his mannerisms, the outlines of his muscles, the defining ridges of his cheekbones…

“Bunny? Your move.” his gentle voice broke you from your trance,leaving you blinking at him stupidly.

Fool. You were a damn fool of a Took.

Over the last two hours, he had tried to teach you the rules of chess. It wasn't something you always wanted to learn, and now that you had all the time in the world (and a master of chess to teach you), why not learn?

Because you can't even focus on the fucking rules, you just focus on his face which makes you look like a love stricken idiot.

You cleared your throat, fingers hovering over your side of the board as you tried to remember what each piece did.

“This is hopeless.” you sighed, placing your head in your hands. His laughter made your heart sing, a steady melody against the ocean lapping at the sand of the private beach.

He had managed to score you two a cabana, and how- you didn't know. All you knew was it was a perfect place to learn chess. And you were failing, miserably.

“It's okay bunny, it takes time. I didn't understand this for days.”

“It's been days!”

“It's been two hours.”

You sighed. “I should've stuck with my books. They're much nicer than this.”

“You can get back to your fictional boyfriends soon, I promise. I’ll even buy you an iced latte if you win.” his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing that was one of your weaknesses.

“With-”

“With vanilla and oat milk. Promise.”

“Pinky? That's law.”

“Pinky.” he wove his pinky with yours, letting his hand fall and caressing your bare thigh gently.

“Remeber the knight is in a L-shape.” he noted, pointing to the piece you were caught hovering over. It was at least another hour of this, wanting to make a move, then pandering the million moves you could do, and what he’d do, and what moves even existed for each piece.

He had let you win, smiling as you cheered, hands thrown up in the air in celebration, a cheer loud enough to have the neighbouring cabana peer their head out in alarm.

He hadn't left your side as you read your book (minus grabbing your iced beverage), asking questions about the plot, the characters, what books you liked and wanted to read.

And on top of that, it seemed like he was genuinely interested.

It was becoming harder and harder to hate him. And you hated yourself for it. But it was near impossible to do so when his woodsy cologne engulfed your senses, his touch so soft and gentle, yet filled with teasing and determination as he’d draw shapes with his fingers on your thighs.

His presence was comforting, when once it made you annoyed. But you had never truly given him a chance, and all you had to blame was yourself, and your anxious, closed off tendencies. 

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

You had no idea why you had waited here, now, unlike so many other nights.

You believed yourself that you couldn't stand the thought of him, and yet- he had consumed every thought you had this vacation.

You couldn't deny yourself any longer.

The lingering glances you felt on your skin, that caressed your skin like a gentle breeze, despite one being present. The way the air seemed to suck out of your lungs when he passed by you, a gentle hand on your back as he passed by, even if it was to talk to another woman.

Christ you couldn't even think about that.

You had avoided the shared door between your room and his because you feared of hearing another woman in his room would make what you had been trying to hide from yourself come to light.

That you did get jealous. You were jealous at the airport, when the worker had eyed him up like fresh meat. When countless number of girls sunbathing had slipped their sunglasses down to catch a better look, or those who attempted to make small talk with him at the swim up bar, which he happily engaged in.

You didn't want to know if he had found women to warm his bed, even though you had zero claim over him.

And you hated that. You hated the fact you cared. You also hated the fact you had no claim over him.

You let the shoes that dangled in your hand clatter to the floor as you ran a hand over your face, letting yourself feel.

For once in your life, you were going to feel this, to let it swallow you whole and spit you out in its tidal wave. You were not going to shame yourself for how he made you feel, even though you hid it with annoyance and snarky comments

He could see right through you.

You knew he could.

He made you feel cared for and heard, even if you tried to change the topic or shut him down. He made you feel funny, and beautiful, and smart…

He made you feel wanted.

And that was why you wanted him.

Not only because you had two glasses of wine at dinner, and that he was extremely attractive. It was because you had buried this for so long, it had gone through all five stages of grief within the span of this trip.

You didn't want it to end without you and him knowing how you truly felt.

Maybe it was the gentle breeze that pushed you forward through the opened windows, or the hum of excitement in your chest that made you want to surge yourself on, you didn't know. You just knew you needed to see him, now.

You wanted to take up on his offer, no matter how much teasing had been in his tone when he suggested you come over through the door to visit whenever you wanted.

And you were going to let yourself have this.

You were tired of fighting it any longer, and you didn't know if you were thinking rationally. If you wanted it to stay in Mexico, it could.

But you didn't think you wanted it to.

Which is what drove you to rapt your knuckles three times on the wood, the sharp inhale you took so quick it made stars appear in your vision.

A muffled, “come in” allowed you to slowly turn the handle, easing yourself through the crack to peer into his room. It mirrored yours, but his sheets were ruffled, his body now turned towards you- but you  saw the book tossed half hazrdly on the bed.

His glasses slid down his nose slightly, he adjusted them, a small smile on his face as he took you in, still in your little dress from dinner.

“I’m sorry, were you reading?”

He nodded. “Come in bunny. I told you to come whenever, did I not?”

“Even when its reading time before bed, grandpa?” you giggled, making him roll his eyes, the veins in his arms gleaming in the soft bedside light as he crossed his arms.

You felt your breath hitch, your heartbeat start to kick up and hum like a war horse whenever you allowed yourself to enjoy him for too long. When you started to really feel the effect he had on you, individually- rather than just that overarching effect of fuzziness.

“You wound me.”

You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as you plopped beside him in bed, falling back into the sheets with a huff.

”You look beautiful, bunny.”

You felt your skin heat, tingles erupting over you as your nipples tightened, thighs clamming together as his molten hot gaze swept over you, taking his sweet time.

He feasted with his eyes, voice low and throaty as if he had just woken from a dream. As if he were truly admiring you.

You realized then how crazy you looked, hair messy, makeup old and probably slightly smudged, your dress hugging you tightly, but probably revealing more skin then intended from the angle he was at as he looked down on you.

You bit your cheeks, eyes quickly moving away from his, before it became too much.

“Thank you. I figured you’d be out longer, with everyone else around the fires.”

He shrugged. “I like my down time. I could say the same about you.”

“Same here.” you said quietly, realizing you knew less about him then you thought.

For the amount of time you spent around him, you had made a lot of unfair assumptions. Like he would have different women in his bed every other night, or would be drinking until 4am everynight, as a frat boy would.

“Do you feel weird about that, sometimes?” he asked, reaching over, as if he were going to brush your cheek. He hesitated, hovering over your soft skin, eyes meeting yours to ask a silent question.

You nodded, and his finger came down to softly stroke your skin, twirling around a strand of your hair that had fallen out of place. “So many questions.” you teased, making him blush.

You liked making him blush. You liked it a lot.

But you also enjoyed how many questions he asked, because it meant he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.

“Sometimes I do, because I know we’re in school and the whole thing is that we should be ‘living it up’” you scoffed.

“But I’m at peace with myself and knowing what I like and what regulates me into the same as other people my age. I don't care about fitting in, I just… I guess I just like what I like.”

He nodded. “You’re being kind to yourself. That's good. For a minute I worried you laclked any kind bone in your body.” he teased, and you smacked him playfully.

“I’m trying to be.”

“Thats all you can do.”

You adjusted yourself, turning so you faced him on your side, as he adjusted himself to do the same. As if you were at a sleepover, trying to keep quiet so your mom wouldnt wake up and shush you both to sleep.

“That was a good answer, by the way. I’m the same way.”

“I am glad to hear that. I am also glad we share the same passion for Dorian Gray.” you smiled, taking note of the frayed, and very loved book that sat close to your head.

“But you didn't come here to discuss Dorans cruelty, did you?” he asked, tugging on the strand gently, before dropping it.

You wanted his touch back. You reached for his arm, your nail trailing his bicep as you drew little patterns, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“No.” you sighed. His eyebrow raised, expecting you to elaborate.

“Well?”

“You did say I was welcome in here at any time.”

“This is true. But why are you taking up on my offer now?” he murmured, capturing your hand with his, bringing your knuckles to his lips, his kiss feather light as you felt your breath catch.

“Am I not allowed to actually take you up on offers you give out?” you asked playfully, knowing he would extract the information out of you eventually.

You sighed. “I came to confess.”

“Your undying love for me?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer stopped him short. He wasnt expecting that.

“I like you Parker. Like, I like-like you.”

“You like-like me? What are we, in middle school?” he laughed, in a way you knew he wasn't teasing you, but was just surpised.

“I just-”

“I like-like you too, bunny. But I have to say, I’m surpised to hear it’s mutual, with all the snappy remrks that have been stabed into my chest.”

“I’m sorry.” you looked down, feeling bad for how your cruel remarks must have gotten under his skin over the years.

Yet, he still managed to look at you as a work of art, and take up the challenge of going head to head with your banters. “I have never once taken it personally. I know it's just your way of…expressing your feelings.”

“My feelings?!”

“You tease and taunt because you wish for nothing more than for me to put you in your place. Is that not it?” he asked, his fingers slipping back to cradle your chin, thumb teasing your lower lip.

If it weren't for the truth in that statement, you’d shame him for being so outrageously cocky.

“Bold of you to assume that.”

He smirked. “I know. But you’ve seen the way I’ve looked at you. I have to be bold with you, bunny. I’d lose all my senses if I told you how I’ve felt.”

He paused. “What do you see when I look at you?”

“Desire. Admiration.” you confessed.

It was how you wished he would look at you. You had projected that onto your shared moments of silence longing looks. He tilted his head, studying you as he always did in those moments.

“So you see, I have to be bold- to get you to see those moments. How I feel, how I’ve always felt. You are so beautiful, Y/N. So beautiful it hurts to not have you. To share those secret moments together, all the time, because if I am not bold, I do not get to continue our little exchanges. To hear your laugh, or those smart comments. Because I do not want to scare you away.” he confessed, and you felt your eyes start to well with salty tears.

You refused to cry, blinking your lashes rapidly, but his words were so tender it hurt.

“So yes, I want to put you in your place. I want you to do the same. I want the push and pull, and I only want it with you.”

You were stunned into silence. Yet another thing you underestimated, his way with words.

He gave you a second to catch yourself from free falling down the cliff of emotions, all of them churning in your stomach and making you warm.

Sensitive.

A heat settled between your thighs, pooling like honey.

His eyes searched for something in yours, a confirmation and a blessing. You nodded before your mouth could catch up to you, clearly your throat- words becoming stuck.

“Do you want the same?”

“Yes.” you said, so gently it came out as a throaty whisper.

There was no turning back now. But it wasn't the feeling of shame that coated you so thoroughly- it was want.

It was need.

His thumb captured your bottom lip again, the smell of his cologne intoxicating as he inched closer, eyes searching yours for permission.

You nodded, feverishly. “Please.”

A low groan left his throat at the word, his lips capturing yours delicately at first, then something rougher, passion driving you to lean into his body until it was flush with yours, rolling on top of his much larger frame to cage him.

“You never have to beg with me. Never.” he growled, sending jolts of energy as his hands began to wander, slipping from your hips to cup ass, drawing you flush against his hardened cock that fought against his shorts.

You moaned, his mouth swallowing the sound as his tongue begged for entrance, which you happily granted. You shifted down, needing the friction as his hand guided you, letting you take and give as you pleased.

It became hot and messy, teeth clashing as he bit down on your lower lip, hand coming up to grip your hair, tilting your head the way he wanted to taste you, truly.

Nothing but breathy moans and pants could be heard as you grinded against him,letting his lips wander down your neck, where he bit down on the skin, the sharpness of his bite making you jump.

“I think I’ve found the sensitive spot.” he murmured against your skin, licking the little mark left to soothe the skin.

“Don't tease.”

“Oh I wouldn't dare.” he smiled, planting kisses across your skin until you squirmed against him.

You needed more.

“You are my favourite form of torture.” he whispered as you bucked your hips, his hands sliding down your hips to slip under your sundress, fingers tickling the lace scrap that separated you from his delicate fingers.

“Torture?” you questioned, kissing him gently again.

“It has been torturous to not have you all this time, bunny. Like this. To have seen you in this dress…”

“But I’m here now.” you promised, kissing down his neck as he did to yours, with equal amounts of precision and care, not wanting to leave a single inch of skin untouched.

He groaned, his head sliding back to give you easier access, his adams apple bobbing as you left little marks across the skin.

This was the push and pull you both craved. The little moments of control to then be dominated by the other.

“And I thank every god in the universe for that.” he panted, fingers slipping across the folds of your underwear, slowly parting it to the side as he let a finger drag across your folds, collecting the wetness.

“Is this all for me?” he smiled as you moaned, hips bucking to lean more into his touch.

There goes the control.

“Yeah bunny? You’re such a greedy girl.” he tsked, slowly moving so you were underneath him, a yelp escaping you as he removed his fingers, pulling you like a rag doll so your hips were slightly off the bed.

Before you could wrap your head around what was happening he had tugged your panties off, his fingers resuming their motions as they glided along your slit, before two dipped in, curling that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

His hands were so much bigger than yours, he fit so nicely and stretched you just right…

“Please don't stop..” you panted, pushing up on your shoulders to watch as his thumb came up to rub little circles on your clit, making your lower half shake.

“What did I say about begging bunny? You never have to beg for me. You want my mouth?”

You nodded. “I wanna hear you say it sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

He smiled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as he bent down, admiring you as if you were a five star meal. Pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a mischievous glint in his eye, your lips parted in shock.

It was so dirty and crass it should've disgusted you but all it did was turn you on even more.

“You taste so fuckin sweet.” He came down, tasting you as if he were a man starved, lapping at you with no mercy, his tongue swirling and sucking on your nub.

Hard.

“F-fuck Peter r-right there-”

“So- fuckin-sweet” he panted with each flick of his tongue, his hand slipping up around your thigh to hold you in place as your hips wiggled, the pressure building so tightly in your core it felt like you were uncurling a hot wire.

“I can’t tell how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I’ve thought about you like this, tasting how sweet you are.” he whispered, his words driving you over the edge.

You came with a cry, his name echoing on your lips as he held you in place, his tongue never stopping as he lapped at your juices, coaxing you through your orgasm.

“There we go, atta girl. Such a good girl for me bunny.”

You shivered, legs starting to shake as he emerged from his kneeling position, towering over you again. You wasted no time to sit yourself up, palming the bulge that was unhideable within his shorts.

He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back in pleasure as you touched him. The ridges of his abs were hard against your soft hands, fingernails scraping the happy trail that had tempted you for the last few days.

He was beautiful. So, so beautiful, and for the time being, he was yours.

“If you keep doing that I’m not gonna last bunny.”

“Good.”

He moaned, hand coming up to grab your hair again, tugging on it gently, your neck now angled up to loom into his hungry gaze.

“Do you want this? Truly? Because I don't think- I don't think with you I can control myself if you let me.  I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

His voice was as rough as granite, Adams apple bobbing with each swallow.

Trying to contain himself. That wouldn't do.

“I want you, Peter. I want you, however you’ll have me.”

That was the snap. His mouth captured yours again, and you tugged his undergarments off as quickly as one could manage with a handsome man on their lips, dominating them.

You found yourself with your back against the sheets, his arm caging you in as the other guided his cock to your entrance, your legs parted and mouth watering in anticipation.

“Can you take this off for me bunny? Show me everything?”

You nodded, letting him aid you in prying the dress over your head, tossed down somewhere on the tile floor. The way he looked you over sent your heart fluttering into overdrive, like prey knowing it was caught by the predator.

He looked at you with such a visceral hunger you knew deep in your soul there was nothing else, no one else he wanted.

“You are so fucking beautiful, my love.” he murmered, sliding the head of his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness that dripped for him.

My love.

“I’m yours.” you blurted out before your brain could let you think it over, before he slowly eased himself in, sending your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“And you're mine.” he whispered, caging you in completely, planting kisses and nips down the column of your throat, down to your breasts, his tongue swirling and sucking your nipple before moving to the next, giving them equal attention as he eased into you, before you were filled to the hilt.

The stretch was delicious, he consumed you in every way as he was fully seated inside you.

“Is this okay?” he asked gently, and you nodded.

“Words, bunny. Use them.”

“I’m- I’m good Peter.” you confirmed, the air whooshing out of your lungs as he slowly dragged himself half way out before slamming you full again, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your lips.

“I wanna see your pretty little face when you cum, bunny. Wanna hear those beautiful sounds again, they sound just how I thought they would. So, so damn pretty.” he purred, adjusting your legs around him as he found a steady rhythm, the sound of your cries and skin slapping echoing around the room.

His sweet coos and condensation drove you wild as you felt yourself reaching that finish point, before he removed himself fully, slamming into you again.

It drove you fucking wild.

You clenched around him in warning, his noises spurring you on as much as yours did to him.

It was bliss.

“We’ll have endless time for fun my bunny, all the ways I’m gonna have you. You make me so greedy.”

You moaned, gripping his biceps so hard your nails dug into his flesh, threatening to break skin.

“But right now I just wanna have you cum for me. Can you do that for me, my love? I’m right here with you.” he cooed, kissing you softly as you nodded frantically, not able to hold off your organism any longer.

“Peter I’m-”

“There we go my love, that's a good girl. Thats a good- fucking-girl.” he moaned as he spilled inside you, leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy.

And as he cleaned you up, held you close to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to trace each curve with a gentle touch and a kiss to follow, you realized you were past the point of saving yourself from Peter Parker.

He knows you’re wary of him. Ever since, back at Midtown High, you had the same math class– he offered his calculator to you, because he heard you ask Gwen for one– and you looked at him in confusion, mouth slightly ajar, before accepting it.

He’s never known what he did wrong.

Then there was that time at Empire State University. He watched you climb up the stairs, slightly drunk after a frat party, and offered his hand so you wouldn’t stumble. Instead, you looked fearful– you backed away, gait slightly skewed by how inebriated you were.

Peter Parker knows you don’t have to be afraid of him.

His aunt has always said he’s a good, sweet boy. He’s not a threat, a nobody to everyone– but he wants to be somebody to you.

He’s what you need, he thinks. He sees you walking through your neighbourhood– you’re shy, you’re ducked down, wired headphones jammed in your ears, a wistfully, sad look upon your features. Peter thinks you’re too pretty to be so depressed.

Peter could make you so happy. He could make you a star, a model on all the magazines, eyes tantalizingly gazing at him, the eternal viewer– he has one creep shot he took while you were walking past the park, where he was sitting conveniently at the bench and aimed at the sky, catching your beauty, your bright, soulful eyes, your lips slightly parted.

You shouldn’t be working in a diner as a waitress.

Although you wear the uniform perfectly, with a girlish-yet-womanly cheer that isn’t overly offputting, unlike others who try too hard to be cute. Peter thinks you could really do anything and it would be right.

In the present, you turn slightly to talk to Cindy, the other waitress at the diner– her family owns the joint– and she slumps against you, laughing, and you smirk back, and Peter gets that sensation that tells him he’s been staring for too long, so he looks away before you see him.

He knows your shift ends in half an hour, so Peter reaches out of the seat, out of the booth, his laptop bag around his side.

No one seems to notice him.

/

Peter daydreams as he waits for you to commute home. He knows the bus route you take– he takes that one too, when he has the time to wait around your block.

He hopes you never see him, face to face, ever again, because you’re going to ruin his fantasies by calling the cops. He knows, he utters it everyday under his breath like a little, dirty secret, that no one can ever know how badly he craves you. Least of all you.

As he sits on the park bench, he thinks about you. He thinks you’d be a stunning girlfriend, or when his little daydreams get ahead of themselves– his wife. A perfect bride, shining in an ivory gown, all his to carry into the newlywed’s home, and lay down on the bed right then and there– no time to waste. Kissing you, stripping open that silken corset to reveal lacy lingerie, and the two of you tracing each other’s skin and becoming impossibly close, glowing with pleasure, until he’s kissing up your body, feeling up your chest, waist, hips; entering you as you wrap those firm, soft legs around him, hearing your normally sweet, clear voice in a hazy moan imbued with pleasure.

That’s not the only thing he’s interested in, but it is on his mind. How could it not be? Peter’s never been with anyone, and he’s decided he’s okay with saving himself for you.

He often lays in a sweaty, sticky hot mess in his own apartment at night, his hand tired from jerking off so aggressively. Something Peter is insecure about is just how badly he wants you– a proper man wouldn’t be so excitable, he thinks, and he hopes he would be enough to satisfy you. 

He would do anything for you.

Inevitably, as married couples do, you’d argue at some point. Peter isn’t stupid enough to believe everything would be happy– he admires your conviction. He’s seen you stand up for what’s right from afar, whether it be for a customer, a classmate, your friends.  

He’d say you’re right, no matter what the issue was. Just to keep you happy. What else could a girl want?

And then you could kiss Peter goodnight. A soft, languid kiss, in which he knows your anger isn’t real for him, that you’ll always forgive him.

Your bus arrives to the stop with a real groan, engine sputtering as it does so, and you exit, in a long coat that covers up your waitress outfit– but Peter knows where you’ve been and it gives him a thrill that he knows more than the average passerby, although he notices you don’t immediately step to your house.

No, if anything, you’re approaching the park bench– and Peter has played this out, so many times, that he’ll say hi, as a former classmate, and you’ll laugh in that nice, pleasant, slightly shocked way that you always do, and he’ll launch into a conversation, and it will end with making plans for a future date.

But you have those headphones jammed in, and Peter doesn’t know what to say, because you don’t seem to notice his presence at all when you sit down. 

Until you do. You turn slightly at him, and instead of looking alarmed like he’s expecting, you have a tentative smile.

He flushes a deep pink, and then smiles back. You smile for real, your eyes crinkling as you do so, lips plush and upturned, and Peter doesn’t know what to do with himself, until you get up and leave to walk to your small apartment, and now he’s sweating.

He wonders if you recognize him.

/

Peter waits on the corner until you leave your apartment again, for a midnight bodega run. He knows you do this every Tuesday without fail. He can’t help it, the fantasy is spiralling out of control– he needs to do something more tangible, something more scary.

He hasn’t gotten so close in months. The potential taste of you, the feeling of being physically close to you, it’s a high unlike anything else, and he needs to feel it again. He knows this is dangerous, but he settles for something that will settle his urges– your apartment.

Your daily setting. Where you live your life, carefree, cooking, cleaning, bathing, undressing– he relishes the idea to be the one to see where it happens. He knows you don’t have a boyfriend.

Peter finds it easy to get over the landing of the fire escape, and in through your bedroom window. He lands on his feet, and immediately inhales, feeling his heart pound as he smells your scent floating through the room.

It would be so tempting to lie across your bed, and breathe in everything about you, your peaceful dreams, to your eager awakenings, even terrible nightmares, in which Peter wishes he could comfort you, and perhaps the intimate moments when no one is around and your hand is between your legs, as you cry out in the quiet bliss of your room. 

Peter nearly quivers at the thought, and he knows he can’t be here, in this spot, or he’ll never leave.

He approaches the kitchen, feeling his stomach grumble. Perhaps Peter was being a little bad, and he felt like you were starting to form a connection with him, anyways– what would it matter if he took a snack? Soon he’d be feeding you, anyways. The favour would be returned.

He takes a smattering of crackers and cheese, and scarfs them over the garbage bin, feeling compulsive and disgusting, but feeling some visceral pleasure at the whole thing. Peter felt like a rat, like vermin that had no right to be in your presence, to be in this space, to eat your food so you would know someone had been here if you were really focused, and yet that made him feel all the more satisfied.

He doesn’t think pretty girls own the world, by any means– as much as he adores you, he also feels like you owe him. You owe him for seeing you truly as one could, as great as you are, unlike everyone else in the world. Who else has been there for every turn and tribulation, waiting, hoping, and praying that you’d be okay? Who else could love you so deeply, before even really knowing you?

It’s with this notion of ownership that Peter makes his riskiest move, his potential mistake– he left a calling card so you would know it was him.

That first photo of you he took all those months ago. A print that he carries in his wallet, tucked under a post card and magnet on the fridge. Something not easy to find, a surreptitious action that would have an unsteady origin, and be hard to trace back to him in a way– but definitely undeniably weird and would knock you out of the carefree sorrow you seemed to carry. 

His ego was getting to him. Peter leaves as quickly as he came.

/

It’s only when Peter’s got to his apartment that he feels an enormous amount of fear, guilt, worries that they’ll trace his fingerprints in your apartment. He knows, he knows he wants you to know it was him, but he misses that photo of you, and he wants you, more than ever– he just fears how your dynamic will change.

But there’s a sick satisfaction as he lies in his bed, picturing you entering your apartment, wearing your big t-shirt as your jammies, eating your midnight ramen.

Maybe you’ll find the picture today. Maybe you won’t. But knowing that he’s been there and left a voyeuristic treasure makes him exhale in bliss.

He doesn’t even mind being arrested. The cops’ll get him this time, the bail will be absurdly high, and all he can think about is you coming to visit him. Not unlike one of those true-crime chicks who get strangely obsessed with serial killers and send adoring letters. Is he Ted Bundy in this fucked up version of events? Not quite, but Peter knows he’s a criminal nevertheless.

Still, he pictures you deep in the throes of a Bonnie and Clyde syndrome-induced obsession, something that he knows would never happen– you’re normal, unlike him– and you’ve arrived to the jail, dressed in a veil as he requested, and you reach through the holding cell that they’ve got him captured in, and you hug him, and hug him, tightly weaving your arms around his neck, whispering that you believe in him and that he’ll get out and he hasn’t done anything wrong, and all he can do is smell you, your sweet, salty scent, and you kiss his neck, his jaw, up his face, and then onto his lips– and Peter shudders in real life, wishing you were here to pin him down and take advantage of his hard-on by riding him.

/

Peter goes back to the diner that morning.

He sees you working, wiping down the ordering counter– and you turn to greet him.

“Hi…” There’s mild recognition on your face, but not the panic he was bracing to see.

Or maybe anticipating. He’s almost disappointed.

But anyways, he gives you a nod, and sits in his usual booth.

Peter can’t even look at you as you ask what he’d like to order. He mumbles out “Small coffee, black.” And is glad that you walk away with ease. 

He starts to pen a letter, as he often does, things that he wants to say to you, but leaves unsent. It’s usually panic-driven, confessions of adoration and love that he knows you would understand if you were like him– but also loose rambles of his addled mind, where he voices his concerns about the world, about himself, venting in a way that he knows you would care about legitimately. If he could get close enough, he’d tell you in person what a loser Peter Parker really was– that this nerd grew up not touching a single girl, that he didn’t ever really connect to someone until he talked to you that one time, all those years ago– but he lets himself write it down.

You place the mug of coffee down, a clink of porcelain against the dull vinyl of the table, and Peter takes it, nodding his thanks while focusing on your hand, your wrist, unable to look at your face.

He feels growing shame and anger when you keep staring, as if you see him a bit better now that you’re closer. You walk away a little more quickly, and Peter chugs his coffee down, having an eerie sense about what’s going on.

As he exits the diner, having slammed some change on the table to avoid paying upfront– around the corner, the cops are waiting, and they stop him from continuing to walk.

“Stay down, sir.” The man tells him, but Peter is terrified, now, that you’ll see him, that you know, and some sense of indignation causes him to try and bolt.

They pin him down to the ground, his glasses knocking off onto the pavement, and he sees in blurry eyes that one of the cops has your picture in a plastic bag. That was his gift to you, and that’s how you treated it?

You’re more sly than Peter realized. Acting like everything was fine, and then pulling the rug from under his feet. And if he made the mistake of coming too close, of thinking you’d get it, he wouldn’t make that mistake now, and it’s with this anger that he clenches his teeth, swearing as he enters the back of the cop car. His teeth are gnashing together.

In his blurry, teary vision, Peter thinks he sees your silhouette kneeling by the pavement.

/

You’re only slightly surprised. The mildly cute, brunette nerdy guy had been on your radar for a few months. Always a fleeting glance, a nervous disposition. You’d try and smile at him, but to no avail– you know you know him from high school, but the guy was a scaredy cat.

You wondered if he hated you. Why else would he linger, be around when no one else was?

But the last thing you expected was for the strange energy in your house, that you chalked up to an accidental break-in, to actually be taken seriously by the police, and now the guy was arrested. Yes, there was a photo he took– but you got the vibe that maybe he was waiting to talk to you, maybe he got scared, maybe you’re so lacking in attention that you’re looking for it in the wrong places.

You don’t care. He was probably harmless– and yes, you know you’re attaching a reputation to a guy you don’t know, but you can’t help but feel sorry. Feel worried that you didn’t get to talk to him first, before he bolted.

You call the number of the penitentiary he’s in. You’ve read it so many times online, debating if you should call, you’ve practically got it memorized. The woman on the phone says you may call when you please in a day, as Peter Parker needs to be processed properly before he can take calls.

You feel sick. You know his name, you know him– you never properly bothered to address him, and now look at what you’ve done. More than anything, you wish you could take it back, the call to the police. You would have pushed harder for Peter, asked him what was going on in his life, ignoring the red flags– because what are red flags if not just the cries of help of a poor soul?

God knows you have enough of them. People have never really seemed to like you, not in the way you hoped you would have been noticed as a young girl. Unnoticed, until now.

You see that the letter he wrote is still on the table, forgotten in his haste. His penmanship is difficult to make out, long sprawling loops and scribbles making his words a little incomprehensible. But you understand one thing.

He cares for you. He's seen you, as you are, for so many years– he thinks you're beautiful, he thinks you deserve the world. Peter feels awful about himself, though, and you feel a pang of pity, mixed with some kind of intrigue, upon reading his words.

Cindy tuts from the counter, placing a red velvet cake into the display. “That was scary. You think that guy was out to get you?”

You shake your head, and Cindy raises her eyebrows. “No. I think I gotta help him.”

/

Peter thought about ending it all, the two hours he was in that cell. The guard is sleeping– he can’t even go to the washroom and hang himself there.

He’s back up on his feet now, but he can’t see very well. Without his glasses, all he can do is shut his eyes, and stew in shame and agony.

More than anything, there’s this oppressive urge to come and see you. Or for you to see him. You were the last comfort in his increasingly lonely, isolated lifestyle, and now you were gone too.

Until he hears your voice.

“Peter?” You knock on the bar of the holding cell, and he gets up from the floor, alert– he’s afraid that he’s lost it now, that he’s hallucinating you, and this crack in his psyche is going to make him a madman.

But you’re here, and you’re breathing, and you look real. So he takes a step forward. He sees that you don’t even really look disgusted, just… curious.

“Hey.” He says, staring at the ground, and then the collar of your jacket.

“Hey.” You attempt to smile, but he’s not meeting your eyes, so you drop it. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to, well…”

You trail off, unsure what to say now, because it feels rather heinous to send someone to jail, and just show up and apologize as if this isn’t a serious crime.

“Wait. I can ask them not to press charges–” You turn, but you feel him tug on your wrist through the bars, and you turn back to him.

Peter finally looks into your eyes. There’s deep undereye circles that tell you he’s wrought with anger, terror, but underneath it all– some level of hurt. His mouth is ajar, as he struggles to speak.

“Why? Do you just feel sorry for me? You were supposed to…” Peter shakes his head and then groans. “If you’re thinking your stupid act of goodness is supposed to stop me, supposed to keep me from thinking about you, inspire me into being some… noble, loveable idiot, you’re mistaken. I want you, and I don’t ever want you to think you can do something to stop that.”

Peter expects this to go over poorly with you, but everything hasn’t gone to plan so far– so he doesn’t care. He’s setting it all on fire.

But in your eyes, he sees glee, he sees that same fire, those sick urges reflected in you. You’re smiling sheepishly, even giggling, and Peter wonders if he’s dreaming. You’re just as messed up as he is.

You like this stalker of yours. 

“I just… I wanted to talk. I called the people here but they wouldn’t let me talk to you yet.” You swallow, as if you’re saying something difficult, but Peter has never felt more of a kinship with you. He squeezes your hand, compelling you to continue, and you meet his eyes again, feeling reassured.

“I read your letter.” You pull it out of your bag, and Peter stills, but you quickly move to assuage his feelings. “Don’t worry, please– I’m not afraid. I saw what you said, about me, about… yourself–”

You’re trying to be delicate but his face falls. His eyes look to the floor.

“I know how you feel. I’ve felt it my whole life, and it means so much to me that you feel it too.” You smile at him, trying to catch his eyes again– wanting so badly for this sad, mad boy to just trust you.

If you could gain his trust, you could gain anyone’s. And then, maybe, you wouldn’t be so lonely.

But even just one lonely soul by your side– one that apparently saw “the stars in your eyes” – it was worth it to you to be close to Peter.

“And, well, no one’s ever said such kind, sweet things about me. I’m the last thing on anybody’s mind.” You scoff lightly, and then laugh. “I just… Is it all true? Did you really mean it?”

He grabs your hands, both of them, looking into his eyes. “Are you nuts? Of course I meant it. I, I’ve adored you since the ninth grade. I know you’re special. You’re beautiful, and perfect, and best of all– you’re mine. I’m the only one who knows it, and I’m gonna show the world someday.”

Peter’s so excited, he feels maybe double the high he did from sitting next to you. He can hardly contain the smile spreading across his face, he’s in such shock.

You laugh again, giddy with relief, excitement– sudden tears spring to your eyes, happy ones, and Peter wipes them away– and you wordlessly lean into his hands, through the bars, and then you reach into your bag, to take out his glasses.

But, who needs Jake-ass when there's vodka sodas and friends? Surely, not you.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand softly hit the table as Gwen continued recounting the next bullet on her list of everything that was wrong with Jake. The relationship was over, which meant a round of roasting the fateful ex with all cards being left on the table. His voice cut Gwen off, staring at you intently from his spot further in the booth. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on a man who- who,” his hands flailed some, his disbelief evident in the way his mouth was gaping.

“Who wouldn’t wash his hands after shitting? Didn’t believe in climate change? Had shit stains on his underwear?” MJ piped in from her spot in-between Harry and Peter. 

Peter’s shock resulted in a snort of a laugh that drew your attention to the man next to you, his hand coming to cover his face as he shook his head. 

“Or, that you spent over a thousand dollars in less than three months? Who’s family you didn’t meet even after two years of dating?” Gwen added, her tone a little more sharp as she reminded you of the more concerning things of the questionable relationship. 

“Who couldn’t make you cum?” MJ added one last note before the table erupted in laughter, your skin burning hot at the admission that didn’t even leave your own lips that night. 

The thought immediately had you grimacing the moment it conjured a hint of a memory. “I could strangle the both of you,” your words coming out as a mutter before bringing your straw to your lips and downing what was left of your drink. You had only planned to drink two vodka sodas before switching to water, but that was being thrown out the window as the heat of embarrassment still warmed your ears. 

Harry must’ve sensed your discomfort because he was sliding you the rest of his beer before waving down the waitress. In a blur of a few moments, the table was cleared and fresh drinks were being sat in front of you, feeling like an oasis in a desert of your messy mind.

Peter clicked his tongue, drawing all the attention to him. His hand held the top of his beer mug, his frosted tips from his previously bleached hair falling into his face as he shook his head in disbelief. “You three really know how to pick ‘em,” he sighed out, his hand flexing down around his mug as he brought it to his lips.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of the way the light bounced off his rings, an accessory he’s been wearing more since he started working at Oscorp full time last year. The observation was cut short as MJ’s disbelief cut through, “Might I remind you, that you and Gwen date-”

“In high school.” The two in question rang out in unison. 

“Besides, it would have never worked out long term.” Gwen finished, hand reaching out for her own drink. Despite the friend group being close, that subject was always a bit convoluted. There were days you wondered if what-if’s filled them, or if they were both satisfied with the friendship they had.

Peter let out an amused scoff, “We’d be so boring if it did.”

There was a moment of laughter, but the second it died down the aforementioned memory threatened to plague your thoughts, Harry’s question repeating itself in your mind. You looked over to him, taking a quick sip of your drink and relishing in the way it warmed you before speaking, “It’s not that I’m hung up on Jake. It’s just that-”

“You need to get laid.” MJ quickly quipped, “Girl, I am telling you once you get laid, you won’t even think about that prick.”

The scoff that left Gwen had you laughing, “No, she does not need to get laid,” she all but exclaimed, “She needs to process that loss of the relationship she wasted two years on.”

There was a burst of bickering between the two girls, going back and forth with their logic. Admittedly, they both had points, but they were points you weren’t currently interested in processing. The back and forth pulled the attention from you, and without much thought you found yourself opening up your phone gallery. 

However, the moment your fingertip lifted from the phone after pressing on a photo you definitely should have, a ringed hand reached out, slender fingers wrapping around your phone and swiping it away. “You’re not gonna be a party pooper when it’s our first time seeing you in weeks. You’ll get your phone back when we leave.” Peter said firmly, pulling your gaze to him.

You couldn’t stop the rolling of your eyes as you held your hand out to him, expecting him to immediately cave and give you your phone back. Instead, he doubled-down in his efforts, slipping the device into his pocket. You really should have known better. Peter was never one to bend, not easily at least. If anything, you’ve learned he was as stubborn as a mule and the biggest tease you’ve ever met. 

All he did was grab his mug and take a long swig, gaze holding yours over the rim as he did. For the first time in months, there was an echo of heat that ran through you, subtle enough that it definitely had to be from the vodka, right?

There was a sudden vibration, pulling your attention from Peter over to Gwen who let out a sigh before putting her phone away. Her demeanor shifted, slumping back against the booth seat. “This is the last round. I need to be in the office by 7 am tomorrow now.”

~

The door of the bar closed behind you, creating a barrier to the warmth inside as the wind of the city hit you. The evening had been nice, but the fully dark sky paved the way for the cooler temperatures. As much as you had been dreading coming out originally, it felt like your legs wanted to take you right back into the bar. 

The alcohol made it easier to feel normal. Weeks of constant limbo, constant questioning years of your life, constant critiquing every square inch of your appearance, put on pause. It was a relief, one that felt miles away with each step you were taking since leaving the table. There was an itch to tell them you were going to stay later, but you knew that wouldn’t fly. 

Gwen was always especially pressed about the rule that if you all went together, you left together. Over a decade of being Peter’s friend had made her even more gravely aware of what could happen, and even though her overbearing concern could be frustrating, all she wanted was for everyone to be safe. 

It wasn’t until Peter was invading your space, his lanky frame leaning closer as he threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his side, that lopsided grin you had grown to know him for pulling at his lips had you realizing they had all been talking about something while you mind wandered. “You all know who I am,” the statement earned groans from the other girls, Harry snickering at them. There was a moment of confusion in you before he continued, “I’ll get Ms. Heartbreak home safely.”

The nickname immediately made your eyes roll, nudging his side just slightly and pulling a chuckle from him. Your eyes glancing back at Gwen and M.J. “I can get home fine,” You offered, smiling softly at them. Gwen’s concern was written on her face. “And I’ll text you when I do, assuming someone doesn’t kill me with his antics.” You narrowed your eyes up at Peter, his hands coming up in faux defence as he backed away.

The dramatics didn’t stop there as Peter moved his hand to his heart, falling against a lamppost and slowly collapsing to the ground, all while wearing a pained look on his face. “Oh, how you wound me, fair maiden.”

Harry snorted out a laugh, M.J. following suit with her own giggles, and Gwen sighing. This was how it always was with them, ever since you joined their unorthodox friend group a few years ago. ”Fine, fine! Text me when you get home, and MJ and I will see you Sunday for brunch.” Gwen conceded, a small smiling gracing her lips, “Keep her safe, Parker. Please.”

“I will, I will.” He jumped up from the ground, dusting himself off. “You say that every time.” He commented, “As if we don’t live in the same direction and I don’t walk her home every time we come to this bar.”

MJ nodded, her face contorting as she held back laughter at her friend’s annoyance, “He’s got a point, Gwen. Just like Harry always gives us a ride to our apartment.”

“Yeah, I would just feel better if (Y/N) would finally cave and get an apartment with us.” Gwen muttered, ensuing another round of lighthearted bickering between them.

There was a comment that quickly died on your tongue as Peter’s arm wrapped around your shoulders again, turning you around towards the direction of your apartment. “Alright, love you dorks, have a goodnight.” He called back as your steps fell into a comfortable stride and his arm fell from his place on you. 

The walk was comfortable, a quiet routine set into place after countless times of taking the same route home. Cars bustling by, muffled conversations, the occasional street cat and comically chasing a cat down an alleyway. A train or cab would definitely be quick this time of night, but there was something nice about walking off the alcohol and bar food that felt refreshing. 

Cool air prickled your skin, the cars throwing additional gusts of wind at you, only briefly blocked by Peter’s frame. It had been so warm and nice out, but the current temperature had you regretting your disregard for a jacket, missing the warmth of the bar from just 20 minutes ago. Another 10 minute walk, your apartment building finally coming into view a few blocks down as you two crossed the street and rounded a corner. 

Peter moved from your right side, falling a pace behind you before reappearing on his left. The sight of his bare arms in your peripheral making you do a double take before his was maneuvering his hoodie onto your shoulders. The suddenness had you pausing in your steps, the scent of his cinnamon and woodsy cologne enveloping your senses as he lips pulled, adam’s apple bobbing in amusement at your slightly bewilderment.

“Put the damn thing on properly,” he laughed out, “Don’t say you don’t need it. You’ve been rubbing your arms that past two blocks.”

Had you really been rubbing your arms that much? You slipped your arms into their designated space, adjusting the fabric some. The gray material fell against you, immediately enveloping you in warmth and sending a wave of heat that amplified the echo from earlier through you. 

Once he was seemingly satisfied with your obligingness, he turned to continue his stride, nodding for you to continue on with him. “So, what did John do to make you finally leave him?” Peter’s hummed out.

The sigh you left out was quickly met with a soft chuckle. He hadn’t arrived yet when you had been recounting to Harry the scene that played out, and by the time he did get there the conversation was already in full swing that the only explanation he was given was “They finally broke up.” 

“Jake cheated,” the shrug you gave did nothing to ease the anxiety that was swimming in your chest, filling your lungs with smoke and your throat with discomfort. “Found out while studying for my midterms. And, he left me, by the way.”

Peter tripped over your admission, glancing at you with furrowed brows before recovering, “So, let me get this straight, you found out but he left you?” The click of your tongue was enough of a confirmation for Peter to let out his own sigh, “Babe,” the pet name, albeit common in his vocabulary, sent a rush of heat through you, singeing the anxiety in is path to sitting lowly in you, “He was a grade a piece of shit. Couldn’t even be honest with what he wanted and you wanted to stay?”

“Coming from the resident fuck boy of the friend group?” The words came out more acrimoniously than you anticipated, but they did nothing to Peter but make him shrug and laugh. It was oddly comforting to see how much he’d grown, how words seemingly rolled off his back now when they used to all pierce him.

“At least the people I see know what I want. I don’t expect to have my cake and eat it too,” he offered, never faltering from it’s normal lackadaisical tone. It never came off as disinterest or indifferent with Peter, but in the way that you could tell he was confident with himself. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter.

“Is that how you did it?” Your question was seeming incomplete, but the indication was still there. It always was whenever someone brought up exes.

“Did what?” There was a dryness to his tone that was serving as a warning. Clarify, or turn away from the can of worms that everyone looked at but never opened.

But, if you had to spend the entire night recounting your past relationships, someone else should too. “Got over Gwen.” You clarified, hands tucking into the front pocket of the hoodie.

Peter came to a stop, turning to look at you fully. The streetlight hand overhead, bright and yellow, washing him in an angelic like brightness while the bulb on your doorstep flickered softly. “MJ is right. You need to get laid.”

The deflection was answer enough. Yes, and no, and no he wouldn’t be talking about it. His gaze never left yours, waiting and anticipating your next move.

His breath of relief wasn’t lost on you as you turned to your lobby door, pulling your keys out to let the two of you in. Gwen wouldn’t be satisfied unless Peter watched you go into your apartment, and Peter wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the lock of your deadbolt.

The ascent up the stairs was quiet, the sense of something looming heavy on you. Peter’s steps were in line behind you as you climbed. First floor, second, then third, your apartment door coming into view as you reached the landing. The gimmicky Spiderman doormat he’d gifted during a white elephant exchange was like a beam against the dingy floor, the ‘go away’ sticker above your peephole making you smile softly with the relief of home being so close. 

Just as you unlocked your door and started turning the handle, Peter’s voice broke the silence, “Shit wait-” as you were turning to look at him, he pulled your phone out of his pocket and held it out to you. “Here.”

Something about the exchange cracked a piece of you. Your phone acting as a token to remembering the way he looked at you over his mug. Reaching out to grab it, your fingertips brushing along his and the coolness of his rings, inhibitions died. “You said I need to get laid, right?”

Your movements were quick, shoving your phone into your jean pocket and preparing to flee at the first sign of rejection, eyes looking anywhere but Peter’s face. The package in front of your neighbors door, Peter’s untied shoe, the suggestion of a bulge twitching underneath his zipper.

Was it desire or anxiety that was making your mouth water, skin warming with anticipation, breath short and halted as you waited for his response. “Look me in the eye and ask that again.” 

Peter’s tone was firm in a way you had never heard before. Commanding but warm and inviting, the type of tone to have your eyes shooting up to meet his to make sure you heard it correctly. He was otherwise emotionless, his own gaze studying you as if he was assessing the pros and cons of the situation being presented. “You said I need to get laid.”

He nodded curtly, foot bouncing incrementally. It was subtle, other than the sound of his jeans moving against the fabric of his shoe. “That, I did.”

“Do you want to do something about that?” You weren’t even sure your voice made it above a whisper, hands becoming clammy as they flexed at your sides.

“Do you want me to?” He countered. 

It felt like a chess match, each of you moving a pawn on the board as you figured out what was worth sacrificing. One of you should forfeit, call bluff and turn away, but neither of you made the indication that backing down was an option. 

“I asked you fir-” You were cut off by Peter lips, hands moving to cup your jaw as all space between you two disappeared. 

Feverish. That’s the only word that could come close to describing the way he was moving. Slightly chapped lips from the cold, the taste of rich beer and the minty gum he always chewed, one hand moving to hold the back of your neck to keep you against him while the other was reaching for the door handle. 

He moved you two inside like he’d done it a million times, or at least thought of it million times. Your back was pressed against the wall, his foot kicking your door closing and reaching for the deadbolt. His hand waved a few times before he pulled away with a displeased grunt, reaching over to lock the metal into place with it’s infamous screech. 

Peter looked back at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue swiping along his lip as if he was trying to taste your own against his still. “Tell me this is what you want.” His voice was breathless, quiet, but something lay beneath it. It was a type of yearning you hadn’t felt in months, maybe even years if you were being honest.

“Well, obviously.” You offered, baffled that he would even ask. 

As you reached up to grab at his shirt, he stopped you, his own hands holding your wrists in place between the two of you. “No. I need to hear you say it. Tell me this is what you want. Tell me you want me to fuck you or I’m leaving.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, but your heart still started beating like it was one. Your ears burned hot, feet becoming clammy and the mere thought that he could be trying to find a way out, that he actually wanted to leave. Eyes wide and lips puckered out in a pout, trying to process his words.

Your hesitation broke something in Peter, the look on his face softening as his grip let go of your hands. One hand cupped your chin, palm spreading wide and cold rings cooling your heated skin, the other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you from the wall and closed some of the space again. 

“I want to get on my knees while you lay on your bed, legs spread wide for me while I eat your pussy until you’ve cum on my tongue. Then, I want to fuck you nice and deep until your legs are shaking and you’ve cum again. Does that sound good to you, baby? Can I do that for you?” Peter's voice was raspy, scratching an itch you didn’t know you had.

Once you nodded, Peter smiled, placing the softest of kisses to your cheek, then your nose, then your other cheek, and finally your forehead. His breath came out fanning against your skin, eyes fluttering closed. “Then, you are going to look me in the eye and tell me you want this, that you want me. Yeah?”

With another soft nod from you, Peter pulled back, your eyes opened, voice feeling lost in your body as you breathed out, “I want you to fuck me, Peter. I want you,” he didn’t need to know for how long, you weren’t even sure for how long you’ve craved him. That was a conversation for later.

“Good fucking girl,” he purred out before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, with a soft fervor, more exploratory as his tongue slid between your lips, hands moving to your hips and his thumbs rubbing soft circles against your jeans. 

Everything about Peter, about this moment was dizzying. It was more dizzying than the vodka earlier, his touch lighting every inch of skin in his wake ablaze. Between his heady scent and the beer you could still taste on him, you questioned if you had ever actually been drunk, ever actually knew what intoxication felt like. The drinks you shared, joints you’ve passed back and forth, nothing could quite touch the way his kiss alone was making you feel.

Peter’s lips left yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck, soft kisses becoming little nips as he began guiding you backwards throughout your apartment. It wasn’t hard to get to your room, the small space working in your favor for the first time since moving in. Somewhere along the way, he had toed off his shoes, his hands already deftly unbuttoning your jeans the moment the back of your legs his the edge of your bed.

He pulled back, much to your dismay, a small laugh leaving him as he felt you trying to chase after his lips once they left your skin. “So needy,” he hummed, a hand coming up to hold your chin, lidded eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

The question sent a wave of heat through you, almost reminiscent of embarrassment as your thighs clenched tightly, seeking any sort of friction. “Okay,” you breathed out, an unexpected whine leaving you at the sound of how breathy you were. 

The noise that left you had Peter’s jaw clenching, his lip pulling between his teeth for a moment while he gathered himself. “Lay down for me, pretty girl,” Peter commanded, eyes holding your gaze as he slowly knelt down in front of you. 

The image was worth committing to memory. Peter’s fluffy hair was slightly disheveled, lips glistening and kiss swollen, eyes lidded and dark with desire, sitting back on his calves with his hands clasped in his lap, waiting patiently. There was something so intimate in the way he was sitting before you, a subtle desperation with how his fingers were twitching to touch you again. 

You couldn’t look away from him if you tried, couldn’t bring yourself to deprive him even if you wanted to. “Do you wa-”

“Just lay down,” his resolve broke a little, hands reaching up to grip your thighs, massaging softly. “I’ll do the work this time, baby.”

This time. He said it like he was already planning on their being a next time, like he’d been waiting for this time.

Peter’s hands gripped a little tighter as you sat down on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your elbows to keep your gaze connected with his. It felt like a million years as his hands worked their way up your thighs, gripping the top of your jeans and pulling them down, leaving your panties in place as he helped you out of the restrictive material. 

“Fuck,” he let out a heavy breath as he settled himself better between your spread legs, “So wet and all I’ve done is kiss you.” His hands returned back to your thighs, squeezing at the fat of them softly and relishing in the way you squirmed. 

His hands reached for the band of your underwear, eyes taking in the way you looked in his hoodie with your underwear soaked through. The coolness of his rings was a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as his fingers hooked around the fabric. “Can I take these off?” He asked, eyes flicking back up to yours.

There was something about the way he was constantly checking in, the slight restraint in his movements as he made sure you were still wanting this. “Yes,” tilting your hips up some, Peter pulled them down, maneuvering your legs until your panties had been tossed somewhere and your thighs had been sat atop his shoulders.

That was the last big of resolve Peter had though, hands gripping your hips again and pulling you towards him. His hands wrapped underneath you, hands gripping at your ass as he held you up to his mouth, just slightly off the bed, and the perfect height for him to close the space between the two of you. He wasted no time, tongue swiping from your weeping core to your aching clit, a pleased noise vibrating against you as he messily licked up everything you were offering to him. 

From where you laid, Peter looked like he was experiencing heaven on Earth. His eyes had fluttered close, hand gripping you like if he loosened up even the slightest you’d squirm away. In his defense, it was damn near impossible to stay still, his contentment to be knelt between your thighs having your hips jutting in pure desire. 

“Peter,” his name tumbling out of your lips, had his eyes open, looking up at you just as his lips wrapped around your clit. The moan that left you sounding exaggerated even to your own ears and your hand reaching down to card through his hair. 

He hummed against you as your nails scratched his scalp softly, sending vibrations through you that somersaulted you closer to the edge. It was humiliating how quickly you felt that high coming, especially when you were admittedly doubting his ability to make you cum with his mouth. It had never happened before, but here Peter was feasting on you like you were his last meal, like a man who just walked days in the Sahara and you were his first drink. 

“Peter- I-” your words were lost between moans, the glance down to him revealing his intent gaze still locked on your face. Even with him still buried between your thighs, you could see the sheen of arousal coating his nose and cheeks that poked out from between your folds. 

There was no other warning as pleasure ripped through you, washing over you like a tsunami as you reached your high. Peter didn’t let up, moans ripping from your in breathy pitches, broken with squeaks and almost giggles as his ministrations bordered on overstimulating you. It wasn’t until you were pulling his hair in an attempt to pull him away that he stopped. 

Peter pulled away, sucking in a deep breath that fanned across your soaked skin as he breathed out. The entire bottom half of his face was slick with your arousal, lips puffy from sucking and kissing at you. He gently sat you down, pressing light kisses to your thighs as he did. “You taste so fucking good,” he suddenly wrapped and suctioned his lips to the sensitive part of your inner thighs, sucking roughly and nibbling, instantly pulling a shocked gasp from his lips. 

The moment he felt you tug at his hair he stopped, his eyes glancing over the mark he left on your skin - faint now but sure to blossom into a bruise to remind you for days to come. “Couldn’t help myself,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the spot before glancing up at you, “‘m sorry.”

It was obvious by his lidded gaze that he was, in fact, not sorry. Not that you could care at the moment. It was quick after that, Peter standing from his kneeling position as he discarded his shirt and jeans, his boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination as his dick struggled against the fabric, a darkened stain where precum leaked from him. He shuffled you back, helping you to take off his hoodie and your shirt, fingers making quick work of your break the second he could and tossing it along with the other forgotten clothing. 

“Look at you,” he hummed out as his hands started trailing along your sides, his body moving to hover over yours as he settled atop you on the bed. “Might actually need to thank Justin if I ever see that bastard again.” 

You weren’t going to correct Peter this time, you didn’t even want to be thinking about that asshole. Not when Peter was in your bed, and especially not when he just made you cum in a matter of minutes. Reaching up to card your fingers through hair and pulling him close to shut him up with a kiss.

Peter didn’t complain, lips and tongue kissing back with messy need. He tasted like you, cheeks sticky with the remnants of your release. One arm planted next to your head, his free hand roaming along your side. As he trailed it upward, his thumb bruised along your breast, tentative and experimental. His touch moved inward with each motion until he was brushing your nipple, flicking the hardened nub softly. 

The soft touch sent waves of pleasure, lighting a whole new level of desire in you. It was making you nearly insatiable, like every touch was making you spiral further from wanting and closer to needing him. It wasn’t until you were squirming and whimpering against his lips that he pulled back some, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Sound so pretty and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” the kiss he pressed to your nose was a drastic juxtaposition to the filthy words leaving his mouth, “You gonna let me, hm?” He asked, kissing your cheek and lips moving towards your ear, “Gonna let me stretch you out?”

Your nod was instant, eyes opening to stare at him as he pulled off of you. Your complaint died on your lips as he reached for his jeans, watching as he pulled out his wallet and the subsequent metallic wrapper of a condom. His eyes glanced at you, your chest heaving, thighs glistening with your own arousal, the image causing his cock to strain and twitch in the confines of his boxers. 

There was silence as he ripped open the condom, pulling down his boxers to finally reveal his cock. It was embarrassing the way your mouth watered at the sight. He was easily the longest you’ve had, a drastic difference to the last one, bright red and leaking pre-cum, a strong vein running along the underside, curved up just slightly. 

He was on you again before you could protest, wanting to admire him just a little longer. He was quick, hands gripping your hips and pulling you down to where he was kneeling, pulling the tiniest squeak from you. He watched as you trying to instinctively wrap your legs around him, but he stopped you, moving your legs until your calves rested against his shoulders, legs encasing his face like a picture frame. 

“Please,” you whined, squirming slightly as you felt his tip grazing your sopping folds.

“Such a quick learner, but you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” His tone was dripping with tease, the slightest thrust of his hips forcing his tip to just barely nudge inside you.

“Please fuck me,” you whined, “Please , Peter, I-”

The moment you said his name he was thrusting inside of you with one push.Thick cock pushing inside, tight walls squeezing him, the lubricated condom and sheer wetness between your legs allowing him the ability to spear himself in. He didn’t wait, a loud groaning leaving him before he was pulling all the way out and pushing right back in.

His pace was brutal. Sharp thrusts causing his thighs to slam against yours with a slap, the loud, wet squelching noise every time he pulled out indication of just how much you fucking loved it. There was no denying it even if you wanted to, back arching each time he hit a spot you honestly didn’t believe existed, loud moans leaving your parted lips as you eyes threatened to leave his gaze and roll back into your skull.

Peter leaned forward some, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper as his thrusts were starting to turn into a deep grind. His hand moved one of your legs to wrap around his waist, leaning down even more until you could feel his weight being held up by partly your leg still against his chest.

“I can feel it,” his voice was more gravelly than you’ve ever heard it before, his palm sitting against your lower abdomen now and pushing, the pressure sending your mind whirling. “Can you, baby? Can you feel how deep I am?”

His words made a whine leave your lips but when you didn’t answer, he started pressing even harder, “Answer me, and I’ll rub your pretty little clit until you're cumming on me.”

The thought had a choked noise leaving you, desire like a hot iron rod piercing through you with his every move. You were so close, and his offer would be the thing to undoubtedly unravel you. “Y-yes- So deep, Pe-Peter. So fucking deep,” your hands reached under your thighs, desperate to touch any part of him, nails digging softly into his skin and trailing down towards his knees, leaving angry marks in their wake.

Peter groaned, his own eyes fluttering at the scratches and head tilting back some. The hand on you ventured lower, thumb parting between your folds and rubbing figure eights on the sensitive bundle. Four, maybe five goes before the breath was stuck in your lungs, body seizing up as pleasure wreaked havoc on every nerve in your body. 

His hips faltered at the way your walls were starting to grip him, sucking him in impossibly more. Moans were falling past your lips with stuttering breath, broken and loud. Your nails anchoring into his skin for something to hold onto once your hips begin rocking against his, riding out your own orgasm with the intensity of a storm. 

The scene alone with your mouth parted, a sheen of sweat on your skin, and watching you rock against him pushed Peter towards his own high. You could feel the way his cock pulsed inside the condom, a strangled whimper and moan leaving his own lips. 

With a shaky breath, he moved your other leg to wrap around his thigh, collapsing softly on top of you with his cock still buried deep. Immediately, a soft giggle left your lips, baffled and amused once reality finally hit. Your best friend just fucked you.

Peter glanced up at you, his eyebrows furrowing and lips twitching to fight his own laughter, “What’s so funny?”

“This,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful despite what just transpired. “Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

There was a ghost of concern on his face, one of his arms moving to hold himself up so he could get a better look at you. “Do you regret it?”

The softness of his words sent a pang of guilt through you. Do you regret it? Could you regret it? “No,” you answered softly, “Though I- I’m just- What do we do after this?”

Your answer seemed to relieve him, a breath leaving him  before he pressed a quick kiss to your nose and was moving again. Peter softly pulled himself out, standing and tying the condom up before tossing it in your trash bin by your desk. “Depends on what you want. We can never talk about it again, or keep it casual if you’re looking for something low risk,” he shrugged as he offered.

It wasn’t lost on you that he wasn’t looking at you as you spoke. “What does casual entail?” You found yourself asking a little too quickly. 

Peter looked at you for a moment before turning to leave the room, his sudden, and naked, departure confusing until he returned a minute later with a washcloth. He came back over to you, spreading your legs and moving you like some doll as he wiped you clean, not missing your thighs as he did before doing the same to himself. “Casual is exactly as it sounds. You’re one of my best friends, but we can fuck every now an then, whenever you need it or the mood strikes. Could be next week, could be months.”

You found yourself sitting up, throwing the blanket over yourself as you watched him start getting dressed. “And I’m assuming we tell no one?”

Peter chuckled softly, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “Not no one, necessarily, just not our friends, ya know? Don’t want it to make the friend group messy.” It made sense, and it would be nice to have someone competent to scratch the occasional itch without needing to put your safety or sanity at risk. Peter pulled his shirt on before looking back at you, “So, choice is yours, babe.”

You let out a shaky breath, pushing down the cloud of anxiety that was threatening to swirl a storm in you. “Casual it is then.”

Peter smiled, something closer to a smirk but softer, and like it was meant only for you. “Casual.” He nodded in agreement. He grabbed your pajamas that had been sitting on your desk from the previous night, tossing them to you. “Come let me out so you can lock the door,” he requested, heading out of your bedroom. From where you sat you could see him toeing his shoes back one.

Pulling your pajamas on, you followed behind him, offering him a hushed goodbye that he gave in turn with a kiss to your hairline before making his way out your door. Once he heard the noise of your deadbolt twisting into place he was gone, leaving you to wander back to your bed as you began processing what just happened.