thinking about reader masturbating and neighbor!peter listening from the other side of the wallâŚ(no edits fuck it)
After having a rough day at work there was nothing you wanted more than to relax.
So once you closed the door to your apartment, you went straight to your bathroom and took the fastest shower imaginable.
Once your body sunk into your bed, there was no getting out of it. It took you about two minutes of scrolling on your phone when the urge to touch yourself came in.
You wasted no time to take out your vibrator to do the job for the night so you could knock out fast.
You moved to the far right corner of the bed by the wall and got comfortable laying against a big pillow before bringing the vibrator down.
It turned on with a simple click and was in a lowish setting so you just placed it over your panties, slowly moving it up and down.
You sighed and moved it up, leaving it on your clit and the sensation instantly made you moan.
You upped the setting and the vibrations were a bit faster. It was just the thing you needed, obvious by the way your body was reacting to it already,
Your panties also getting soaked was a big sign.
You pressed it down a little, teasing your clothed entrance and you couldnât help but let out another moan.
Usually you wouldnât make a peep but you were a corner apartment and you noticed that your next door neighbor was usually never home.
So you figured youâd just let all your noises out because the odds of him being home were low.
You upped the vibrator once again and moved your panties to the side. At the first contact of the toy on your bare cunt, you whimpered.
Your legs almost clasped together, wanting to trap the toy there because it felt too good but you stopped yourself.
Instead you moved your hips back and forth, attempting to ride it. You closed your eyes and imagine you werenât there by yourself but someone was doing this to you.
On the other side of the wall was a Peter who just slipped into his place to get some shut eye because heâs been awake too many hours.
At least that was until he got right into bed and he heard something through the wall.
And with his heightened hearing it was practically crystal clear.
His eyes grew wide and he gulped, moving to the top left corner of his bed and sure enough the moans were yours.
He kinda froze, staying in place and listening. He felt like a perv but in his defense, it was right by his bed.
That wasnât his fault.
Nor would he blame you for doing this..
This was probably the most action heâs gotten in years which was beyond sad because it wasnât even anything.
Yet he couldnât help how hard he got.
It was starting to become painful against his boxers so he quickly took it off.
Normally heâd take it slow and be patient but right now with how loud and needy you sounded, there wasnât time for that.
He quietly made himself comfortable before spitting on it then stroking it.
He kept his mouth shut, focusing on your moans and imagining you in your bed.
You were fairly attractive and sure heâs checked you out before, the few times heâs come across you but your moans alone made you ten times better.
He could hear the buzz of your vibrator and it painted an even prettier picture of you, probably with your legs wide and the toy between your legs.
He stroked himself faster, trying to guess how close you were based off your noises.
You let out a whimper and his cock twitched in his hand. He bit his lip hard, really not wanting to give himself away and he did a decent job.
Until you upped the setting even higher and you were letting cries out.
You let out a loud âfuckâ and a louder groan slipped from his lips. You thought you imagined it, a groan followed by yours didnât sound right.
Another moan came out of you and you quickly kept quiet to listen and sure enough there was a moan from the other side of the wall.
Your eyes widen and your face got hot, first in embarrassment that Peter had caught you. But then your body reacted and it turned you on that he heard you and decided to join.
You took a deep breath and moved closer to the wall, your right shoulder gently on it as you continued to moan.
There was something about the fact that you can count the amount of words youâve shared with him with a hand yet you were doing this with him.
He was a complete stranger.
A cute one at that.
With very, very nice moans.
It was easy to imagine him jerking himself off, probably as close to his wall as he can be just like you were.
You didnât think the walls were so thin but his moans were so clear, so audible, it was like he was in the room with you.
You swapped the vibe to your left hand and reached down, wanting something inside you.
You slipped two fingers in and whimpered, instantly fucking yourself.
At this point you were beyond wet and you kinda hoped he could hear that too.
And boy could he.
He stroked himself faster and his moans matched up with yours. It sounded like you were right in his ear and he was close to sprinting over but he controlled himself.
He was so turned on he was leaking and groaning as if you two were the only two people in the building. He was already throbbing and all he could think of was how tight youâd feel.
You were so wet, it was as if he was right next to you. That combined with your moans were all music to his ears.
He made sure he moaned loud enough for you to hear as well because he had a feeling you were enjoying this just as much as he was.
You were practically bucking your hips back and forth, quickly becoming so desperate for more. Yet at the same time you were feeling yourself getting closer, that knot in your stomach forming.
You stopped fingering yourself, sticking your fingers in your mouth to have a taste while grinding on your vibrator.
Your bed slightly creaked after each movement but you were too fucked out to care and too turned on at the thought of making Peter come.
Your legs were starting to shake and your eyes were rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss â your moans coming out so much needier.
At that point you werenât even thinking just chasing your orgasm, wanting to come so bad and to make Peter do the same.
You werenât thinking so when you let out an accidental âPeterâ he instantly came, the strings of his load shooting out as he moaned your name right back. Your orgasm quickly hit you hard just from hearing him and when your name came out, you cried out oh so desperately.
Your body had never shaken so badly and you couldnât get yourself to be quiet, barely able to pull your toy away as you whimpered his name more times.
He moaned and made sure every drop of cum came out as he pictured the mess you mustâve made. He had never felt so dirty but deep down there was nothing more he wanted than to already do it again.
He practically was on the verge of passing out but he didnât let himself do so until he heard you get cleaned up then go back to bed.
a/n: this was kinda different to how I usually write and yes it was bc itâs late but also idk thatâs how it came out so yeah:)
ââ .⌠Reader takes some sexy pics for her situationship and ends up sending them to her recluse neighbor on accident.
content: spicy, no explicit smut, lots of implications though, desperate Peter, reader thinks about Peter while in a situationship, reader is a bit submissive
A/N I need more Peter fics in my life and Iâm prepared to write them if I need to. Plz send Peter requests if you have any. đŚ
The thunderstorms in NY state this past weekend were gnarly. There was no place to hide in any city or town that could provide relief for a worried mind in these storms. Notifications with news of destruction of infrastructure, flooding in the roads, and power outages around Queens filled up your phoneâs notification bar. You were definitely nervous about what the storm may bring to your home, a leak was NOT in your budget currently.
Rain slammed against the window panes in your open concept living room making it hard to ignore the relentless storm which seemed to follow from the weekend into a dreadful Monday. The floor was cold and the chill spread slowly but effectively throughout your apartment. The only things fighting away the chill in your bedroom were the 3 candles you had lit through it. One clean smelling one on your dresser, a rose scented one on your vanity, and a sandalwood jasmine candle on your nightstand.
Recently youâd entered some sort of.. situationship with a guy you met through your friend Ned. The guy was tall, and muscular. His name was Toby. He wears a relentless smirk and your favorite part of him would be how his smirk deepens the harder you flirt with him. Heâs cute, smart, reactively witty and a total catch. He was ridiculously charming.
The situationship has lasted a few weeks more than a month so far. But a week into it, things got heavy. You wouldnât say that Tobyâs gentleman demeanor had disappeared, but he had gotten sultry.
At first you were.. appalled.. actually. The first bold text of his had you tossing your phone to MJ in pure embarrassment. She laughed and laughed and Ned barged in with sudden fomo. He wanted to know what was funny, who said what, all of the details. But all you could say was how Toby had suddenly made a 180 in his texts. Not talking about flowers as much as how he thought you were âso temptingâ and âhard to keep out of his thoughts at nightâ.
With no prior experience with a man so forward and sensual, you were understandably nervous. Yet also flattered.
The situationship was going along well. No hard bumps in the road and Toby had even gotten you to open up. You were warming up to PDA, and the feeling of his hands roaming your sides. You felt less prudish when your thoughts wandered at night much like Toby had described his thoughts taking the same paths.
The only hitch is that sometimes Toby wasnât the only one you were thinking of.
Sometimes your thoughts got intrusive. Images of Tobyâs fingers hooking into the side of your pants turned into thoughts of your neighbors fingers massaging from your hip to your thigh.
It wasnât completely shocking that your mind would drift to him. Your neighbor from right down the hall had caught your eye since he moved in. He was memorable because he showed up with very little and was almost never home. Except for one night like tonight where a storm as rough as this led you to his apartment to check on him. At the time youâd known he had been home with an injury because you saw him with an arm in his sling, picking up a pizza box from his doorstep. On the night of the storm he opened the door to see you right outside of it, and he looked exhausted and he looked lonely. He invited you in and that night led to a lot of thoughtful conversation and a small insight into how much of a genius Maynard was when it came to tech.
He was so patient with you and grateful to have someone to talk to. He answered countless questions you proposed about his tech even as you asked them through an episode of Kitchen Nightmares sitting with your legs tucked up under you on his couch. Needless to say you came out of the situation much closer to each other.
And the proximity remained when you ran into him over and over in the halls of the apartment. It was honestly not surprising that your mind wandered to his soft voice and gentle demeanor. You wanted to know so much more about him. And when you were in Tobyâs arms on your bed youâd mistakenly call out his name, disguised in a moan.
âMaynardâ
You felt the way Toby lurched for a second atop of you. But that was a week ago, and why would you be thinking about that now. Why were you thinking about that now? Snapping back to the present you shook your head to get the now secondhand embarrassment out of mind.
With a huff you let your head fall to the side, and watched the flame of your sandalwood and jasmine candle dance. It looked so free you thought as it flitzed and rose higher and higher. The warm lighting in your room had you in a warm and fuzzy mood despite the storm outside. And as your Spotify playlist shuffled to the next song on your tv, some feeling that the music invoked in you convinced you to get up and crawl towards your abandoned phone. Checking it for any notifications and seeing a flirtatious text from Toby.
Toby who praised you and encouraged you. Who helped you open up. You felt fuzzier and smiled wider. You wanted to make him feel as flattered and fuzzy as he made you feel. So you decided to take some pictures.
Pictures where you edged closer to the bed and the warm light. Ones where you opened your legs to show the pretty red bow on your underwear, peaking out from the white lace camisole you wore over it. Ones which made it obvious that you weren't wearing a bra, and that it was oh so cold in your apartment.
Decisively, you put yourself into quite a submissive space for your pictures. Something Toby helped you embrace in the last month or so is how much you appreciate a dominant lead in the bedroom. Itâs something you lean into now with him, something that makes you feel that itâs okay not to be the one who has to make all of the decisions. Some subconscious thoughts started pushing into your forethought. About how Toby had opened you but⌠one stray thought couldnât help but ask If not him.. who has he opened me up for?
Just as soon as you started to snake your hand down your body. And your mind started drifting further.
CRACK
You jolted. Your phone flew to the corner of your bed and you stood on your feet. Turning to your door with your back against the wall.
Thunder, just thunder. An incredibly loud crack of thunder that stood out beyond the rest. Focusing your eyes on your open bedroom door you noticed itâs actually a bit darker than you remembered it being. I could have sworn I left that lamp on you thought.
Oh shit.. Did the power go out?
Sighing, you padded around the foot of your bed and towards the living room. With your arms wrapped tight around you, you peered around the room. It was far too dark. The morbidly dark clouds outside blocked any chance of late afternoon sun and the thrashing rain blurred the street lamps outside. Squinting your eyes you turned back around and walked back to the bed for your phone.
Now equipped with a source of light, you walked back towards the living room . Youâve stubbed far too many toes around this place to walk around with the lights off tonight. You walked up to the side of the couch and took a knee, reaching for the twisty bit to turn the lamp on. Andddd
Click - Huh? - Click
Damnit, no power. Awh hell
Grumbling to yourself, you swiped past Tobyâs flirty text and hunted for Maynardâs profile picture in your contacts. You couldnât help but to stop and smile at his picture. It was of him at your door holding two Greek coffee cups, he had a stray flower in his shirt pocket that he said he saved for you when you asked him about it. It was cute, a pretty carnation. It was pinned upside down on your bedroom wall to dry out in a manner that kept it just as beautiful months later. You tapped his contact.
âHeyy! Are you home? This storm is kinda crazy.
I think my power is out,, hbu?â
Double texting? Im a monster. You thought.
Though thatâs definitely not the most scandalous thing youâd have done when it came to Maynard. The thought of moaning Maynardâs name under Toby flashed into your mind again as you shivered and groaned, curling up into a ball. Gripping your phone tightly you pressed the corner to your forehead like it was responsible for this recurring thought.
Poor Toby you sighed Oh! Toby!
You opened the phone and left the text thread with Maynard in favor of Tobyâs contact. His last text read âYeah? That warm bed sounds like itâs calling for me to be laid up by you.â Causing you to flush and smile to yourself.
âYeah,, maybe it is but. I doubt this storm would let up for us to see each other tonight.
The damn thing wiped out my power :(â
He instantly read the message, and you watched his representative text bubble make waves as he responded.
âOh man, I was upset about the storm keeping me from you, but now it took your power too?
Maybe try flipping your breakers, may just be your apartment?â
You perked up. I hadnât considered that. You set the phone face down and looked around. Where does one find their breaker box..
Making a quick google search you found that breaker boxes are most commonly found in a utility space. So you decided to check the water heater closet. You got up to find it but not without a quick text of gratitude to Toby.
âThank you for the idea handsome, maybe Iâll have to send you something to thank you for your help <3 ;)â
Before setting down your phone you spared a Quick Look at Maynardâs text thread. .. Well.. he read it. Maybe heâs busy finding a candle to light at his unit. You closed your phone on his text thread and set it down on the arm of the sofa. You meandered into the kitchen listening to the buzzing of what is no doubt Toby responding to your last message. The utility closet is attached to the kitchen so you were quickly able to throw open the closet door and search for the metal panel on the wall.
It didnât take too long to flip the breakers. All you had to do was flip some switches and pray a little that none of your stuff would get fried. Once the last switch was flipped and you hadnât heard any concerning pops; you allowed yourself to unclench your jaw and straighten out your back.
Not too bad!
With a mental pat on the back you clicked the panel closed again and closed the closet door behind you on the way out. You could hear your phone buzzing from the kitchen so you made your way to the couch and leaned over the back to reach for the phone. Like you had thought, it was full of notifications. Maynard had responded, with a few dozen texts it seemed like.
âHey! Iâm not at my apartment right now so I canât really tell but with this storm I wouldnât be surprised.
Everything okay otherwise?
Do you need me to come over?â
The three messages were sent a whole 5 minutes apart and it had taken about 7 to find and fix the breaker. You mentally noted you should text back as quick as possible so he knew you were thankful he wanted to look out for you.
The notification under it was from Toby
âOh please, send me some pictures of your beautiful body when you get that light back on.â He had sent followed by a heart eyes emoji.
Humming to yourself you reached for the twisty part of the lamp and turned the light- seriously? Seems the breaker didnât work. Thankfully you had taken those pictures earlier when you were feeling much more triumphant. Swiping up the screen you put your password in. And you sent the picture you took, one where two of your fingers were under the band of the new red lacy underwear and your knee was brought to your chest. You sent it with a quick text after âYou deserve it <3â
And you tapped away as quick as you could and went to text Maynard next, âSorry for the delay, thanks for looking out for me but I donât think so! Be safe in this storm.â
You felt giddy from the flirting and you couldnât wait to see what he would say about the new underwear you had bought just to show yourself off to him. But this giddy feeling left you to feel that you suddenly thought you need to be open, not crammed in your warmly lit room. If things went the way you had wanted them to, youâd want to be in a cooler and open space. Maybe with the right angle for a video if he was lucky.
So you walked into your bedroom and pulled out your candle lighter with the intent of lighting one in your living room to brighten the scene a bit. But when you got back into the living room your phone was buzzing so much it fell off the edge of the coffee table. You were excited, thrilled that it seemed Toby had taken such a liking to the photos, you were sure he was going on an on about how beautiful you looked and how you picked out the perfect shade of red. His favorite color.
You took the time to light the candle before grabbing for your phone, empowering yourself by having the restraint to wait.
When you opened your phone to the Lock Screen though, you were a bit confused.
- 4 notifications -
From Toby
âOh? Iâm sorry I didnât mean to press. Sorry I had the wrong idea, another time thenâ
The wrong idea? He didnât like the pictures? You frowned. Until your breath caught in your throat and the phone vibrated again in your now shaky hands.
From Maynard
âJesus Christ
Yâknow, thatâs my favorite color
Shit sorry
Oh God
Iâm coming overâ
Your heart beat fast. Faster than it ever had when you imagined Maynardâs hands on you. Faster than when he mistakenly grabbed you by your hips to move behind you in the cramped laundry room downstairs.
Youâd sent Maynard the pictures, he saw the new underwear. And they were his favorite color. You sat back on the couch bewildered. Wait you thought heâs coming o-
A loud knock filled the apartment and you just about jumped out of your skin. Frozen to the spot you could hardly get ahold of your senses. With a heaving chest you got up and suddenly you felt frantic. Racing to the door throwing your questions aside how the hell did he get here so fast, he said he wasnât at the apartments. All those previous thoughts were pushed away and you shakily unlocked the door to see him on the other side. Flushed cheeks and messy hair. Jagged breathing showing itself through his shaking shoulders and gaped lips.
You both opened our mouths and spoke at the same time.
âIâm sorry!â You spoke over each other
You could hardly still your body and quit your shaking. Your legs were jello and you had to lean against the door frame to keep from falling into your nerves. Maynard felt the same way you supposed because he gripped the door frame above your head to steady himself.
You opened your mouths at the same time and closed them at the same time. But you gasped for air and spoke again before he could open his mouth.
âMaynard Iâm sorry I-â
âPeter.â he hastily interrupted.
You stuttered. And closed your mouth, furrowing your eyebrows. âPeter?â
He choked back what sounded like a moan. After 4 years of no one calling him by his name, hearing it fall so naturally out of yours felt like a blessing. And god it burned straight through him to his core.
Breathily, he said âIf you meant it,â he leaned down more âif I deserve it?â He put his hand on your hip, hesitantly massaging down your side. âCall me Peterâ he begged.
âPlease let me in. Donât say I made a stupid decision dragging myself to your door.â He muttered, pleading. Leaning into you for support.
He needed you, you could see it. And you could feel it in the way he flexed his fingers and dug them into your hip.
âPlease come in Peterâ you drew out his name, and he breathed in like he was tasting your words on his tongue. âYou deserve it.â
summary: you've been observing your neighbor peter ever since he moved in 4 years ago. hes quiet. smart. painfully nice. oh and hes also spiderman- not that you were going to let on that you knew. not until the noises of a man in pain next door got too much for you to ignore.
warnings/tags: porn w some plot, brand new day era peter!, spoilers equivalent to watching the trailer, smut (oral f receiving, being tied webbed up, rough sex, very much dom! mean! peter, multiple orgasms, squirting, bruising, aftercare) neighbors to something
a/n: zendaya pls dont fight me for this
masterlist // join the taglist
series masterlist // part two
You were stretched out on the couch in a pair of old shorts and a hoodie that you couldn't remember where it'd came from. The TV murmured some mindless afternoon show you werenât really watching. Outside, Queens hummed its usual Sunday quietâdistant traffic, a dog barking two streets over, the low thrum of the city that never fully slept.
Then the noise hit.
A sharp, wet crack followed by something heavy slamming into a wall hard enough to rattle the shared plaster between your apartments. Glass shattered. A low, guttural sound that didnât belong to any human throat bled through the wall, half-growl, half-pain.
You were on your feet before the last echo died.
Four years of living next to Peter Parker had taught you the difference between him being clumsy and him being in trouble. You barely knew him after all this time living next to each other. You knew that you liked him. Knew that when you'd both come home late at nightâ meeting in the shared hallwayâ you always noticed the dark bags under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hand as he opened his apartment door.
You knew about the man behind the mask.
You didnât bother knocking. The knob turned under your palm and the door swung open on a scene that made your stomach drop.
Webbing.
It coated everything. Thick, glistening strands stretched from ceiling to floor, across the kitchen counters, over the cracked television, wrapping the furniture like a cocoon spun by something frantic and enormous. The air was heavy with that sharp, organic scent of fresh silk and something darker underneathâsweat, adrenaline, the copper edge of blood.
Peter was on the far side of the living room, collapsed against the wall. His hands frantically covered his ears, hands trembling, chest rising and falling in an unnatural pattern. The familiar blue-and-red suit was shredded across his torso, torn open like something had clawed its way out from the inside. More webbing leaked from his wrists in uncontrolled pulses, sticking to the floor, the walls, his own skin. His fingers flexed and the strands thickened, twitching like living things.
âPeterââ
His head snapped toward you so fast it was almost inhuman.
The eyes that met yours werenât fully his anymore.
The whites had darkened, pupils blown wide. When he spoke, his voice was rough, layered, like two people trying to use the same throat.
âStay back.â
You didnât.
You stepped carefully over a thick strand of webbing that still quivered on the floor. âWhat- What's happening to you?â
A humorless laugh scraped out of him. One hand mover to press against his temple, webbing still dripping from his wrist in lazy, involuntary strands. âShould've heard you come in. Everything is so fucking loud.â
His gaze flicked over youâhooded, assessing, too sharp. Something hungry and not entirely human lived behind those eyes now. You watched him fight it, jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.
âYou knew,â he said quietly. Not a question. âAbout the suit. And you didn't say anything? How long?â
âLong enough.â You kept your voice steady even as another thick strand of webbing shot from his wrist and slapped wetly against the wall beside your head. âSaw you swinging back into your place one night when I couldn't sleep. I never said anything because you clearly needed the secret. But this? This is different.â
Peter pushed off the wall. The movement was too fluid, too many joints working in ways human joints shouldnât. He stopped a few feet from you, chest rising and falling hard. The torn suit hung off him, exposing pale skin.
âI don't know what's happening,â he admitted, voice dropping. âInstincts. Hunger. Everything feels⌠louder. Stronger. I almost put my fist through the wall earlier because the neighborâs music was too much. And the webbingââ He lifted his handâ more silk poured out, wrapping around his own forearm in tight, pulsing coils. âI canât stop it. Itâs like my body is rewriting the rules without asking me first.â
You took another step closer. The air between you felt charged, thick with the scent of him.
âThen let me help,â you said. âYouâre not doing this alone. Not anymore.â
Peterâs eyes narrowed, the reflective sheen catching the light. For a second the man you knew was still thereâthe awkward, brilliant, exhausting friend whoâd spent years pretending he was just a guy with bad luck and worse timing. Then something deeper stirred, and the look he gave you turned heavier, more intent.
âYou barely know me. You shouldnât be this close,â he warned, but he didnât move away. âI donât know what Iâm becoming. And right now every instinct Iâve got is telling me toââ
He cut himself off, throat working.
Peter moved.
Not the familiar, slightly awkward steps youâd watched from afar for years. This was something else entirelyâlow, fluid, predatory. He circled you in a slow arc, bare feet silent on the web-slick floor, head tilted just a fraction too far. Those dark, reflective eyes never left your face. The torn suit clung to him in ruined strips, and every step made fresh silk drip from his wrists in lazy, glistening threads that stuck to the hardwood like living things.
âGet out.â
The words came out layered, rough, almost a snarl. He stopped a few feet away, shoulders rolling like he was fighting the urge to drop lower. âIâm serious. Walk out that door right now.â
You stayed exactly where you were.
âIâm not scared of you.â
A sharp, humorless sound left his throat. He stepped closer. The air between you thickened with the scent of him. His nostrils flared once, deliberate.
âLiar.â
Another step. He was inside your space now, close enough that you could see every vein, every scar, every time one of his muscles twitched. When he spoke again, the voice was quieter, meaner.
âI can feel it. Your heartâs hammering. Pulse jumping right thereââ His eyes dropped to the side of your throat. âAnd that smell.â He inhaled again, slower this time, and a low sound rumbled in his chest. âYouâre getting wet. Standing in the middle of my apartment like a defiant brat while I turn into a monster. Youâre fucking dripping for it.â
Heat flooded your face. You didnât deny it. Couldnât. The longer he circled, the worse it gotâevery predatory shift of his body, every dark glance, every warning he threw at you only made the ache between your legs sharper.
Peterâs mouth curved into something that wasnât a smile.
âLook at you. So much time of being the careful, quiet neighbor and the second I start turning into something that wants to eat you, your body decides itâs the hottest thing itâs ever seen.â He leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. âYouâre not scared of me. Youâre desperate for me. Thatâs so fucking pathetic. And so fucking hot.â
You swallowed. âI still want you. Not just thisâ the real you.â
The admission landed heavy between you.
For half a second the familiar Peter flickered back into his eyesâthe one who you could hear through the walls tinkering away at two in the morning. Then the arachnid thing surged again and his expression went sharp, almost cruel.
âYou want this?â He gestured at himself with a web-slick handâthe torn suit, the dark eyes, the silk still pulsing from his wrists in uncontrolled strands. âYou want this version of me that looks at you and only sees prey? That wants to wrap you up and keep you?â
He took another step. You backed up on instinct and your shoulders hit the wall. He didnât give you space. One hand planted beside your head. The other hovered near your hip, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to grab.
âI can smell how bad you want it,â he murmured, voice dropping into something filthy and low. âYour cuntâs practically begging. All that wetness just sitting there, waiting for something dangerous to notice. And Iâm noticing, sweetheart. Iâm noticing real fucking hard.â
His free hand finally settled at your waist, not quite gripping, just resting there with dangerous weight.
âIâm trying,â he said, and for a moment the struggle was clear in his faceâjaw clenched, eyes flickering between human and something darker. âIâm trying so hard not to take what youâre offering. Because once I start, I donât know if Iâll be able to stop. And youââ His gaze dragged down your body, lingering openly between your legs. âYouâre standing here like you want me to fail.â
He leaned in until his mouth was almost against yours, breath hot, voice pure filth.
âSo tell me again youâre not scared. Tell me while your thighs are pressing together and your pulse is screaming for me to pin you to this wall and find out just how wet you can get for the monster next door.â
The webbing under his hand pulsed once, tightening against the plaster.
Peterâs control was slipping by the second.
And he was still right there, waiting to see if youâd push him over the edge.
âIâm not scared of you.â
Peterâs eyes flashed. The words had barely left your mouth before thick, warm webbing shot from both his wrists. It hit the wall on either side of your head with a wet slap, then snapped tight around your wrists, pinning them high and wide. The silk was hot, almost feverish, and it contracted onceâdeliberateâpulling your arms taut until your shoulders burned.
He stepped in close, chest nearly brushing yours, and tipped your chin up with two sticky fingers.
âSay it again.â
âNope.â Your voice came out steadier than you felt. âStill not scared.â
Something dark and delighted flickered across his face. Then his hands dropped to the waistband of your sweatpants. He didnât bother with the drawstring. He just ripped. The fabric gave like paper under that unnatural strength, the sound loud and final in the quiet apartment. Cool air hit your bare thighs. Your underwear was left behindâplain, nothing specialâexcept for the very obvious dark, soaked patch right in the center.
Peter went still.
Then he laughed. Low, mean, almost delighted.
âJesus Christ.â He dragged two fingers slowly over the wet spot, pressing just hard enough to feel how the fabric clung. âLook at that. Youâre soaked through. Standing here being a lying brat, telling me youâre not scared while your cunt is making a mess of itself.â
He rubbed again, slower, watching your face as the damp cotton dragged over your clit. âThis isnât the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man anymore, sweetheart. This is the version that will treat you like the prey you are. And youâre dripping for it like a desperate little bug.â
His voice cracked for half a second. The mean edge faltered. His eyes flashed back to those rich browns you always got yourself lost in.
âFuckâIâm sorry. You should still leave. I mean it. I donât⌠I donât know how much longer I canââ
The arachnid thing surged back. His fingers pressed harder against the soaked fabric, tracing the outline of your folds through the thin cotton.
âBut you wonât leave, will you? Youâre standing here getting wetter every time I open my mouth. Look at you. Thighs already shaking and I havenât even touched skin yet.â
You felt it happenâthe sharp, helpless clench deep inside you, the fresh rush of wetness that soaked through the fabric under his fingers. A soft, involuntary sound escaped your throat.
Peterâs eyes went completely black.
âOh,â he breathed. âYou liked that?â
He dropped to his knees so fast it was almost a fall. Both hands hooked into the sides of your underwear. One sharp pull and the fabric tore straight down the middle, the ruined scraps falling to the floor. Cool air hit your bare, dripping cunt. For one heartbeat he just stared, chest heaving, silk still leaking from his wrists and sticking to your thighs.
Then the last thread of control snapped with an almost audible crack.
A low, animal sound ripped out of him. He shoved your thighs apart with both hands, gripped hard enough to bruise, and buried his face between your legs like a man starving. There was no careful exploration, no soft start. His tongue dragged flat and filthy from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, greedy stroke, and the sound he made against you was pure hunger.
âFuckâtaste that,â he growled into your folds, voice muffled and wrecked. âSo fucking wet. Dripping down my chin already.â He licked again, deeper this time, tongue pushing inside you just to feel how easily you opened for him. âGonna eat this pretty cunt until you forget how to speak. Until the only thing you can do is come on my tongue while I decide whether to keep you or ruin you.â
His mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard, no mercy, while two sticky fingers pushed into you without warning and curled. The webbing around your wrists pulsed tighter as your body jerked.
Peter Parker was gone.
What was left between your thighs only wanted to devour.
He ate you like heâd been starving for daysâtongue flat and relentless, dragging over every sensitive inch before pushing deep inside you just to fuck you with it. The wet heat of his mouth sealed over your cunt completely, and the sounds that filled the apartment were filthy and constantâ the soft, slick noise of his tongue working you open, the wet suck each time he pulled back just enough to breathe, the low, broken groans that vibrated straight against your clit.
Two fingers joined almost immediately, thick enough that it made the stretch burn in the best way. He curled them hard against that spot that made your vision white out and sucked your clit between his lips at the same time, the combination brutal and perfect. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head. The webbing around your wrists pulsed tighter every time your body jerked. He didnât give you any time to breatheâjust kept going, tongue fucking into you in deep, greedy strokes while his fingers worked faster, wetter, the slick sounds of it getting louder the more you dripped for him.
âThatâs it,â he growled against your folds, voice rough and muffled. âLet me feel it. Youâre so fucking close I can taste it.â
The pressure built in waves. First a sharp, coiling heat low in your belly, then a deeper ache that made your hips try to roll against his face even as he held you open. He chased every tiny shift, adjusting the angle of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers, until the only thing you could do was take it. Your cunt clenched around him. A broken sound tore out of your throat. The second the orgasm hit, it hit hardâyour whole body locking up as you squirted, a hard, pulsing rush of wetness that hit his mouth and chin and dripped down his throat in messy streaks. He didnât pull back. He just groaned like it was the best thing heâd ever tasted and kept licking through it, messy and greedy, chasing every drop until your legs were shaking and you were whimpering from the overstimulation.
When the last tremor left you, Peter finally leaned back on his heels.
Your release was dripping off his chin, shining on his lips, streaking down his neck. He looked at the mess youâd made of him and laughedâlow, mean, delighted.
âOh, sweetheart.â He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and then licked that clean too. âYou just fucking squirted on me. Look at that. One little push and you made a mess all over my face.â His eyes were almost pure black now, pupils blown wide with hunger and amusement. âIâve heard you, you know. Through the wall. Late at night when you think no oneâs listening. The soft little sounds you make when youâre getting yourself off alone in your apartment. Always wondered what it would take to make you get loud. Turns out all it took was me on my knees with my tongue in your cunt.â
He stood in one fluid motion. The remaining scraps of the suit came off with two sharp ripsâfabric tearing like it was nothing. Then he was naked in front of you, cock hard and heavy between his legs, the head already shiny with precum. Every muscle in his body looked coiled and ready.
He didnât give you time to catch your breath.
Why would he?
One sticky hand closed around your waist, the other around the back of your neck. He ripped you off the wall, your wrists aching at their release and spun you, marched you the few steps to the webbed kitchen counter, and bent you over it hard enough that your chest hit the cool surface with a soft grunt. Your cheek pressed to the webs, sticking you in place. Your ass was up, completely exposed, still dripping from the orgasm heâd forced out of you.
Peter stepped in behind you. The thick, hot length of his cock dragged through the mess between your thighs, slow and deliberate, smearing your own wetness up and down your folds.
âLook at this,â he murmured, voice pure filth. One hand spread you open so he could watch the way his cock slid through your slick. âSo fucking wet. You came all over my face and your cuntâs still greedy for more. Is this what you wanted when you walked in here? To get bent over my counter like a little toy? Is this what you think about in bed?â
He leaned over your back, mouth near your ear, the head of his cock catching on your entrance with every slow roll of his hips.
âI can feel how bad you want it. Youâre dripping down my cock. Such a messy, desperate little thing.â A soft, mean laugh brushed your skin. âIâm gonna fuck you until you squirt again. Until the only thing you can do is take it and thank me for not webbing you to the ceiling while I do it. And youâre gonna love every second of it, arenât you?â
The blunt head of him pressed against you, not quite pushing in, just resting thereâhot, heavy, promising.
Peterâs voice dropped even lower, rough with the last scraps of the man fighting the hunger.
âTell me you still want this.â
âI want you.â
The words were barely out of your mouth before Peter drove into you in one hard, unbroken thrust.
The stretch was brutalâthick and sudden and so deep it punched the air from your lungs. Your cheek stuck against the webbed laminate as he bottomed out and stayed there for half a second, just breathing, just feeling the way your cunt clenched around him like it was trying to keep him.
Then he moved.
He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with a force that made the counter creak under you. Every thrust was deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet apartment. His hands locked around your hips hard enough that you already knew there would be bruises tomorrowâdark fingerprints where his fingers dug into soft flesh and held you exactly where he wanted you.
âFuckâlook at you,â he gritted out, voice rough and mean. âTaking it like you were made for this. I didnât even think you could handle getting fucked this hard.â Another sharp snap of his hips drove a broken sound out of your throat. âBut youâre dripping down my cock every time I bury it in you. So fucking greedy.â
You hadnât known either. The pace was almost too muchâtoo deep, too fast, the stretch burning in the best way with every drag of his cock. His blunt head kissing your cervix with every thrust. Your body still hadnât fully come down from the last orgasm and already the pressure was coiling again, sharp and overwhelming. Peter didnât slow. He just kept slamming into you, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and pull your head back so he could watch your face.
âThatâs it. Let me feel it. Youâre gonna squirt on my cock this time, arenât you?â His voice dropped into something filthy and delighted. âI can already feel you getting tighter. Do it. Make a mess of me again.â
The second orgasm hit harder than the first. Your cunt locked down around him as you squirted again, a hot, pulsing rush that soaked his cock and thighs and dripped onto the floor between your feet. Peter groaned like it was the best thing heâd ever felt and fucked you through it, chasing every flutter and clench until your legs were shaking and you were gasping against the counter.
Strong hands hauled you up and carried you the few steps to the couch. He dropped onto the cushions and pulled you with him in the same motion, settling you over his lap so you straddled him. Your knees sank into the cushions on either side of his hips. Before you could even try to find your balance he planted both hands on your waist and started fucking up into you.
There was no pretense that you were in control.
Peter used you like a toy, lifting you just enough to drop you back down onto his cock while he thrust up to meet every fall. The angle was devastatingly deep. Every upward snap of his hips forced a wet, broken sound out of you. His grip never eased. Fresh bruises bloomed under his fingers as he held you exactly where he wanted and took what he needed.
âOh sweetheart,â he murmured, eyes half-lidded and dark with hunger. âSitting on my cock like a perfect little fucktoy. Canât even move unless I let you.â He thrust up harder, watching the way your body took every inch. âYouâre so wet itâs running down my balls. Still gushing for me like you canât help it. Such a messy, desperate thing.â
One hand left your hip to wrap lightly around your throatâwhile the other kept you steady for the relentless pace of his hips. The look in his eyes was pure predator.
Peterâs grip on your hips never eased. He kept fucking up into you in deep, relentless strokes, using your body exactly the way he wanted while his voice stayed low and filthy against your ear.
âThatâs itâtake it. Look at how easy you open up for me. Sitting on my cock like you were made to get used.â Another hard thrust forced a broken sound out of your throat. âYouâre shaking again. I can feel it. That pretty cuntâs about to soak me one more time, isnât it? Go on. Squirt on me again. Make a mess while I fuck you through it.â
The pressure built too fast, too sharp. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. Every upward snap of his cock dragged over that perfect spot until the only thing you could do was just take it. When it hit, it hit hardâyour whole body locking up as you squirted around him for the third time, a hot, pulsing rush that soaked his cock and the skin of his stomach. Peter groaned like it was the best thing heâd ever felt and kept thrusting through it, chasing every flutter and clench.
âFuckâyes. Just like that. So fucking messy for me.â
His rhythm finally stuttered. The mean edge in his voice cracked into something rawer as his hips snapped up once, twice more, burying himself as deep as he could go. A low, guttural sound tore out of him when he cameâhot, thick pulses spilling into you. He held you down through every spurt, grinding up into the mess heâd made of you until the last tremor left him.
Your strength gave out all at once.
You collapsed forward against his chest, forehead pressing to the damp skin of his shoulder, body still trembling with aftershocks. His cock twitched inside you one last time. For a long moment the only sound in the apartment was the two of you trying to breathe.
Then the change happened.
You felt it in the way his hands loosened. The bruising grip softened into something almost careful. When you managed to lift your head, his eyes were no longer that dark, reflective black. The familiar warm brown was fully backâwide, stunned, and filling fast with horror as the full weight of what heâd done settled over him.
Peter stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
His gaze dropped to the dark fingerprint shaped bruises already developing across your hips and thighs, to the torn scraps of clothing on the floor, to the mess of webbing and come and your own release still slick between your bodies. A shaky breath left him.
âOh my god.â
His voice was his own againâquiet, wrecked, and already cracking with guilt.
âIâwhat did I just do to you?â
Peterâs hands were careful now.
He eased out of you slowly, like he was afraid even that small movement might hurt. A soft, broken sound left him at the loss of heat, but he didnât linger on it. Instead he reached for the nearest blanketâone of the soft ones from the back of his couchâand wrapped it around both of you, tucking the edges in so your bare skin was shielded from the cool air. His arms slid under your thighs and back without asking. He lifted you like you weighed nothing.
âIâve got you,â he murmured against your hair. âJust hold on to me.â
He carried you out of his apartment and the few steps across the hall to yours. The door was still unlocked from earlier. Inside, the quiet of your place felt almost surreal after everything. Peter walked straight to your bedroom and lowered you onto the bed with a gentleness that made your throat tight. He pulled the covers up over your still-trembling body, then brushed a strand of hair away from your face with the backs of his fingers.
âIâm going to take care of a few things next door,â he said softly. âIâll be right back. I promise.â
You nodded, too wrung out to speak. The door clicked shut behind him.
For a little while you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, body heavy and aching in places that hadnât hurt an hour ago. The bruises on your hips already throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Between your legs you were sore and slick and still faintly pulsing with aftershocks. Your mind kept driftingâback to the way heâd looked at you when the black had first flooded his eyes, the mean, hungry things heâd said, the way heâd used your body like it belonged to him. And then the moment those eyes had cleared and pure horror had replaced the hunger.
You could hear him through the shared wall. The soft scrape of furniture being moved. Water running. The quiet, almost frantic sounds of someone trying to clean up evidence of something they couldnât quite believe had happened.
When the door to your apartment opened again, Peter stepped inside carrying a small bag and wearing only a pair of soft gray sweatpants. His chest and shoulders were still bare, sweat dripped down and cooled along his muscles. He set the bag down and came straight to the bed, kneeling beside it so his face was level with yours.
âHey,â he said quietly. âIâm going to run you a bath, okay? Youâre⌠youâre covered in me. And I want to make sure youâre not hurt anywhere I canât see.â
He didnât wait for an answer. He disappeared into your bathroom. The sound of water filling the tub was steady and soft. A few minutes later he returned, scooped you up againâblanket and allâand carried you into the steam-filled room.
The water was perfect, just on the edge of too warm. Peter eased you down into it first, then stepped out of his sweatpants and climbed in behind you. The tub wasnât really big enough for two, but he made it work, stretching his legs on either side of yours and gently pulling you back until your spine rested against his chest. His arms came around your waist, loose and careful, like he was still afraid of holding too tight.
For a long moment he didnât speak. He just reached for the washcloth, wet it, and began slowly cleaning the dried mess from your skinâyour thighs, your stomach, the places where his hands had left marks. Every touch was deliberate. Tender.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper against the side of your neck.
âIâm so sorry,â he said. âI lost control. Completely. And I hurt you. I can see the bruises already and I⌠I hate that I did that.â His forehead pressed to your shoulder. âBut Iâm here now. Iâve got you. Just let me take care of you for a little while, okay?â
The water stayed warm around you both. Peter kept the washcloth moving in slow, careful strokesâdown your arms, across your collarbones, along the tender insides of your thighs where the evidence of everything theyâd done still lingered. He never rushed. Every pass of the cloth felt like an apology and a promise at the same time.
When he finally set it aside, he reached for the shampoo instead. Gentle fingers worked it through your hair, massaging your scalp with a tenderness that made your eyes sting. He rinsed it just as carefully, cupping water in his palm so none of it ran into your face. Then his arms slid back around your waist and he simply held you, chest rising and falling against your spine.
âItâs been getting worse for weeks,â he said eventually, voice low against the side of your neck. âThe webs I canât control. The strength that comes out of nowhere. The way every sound and smell is suddenly too much. But the instincts⌠those are the scariest part. Thereâs this constant pull to claim things. To protect. To take. And itâs getting harder to tell where the spider ends and I begin.â
His thumb traced absent circles against your stomach under the water.
âIâve liked you for a long time,â he admitted, quieter now. âLonger than I probably shouldâve. Four years of living next door, not saying anything to you because franklyâ I'm an idiot. And this⌠whateverâs happening to me⌠it made all of that louder. Like the part of me that already wanted you suddenly had permission to stop being careful about it.â
You turned your head just enough to catch the edge of his profile. Steam curled around both of you.
âIâve liked you too,â you said softly. âFor a while now.â
Peter went still behind you. Then a shaky breath left him, warm against your damp skin. One hand lifted to brush a wet strand of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering.
âAre you scared of me?â he asked. The question was barely more than a whisper. âAfter everything I just did⌠after what I might keep becoming⌠are you scared?â
You shifted carefully in the water until you could look at him properly. His eyes were so clear againâfamiliar brown, open and uncertain and so painfully human. You reached up and rested your palm against his cheek.
âNo,â you said, and meant every word. âIâm not scared of you. Iâm here. For all of it. Whatever this turns into, Iâm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together.â
Something in his expression cracked openârelief and wonder and leftover guilt all tangled together. He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, before guiding you back against his chest. His arms settled around you again, secure without being tight.
The water lapped gently at your skin. The bathroom was quiet and warm and safe. Peterâs heartbeat was steady under your ear. You let your eyes drift closed, the last of the tension finally leaving your body as the heat and the solid presence of him pulled you under.
You started to doze off right there in the bath, wrapped in his arms, at peace.
summary: youâve been told all ur life ur too difficult and mean! but the second jason laid his eyes on you, he loved what he saw.
cw: explicit language, reader is a little âaggressiveâ and not as nice, independent woman, misunderstood woman, mention of hamlet (?)
masterlist!! word count: 1.3k
for years, your love for your independence has been wildly misunderstood as you being cold-hearted, distant, and selfish.Â
the kind of woman you are isnât for everybody. you donât like it when you have to repeat yourself. you hate it when someone canât do a simple task. and being talked over makes you furious.Â
thatâs not even a quarter of what gets your blood boiling.Â
some family and ex partners throughout the years have let you know how much they disapprove of who you are as a person. youâre too bossy. youâre a bitch. youâre so moody. youâre always mad. youâre so rude.Â
at some point, you could only let them run their mouths because taking it into your own hands would result in you behind bars. even if that was how you wanted to react, you didnât spend thousands on getting an education. from undergrad to the years afterwards of pursuing a career and the multiple degrees that hung on your wall, you didnât need anyone.Â
that was until jason todd walked into your life.Â
he caught you on a bad, bad day. hours of you wasting your workday away on interns that were just there to add onto their resumĂŠ and not for the passion of the craft. it was hard to get through teenagers who were practically brain dead and glued to their phone screens.
while jason was walking out of a bookstore, distracted by flipping through the pages of his new purchase you had been storming down the streets of gotham, swerving past the slowest people on earth. thatâs when you both collided.Â
jasonâs book had slipped out of his hand before his quick, almost inhuman reflexes responded and he caught it before it could hit the ground. he looked over to see the angriest yet most beautiful woman heâd ever laid eyes on.
âsorââ
âgod! can you watch where youâre going!?â you growled at him. yes, it is socially unacceptable to snap at a stranger but fuck society and let people learn to get out of your way.
jason stared at you as you walked past him, his eyes stuck on you until you turned the corner and were out of sight. normally, a man would be greatly offended to have his ego stabbed at. a regular man would have shouted at you till you disappeared, calling you a bitch and other disgusting phrases only a man could conjure.
but not jason. never jason.Â
he stood there, letting out a low whistle as he slipped his hand into his pocket with a grin and an approving nod. you put him in his place and he couldnât be more pleased.
that wasnât the last of jason todd. the universe had its way of bringing its favorite pairings back together.
you met him again at a twenty four hour convenience shop. youâd been up working close to a deadline and had no energy to cook but did have the energy to go to the corner store you lived above. your plan had been to grab a sandwich but you ran into the jackass who had no spatial awareness.
yeah, you remembered him. heâd been so sturdy when you bumped into him that you almost fell onto the ground.Â
jason was standing with his hands in his pockets, head tilted back to look up at the menu of sandwiches. it was a small menu but he wanted to make a good decision on a pre-patrol meal.Â
âare you in line to order?â a sharply toned voice came from behind him, snapping him out of his decision making daze. the voice sent a shiver down his spine. the same voice that had shouted at him a few days ago on the sidewalk with people watching. it got him excited.Â
jason turned to look at you, a calm demeanor before he pressed his lips together and shook his head, moving to the side. you gave him a squint, turning your attention to david, the older man who owned the corner store, letting him know your order. stepping to the side so jason could order, which he did, watching david work quickly on both sandwiches.
the convenience store was fairly quiet, just the sound of davidâs radio playing some talk show that he laughed at occasionally.Â
gathering up the courage, jason looked over at you. you hadnât looked at him once, heâd been waiting for you guys to meet eyes so he can start up a conversation but you hadnât paid him a second of your time.Â
âto be or not to be, that is the question, huh?â jason spoke, his voice a bit husky from not talking almost the whole day and being pretty.. nervous. he quickly cleared his throat so he wouldnât sound like a dumbass.
he sees your jaw clench, you donât even turn to look at him but give him an intense sideways glance that has his eyebrow perk up. âwhat?â you ask, or more like hiss at him. you didnât know what he said, all you knew is that he was talking to you and he already made a terrible first impression.Â
âiââ jason was caught off guard, completely. this face didnât show it, it was cool and not showing any of his inner thoughts. âyour pin. hamlet?â he pointed to the enamel pin on your tote bag. a hand holding a skull.
âoh,â you sigh, nodding. âyeah, hamlet. everyone knows that play. the fact that you can quote the worlds most well known soliloquy doesnât impress me.â
jason read enough books to be familiar with the love at first sight trope. he believed it was inaccurate but sometimes it worked when it served the plot. but as he stared at you, he was beginning to change his mind.Â
âjason,â he introduced himself, sticking his hand out towards you. you didnât shake it or give him your name back. âdonât worry, iâve signed up for S.U.A.âÂ
âwhat?â
âspatially unaware anonymous. iâm getting better at not standing in the middle of the sidewalk,â and that got you to reluctantly shake his hand and tell him your name.Â
a night of eating your sandwiches together turned into days after days of getting to know each other. your walls were up to the sky, telling yourself you were just making a friend.Â
which quickly changed when you asked him the question one night.
âdo you want to be my boyfriend?â
he never agreed faster to anything in his life. and for the first time, nobody responded to your independence with resentment, or responded to you unable to tolerate incompetence with frustration and hurt pride.Â
when you wanted intellectual conversations, he gave them to you with well thought out responses and opinions you can tell were built from experience and research instead of being easily influenced. he never left a mess, always cleaning up after himself.
when you both walked on the busy sidewalks of gotham, he let you take the lead because he knew you liked it better that way. he followed behind you, matching your fast pace. when you spoke, he listened. when you didnât see him for a week because you were busy, he wasnât nearly offended. and when youâd tell him you didnât want to hang out and wanted to be alone, he had your favorite ice cream delivered to your door for your night in.Â
and when you did snap, he didnât get angry back but asked in a gentle voice: âtalk to me.âÂ
you never wanted to get into a relationship in fear that it would give an opening to someone to try and snatch your freedom away. you didnât want the stress of a man who couldnât express himself or the texts of if you ate. jason never expected you to give up the time you gave your job for him or your alone time. Â
if anything, he just liked to be yours.
a/n: this is a bit for self indulgence. hopefully it reaches my girls who feel trapped that they can only get angry and only find true happiness being with themselves <3 jason felt perfect for this.
content warning: mentions of alcohol, reader is drunk, fluff, peter yearns, peter pines, peter is the ultimate respectful king
part 2
"Next time I see you I'm giving you a high five!" You belt out in your friend's living room. Your eyes are closed as you sing into the neck of an empty wine bottle, a smile on your face.
"Because hugs are overrated-" You hear back, your friends singing along with you.
"Just FYI!" A chorus of varying drunken voices each in the room.
Peter watches from the entry way of the apartment with a smile of his own. He told you earlier that night that he would happily be your DD from girl's night, you told him to come pick you up before midnight so you could still get up for work the next morning. He's not sure if work is happening for you tomorrow as he watches you jump around the room singing bad Jonas Brothers karaoke.
Your face absolutely lights up when you spot him.
"Peter!" You practically squeal, your mouth open in a wide smile. "Guys, it's my best friend Peter!" You informed the group like they had no idea who he was. Peter doesn't hide the small laugh that escapes him at your delight to seeing him.
A chorus of "Hi, Pete" comes from the girls, he waves in return.
"Peter, are you-" you hiccup and almost stumble over a stray shoe on your journey across the living room to him. He catches you by the elbows easily, enhanced relfexes and all that jazz. Your hands find purchase on his biceps.
"Are you taking me home?" You try to focus your eyes on him but end up giggling instead.
"Yeah, I'm here to take you home. Told you I would." He answers. You're too far gone to notice how gentle his voice is when he speaks to you.
You gasp, your eyes twinkling, "Oh, my hero." Your coo melts into something warm that makes Peter's cheeks flare pink.
"I'm not-" he mumbles bashfully, "I said I'd pick you up, soâŚ"
"Aww!" Comes from the couch and Peter finally snaps out of his daze. His cheeks turn a darker shade when he realizes all of his friends are watching the two of you.
"I need-" you turn serious, your brows furrowing in concentration, "my shoes!" You finally remember, letting go of Peter's arms so you could gather your things. "And my purse! And my phone! And my Peter!"
"My Peter." Sticks with Peter, leaving him just a little dumbfounded as he watches you stumble around and gather everything.
It doesn't take long for you to find your things with Peter grabbing things you've left behind while trying to say goodbye to your girlfriends â your purse that you grabbed but sat down to hug one, your phone that slipped from your hand when you tried to shove it in your back pocket, your jacket that you handed him without thinking because it was "too hot".
"Ready?" He finally asks by the front door.
"Ready!" You mock solute him, causing him to chuckle to himself again.
"Get her home safe, My Peter." One of your friends teases from the couch. He merely shakes his head before giving them all a wave as he guides you out of the door and into the hallway.
It doesn't take long to get you home after that with the Uber already waiting outside - because no way is he daring to attempt to walk you home when you're this drunk.
"Where's your key?" Peter asks with his hand out when the two of you finally make it back to your apartment, standing in the dim hallway.
He lets out a sigh when you merely drop your purse in his outstretched hand.
"What do you keep in here?" He mumbles as he digs through your purse.
Gum, a few stray pieces of candy, a pad and a couple tampons, loose medication - Tylenol? he has no idea - a pair of headphones, three pens but no paper, a charger, your wallet, a custom Spiderman Sonny Angel that he's definitely going to make fun of you for later, and finally! Your house key, loose at the bottom of your purse.
"We need to have a serious talk about your hoarding." Peter tells you as he slides the key in and unlocks the door.
"I don't hoard. That stuff is important." You mumble as you start to shuffle in behind him. You're finally starting to get tired from all of the alcohol in your system.
"You definitely hoard." He smiles to himself before setting your purse on the couch.
He guides you back to your room, making sure you don't crash on your couch â he's done it far too many times and knows it'll only make you feel worse in the long run with your impending hangover.
"I'm going to grab water and any sort of pain meds that I hope you do have because I'm not giving you the mystery pill from your purse." Peter says before leaving you in your room to change clothes.
He hears a soft, "That's where my Azo wentâŚ" as he makes his way back to your kitchen.
He comes back not even five minutes later to find you laying back on your bed with sweatpants on and your shirt on half of your body. He stills as he stares at you but you're staring at the ceiling with one arm in a sleeve and the other out with your stomach on display.
"Um-" he clears his throat.
"I got stuck." You pout as your bottom lip pulls down into a frown.
Tired, emotional, drunk â it was definitely time to get you in bed.
Peter ignores the tight warmth in his chest and instead sets down the Advil he found and glass of water on your dresser. He's quiet when he stands in front of you, his knees brushing yours, his hand gentle against your wrist as he guides you up.
"Up you go." He says quietly. "Let me help."
"Aw," your voice cracks as Peter gently guides your arm into the sleeve of your shirt, "My PeterâŚ." He's sure you're about to start crying and that makes him panic every time.
His eyes go wide briefly, again ignoring that sputtering of his heart at the term, and helps you lay back on your bed.
"Shh, don't- don't start cryin'." He murmurs to you.
You're his best friend, he's yours. You're always together, and if you're not? You're both thinking about each other. You're the only person who knows his secrets, every single one of them. The only person he lets hang off of him, the only person he lets touch him so intimately when you're patching him up after a rough night. He's not sure when his feelings for you grew, but somewhere over the years you became the only person that Peter trusted more than anyone else in his life.
Did you feel the same way? He had no idea and part of him didn't want to know. The thought of losing you as a friend was the only thing that scared Peter in this world. Villains, crooks with guns, bad guys with alien tech, aliens themselves? None of it came close to the fear he felt when he imagined you not being in his life.
"Peter?" You spoke up again to get his attention. He finally snaps out of his train of thought and looks over at you.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Will you stay here tonight?" You repeat yourself, your voice softer now. "I'm scared." You admit.
Peter smiles, soft and lopsided, and sits at the edge of your bed. "Scared?" He echoes quietly. "What're you scared of?"
You try to keep your bottom lip from wobbling before you answer, "Dunno⌠just scared." It comes out in a whisper now.
He's pretty sure his heart just shattered and fell into his stomach at the look on your face. Finally he nods.
"Of course I'll stay. What kind of superhero would I be if I didn't protect you?"
"Thank you," you sniffle. Then it's like your mood does a complete 180 and you pat the empty spot next to you. "Sleep over! Get in bed and we can pillow talk."
Peter looks at you stunned like he's just experienced whiplash. He exhales a laugh through his nose with an amused shake of his head before turning off your bedroom light.
"Yay, sleep over." He says as he's slipping off his shoes and crawling onto the bed next to you. He stays above the covers, always respectful of your space.
"Perfect." You hum happily as you close your eyes, relaxing into the mattress and covers that surround you.
"Yeah, perfect." He mumbles to himself as he makes himself comfortable. With his head on your pillow, soft brown hair splaying out against the soft pillow case, he looks over at you. "Alright, what are we pillow talking about? How the Jonas Brothers would be ashamed of your performance tonight?"
But he doesn't get an answer from you. In the quiet of your room all he can hear is your soft snores, barely there puffs of air letting him know that you're already out cold. He chews at the inside of his cheek as he traces the outline of your profile.
If this is as close as he can ever get to you? He'll take it.
summary: no one understood why you and peter were dating. he was the smart, nerdy, nice one and you? well you were kind of a bitch. but no one knows how peter is when youre alone. how hes the only one whos able to put you in you place. and you love it.
warnings/tags: jealousy, bitchy! bratty! reader, mean! dom! peter, established relationship, the smut took over for this one (unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, dacryphillia, oral m receiving, you're def a throat goat, marking, degradation, praise, taunting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, lots of bodily fluids, name calling)
masterlist // join the taglist
The party was already too loud, too bright, too full of people who didnât matter. Some loft in Williamsburg that smelled like cheap beer and someoneâs overpriced cologne, string lights half-dead against exposed brick, a playlist that kept skipping between indie tracks no one actually liked. Youâd been leaning against the kitchen counter for twenty minutes, arms crossed, watching Peter try to be polite to some guy from his physics lab who wouldnât stop talking about quantum whatever.
You were done.
Your heels were killing you. The dress youâd made him wait forty minutes for earlier was starting to cling in all the wrong places from the heat of too many bodies. And every time someone laughed too loud near you, your jaw tightened another fraction.
Peter glanced over, caught the look on your face, and immediately excused himself. He crossed the room with that familiar half-awkward gait, red Solo cup still in hand, curly hair a little messier than it had been when you arrived.
âHey,â he said softly, leaning in close enough that only you could hear. âYou okay?â
You didnât answer right away. Just looked at him. That soft, open expression he always wore around you, like he still couldnât quite believe you were his. It made something mean curl in your chest.
âI want to leave.â
Peter blinked. âWe just got here. MJ and Nedââ
âI donât care about MJ and Ned.â Your voice stayed low, but it cut. âIâve been standing here for almost an hour while you play nice with people who still think Iâm some temporary phase. Iâm bored. My feet hurt. And if one more person asks me what I âdoâ like itâs a trick question, Iâm going to throw something.â
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He set the cup down on the counter without looking away from you. âYouâre being a littleââ
âWhat?â You tilted your head, sweet and sharp at the same time. âBratty? High-maintenance? A princess?â You said the last word like it was a dare. âEveryone already thinks that. Might as well live up to it.â
Peter exhaled through his nose. Around you, the party kept movingâsomeone shouted about shots, a girl near the speakers laughed too hardâbut the space between the two of you had gone quiet and tight.
âYouâre notââ he started, then stopped. Softened. âYouâre not that. You know that.â
You rolled your eyes and pushed off the counter. âIâm going home.â
âBabyââ
You were already moving. Past the physics guy, past the cluster of people near the door who looked up when you passed like they were cataloguing the drama. You didnât bother with goodbyes. Just grabbed your bag from the chair by the entrance and shoved the door open hard enough that it banged against the wall.
The hallway outside was cooler. Quieter. Your heels clicked sharp against the concrete as you headed for the stairs.
Behind you, the door opened again.
âWait.â
Peterâs voice. Not loud. Not angry. Just firm in that way he got when he decided something mattered more than keeping the peace.
You didnât slow down. Took the stairs faster than was smart in those shoes, one hand on the railing, the other clutching your bag. You could hear him followingâsneakers soft on the steps, longer strides closing the distance without rushing.
By the time you hit the sidewalk, the night air felt almost cold against your bare arms. The street was quieter out here, just the distant hum of traffic and a couple arguing somewhere down the block. You kept walking toward the corner where the subway entrance waited, not looking back.
Peter caught up at the curb.
âHey.â His hand brushed your elbow, light. âStop. Please.â
You spun on him. The streetlight above caught the edges of his glasses, the worried line between his brows, the way his shoulders were already squared like he was bracing for whatever you were about to throw next.
âI said I want to go home.â
âI know.â He didnât raise his voice. Didnât match your sharpness. Just stood there looking at you the way he always did when you got like thisâlike he was trying to see past the attitude to whatever was actually under it. âSo letâs go home. Together. Not you storming off into the night where anyone could hurt you.â
You stared at him. The bratty part of you wanted to keep going, wanted to make it worse just to see how far heâd follow. The other partâthe quieter, more honest partâalready knew the answer.
He always followed.
Peter stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him cut through the night air. His voice dropped.
âYouâre allowed to be in a shitty mood. Youâre allowed to hate parties. Youâre even allowed to be a little mean about it.â A small, crooked almost-smile. âBut youâre not allowed to leave without me. Not when weâre like this.â
Your throat felt tight. You looked away first, down the street, anywhere but at that soft, stubborn face.
ââŚFine.â
He didnât gloat. Didnât say I told you so. Just reached for your hand, fingers sliding between yours like theyâd done a hundred times before, and started walking with you toward the subway.
The whole ride home was quiet. You sat pressed against the window, arms crossed, staring at the dark tunnel walls. Peter sat beside you, thigh warm against yours, thumb occasionally brushing the side of your hand like he was reminding you he was still there. Every time the train lurched, he shifted just enough to keep you steady without making a show of it.
No one on the train looked twice at the two of you. No one ever did. That was the part that always got under peopleâs skinâhow someone as messy and demanding and impossible as you ended up with Peter Parker, of all people. The soft-spoken science kid who still apologized when other people bumped into him. The one who carried your bag without being asked and remembered how you took your coffee and never once made you feel like too much.
You didnât understand it either, most days.
But he was still there when the train doors opened at your stop. Still there when you climbed the stairs back up to street level. Still there when you reached your building and fumbled the keys because your hands were a little unsteady now that the anger had started to burn itself out.
Peter took the keys from you without a word, unlocked the door, and held it open.
You stepped inside first.
The apartment was dark except for the city light filtering through the half-closed blinds. You dropped your bag by the couch, kicked off the heels that had been murdering you all night.
Behind you, the door clicked shut.
âWhat was that really about tonight?â
The silence stretched just long enough for the air in the apartment to feel thicker.
Peter stood a few feet behind you, keys still in his hand, watching the way your shoulders stayed tight even after youâd kicked the heels off. For a second he looked like the same soft, careful boy everyone thought they knewâthe one who always gave you the bigger half of the shared fries, the one who texted to make sure you got home safe even when he was already in your bed.
Then something shifted.
You felt it before you saw it. The quiet click of his keys hitting the table harder than necessary. The slow, deliberate way his footsteps crossed the floor. When you finally turned, the look on his face had changed. That familiar softness was still there, but it had been pushed back behind something sharper. Meaner. The version of him that only ever came out for you.
The one who knew exactly how to handle the brat.
âI asked you a question,â he said, voice low and even. âWhat was that really about tonight?â
You lifted your chin, already defaulting to attitude. âI told you. I was bored. My feet hurt. The party sucked.â
Peterâs mouth curved, but it wasnât a smile. He took another step closer, close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him. âTry again.â
âThereâs nothing to try again. I just wanted to leave.â
âYou wanted to leave,â he repeated, almost thoughtful. His eyes moved over your face like he was reading something you hadnât said out loud. âOr you wanted me to follow. Big difference.â
You scoffed. âDonât flatter yourself.â
âMm.â He hummed, unimpressed. âSo you werenât being a jealous little brat because I talked to someone else for five minutes?â
Heat flared under your skin. âI was not jealous.â
âNo?â His voice dropped another register, soft and dangerous. âBecause from where I was standing, it looked a lot like you got pissy the second I wasnât glued to your side. Like you needed everyone in that room to remember who I go home with.â
âThatâs notââ
Peterâs hand shot out and caught your jaw, fingers firm against your cheeks, forcing your face up. Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough that you felt it. Hard enough that the rest of the sentence died in your throat.
His thumb pressed just under your bottom lip, holding you still.
âLying already,â he murmured, eyes dark behind his glasses. âYou throw a tantrum in front of half the party, storm out like the worldâs ending, make me chase you across the city⌠and now youâre gonna stand here and tell me it wasnât because you needed the attention?â
Your pulse jumped hard against his palm. You tried to turn your head, but he didnât let you.
âI wasnât jealous,â you insisted, quieter now, stubbornness still clinging to the words.
Peterâs grip tightened just enough to make your mouth part. He leaned in until his breath brushed your lips.
âThen I guess Iâm gonna have to fuck it out of you.â
The words landed low and filthy, no hesitation, no apology. Exactly the way he only ever talked when the switch had fully flipped.
âBecause if youâre gonna act like a spoiled little princess who canât stand sharing me for five minutes, then youâre gonna get treated like one. Until that attitudeâs gone and the only thing left in that pretty head is how good it feels when I finally shut you up.â
His thumb dragged slowly across your lower lip, pressing in just enough to make it catch.
âSo,â he said, voice rough now, âare you gonna keep lying to me⌠or are you gonna open your mouth and take what you actually came home for?â
Your knees hit the floor before youâd even fully decided to move.
The shift was instant. All that sharp attitude from the party folded in on itself the second his hand stayed on your jaw and his voice went that low. You sank down right there in the middle of the living room, bare feet tucked under you, dress pooling around your thighs, and looked up at him like the only thing left in the world was the space between his body and your mouth.
Peterâs breath left him in a short, satisfied exhale.
âThere she is,â he murmured, almost fond. The cocky edge slid into his voice easy, like heâd been waiting for it all night. âKnew youâd be good for me once I stopped letting you play princess. Look at you. Already on your knees. Fuckin' brat.â
He didnât rush. Just stood there a second longer, looking down at you with that dark, pleased little tilt to his mouth, thumb still resting against your lower lip. Then he reached for his belt.
The quiet sound of the buckle, the slow drag of the zipper, the soft rustle of fabric as he pushed his jeans open just enoughâevery detail made your mouth water. You always did this. No matter how many times youâd had him, the second he pulled his cock out you went a little stupid for it. Thick, flushed, already half-hard and getting harder under your stare. A bead of precome gathered at the tip and your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth without permission.
Peter noticed. Of course he did.
âDrooling already,â he said, voice rough with amusement. âChrist. One look and youâre done. Open.â
You did. Lips parted, chin tipped up, waiting like the good thing he kept calling you.
His hand slid into your hair, fingers tightening just enough to guide. He didnât shove. Not yet. Just guided the head of his cock across your bottom lip, smearing that wetness there, watching your tongue flick out for a taste before he even gave you permission.
âThatâs it,â he breathed. âLet me use this pretty mouth the way it was meant to be used.â
He pushed in slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he filled you. The familiar stretch of your lips around him. You hollowed your cheeks and took what he gave, eyes flicking up to his face the way you knew he liked. Peterâs free hand braced lightly against the wall beside him, the other still fisted in your hair, and the soft, punched-out sound he made when you swallowed around the head went straight down your spine.
âFuckââ He rocked forward a little deeper, testing. âAlways so greedy for it. Look at you. Acting like such a bitch all night just so Iâd bring you home and put you on your knees where you belong.â
He set a rhythm that was more using than givingâslow, deep strokes that made your eyes water when he pressed a little too far, then eased back just enough for you to breathe before doing it again. Every time you tried to take more on your own he held you still with the grip in your hair, reminding you who was in charge.
âStay,â he ordered quietly when your hands twitched toward his thighs. âHands on your knees. Youâre not touching anything until I say. Youâre just a mouth right now. My mouth. And Iâm gonna fuck it until that attitudeâs gone and all thatâs left is the way you sound when youâre choking on me.â
You stayed. Knees spread on the hard floor, hands obediently resting on your thighs, dress hiked up enough that the cool air touched bare skin. Every wet sound of him sliding in and out filled the quiet apartment. Your jaw ached in the best way. Spit started to slip from the corner of your mouth and trail down your chin; Peter watched it happen with dark, hungry eyes and only fucked into you harder for it.
âThatâs my girl,â he groaned, hips rolling deeper. âTaking it so well. Knew the second you threw that little tantrum that this was what you actually needed. Not leaving the party. Not being left alone. Just this. My cock down your throat until you remember who you belong to.â
He kept thrusting, his rhythm becoming more and more erratic.
âSwallow when I tell you to,â he said, voice low and filthy. âAnd donât you dare look away.â
Peterâs grip in your hair tightened as his rhythm finally broke.
He pushed deep one last time, hips stuttering, and came hard across your tongue with a low, rough sound that vibrated straight through you. Thick, hot pulses filled your mouth faster than you could swallow. You triedâeyes watering, throat workingâbut some of it spilled past your lips, trailing down your chin in messy white streaks.
He pulled out slow, still half-hard, and looked down at the mess heâd made of you like it was exactly what heâd been aiming for all night.
âOpen,â he ordered quietly.
You did. Tongue out, showing him what was left.
Peterâs thumb dragged through the come on your bottom lip, then smeared it higherâacross your cheek, under one eye, painting you with what you hadnât managed to swallow. You let out a soft, embarrassed little whine at the wet drag of it, the way it cooled against your skin, the way he watched every second of it with dark satisfaction.
âThere,â he murmured, almost gentle. âNow you look like mine. Messy little thing. Couldnât even take it all without making a mess. S' pathetic.â
Before you could answer, his hands were under your arms. He hauled you up like you weighed nothing, spun you, and threw you over his shoulder in one smooth motion. The world tilted. Your dress flipped up the backs of your thighs. You made a startled noise against his back as he carried you straight through the apartment toward the bedroom, one hand steady on the curve of your ass to keep you in place.
âPeterââ
âQuiet.â The word was soft, but it landed like a command. âYou got what you wanted. Attention. My cock. My come on your face. Now youâre gonna stay still and let me play with whatâs mine.â
He dumped you onto the bed hard enough that you bounced once. The mattress dipped under his weight as he followed you down, knees spreading your thighs open without ceremony. Your dress was shoved up to your waist. Your underwearâalready soaked throughâwas yanked to the side like it was in his way.
Then his fingers were on you.
Not inside. Not yet. Just slow, deliberate strokes through the slick heat of your cunt, spreading you open, circling your clit with maddening lightness. You jerked under his hand, hips trying to chase more pressure, but he simply pressed his free palm flat against your lower stomach and held you down.
âStay,â he said, voice low and mean with amusement. âYouâve been a brat all night. You donât get to decide how fast you come.â
Two fingers dragged through your folds again, gathering wetness, then slid just barely insideâonly to the first knuckleâbefore pulling out and spreading the mess higher. He rubbed your clit in tight, lazy circles that never quite gave enough. Every time your thighs started to tremble he eased off, waiting until the tension drained a little before starting over.
You were already breathing hard. Already twitching under him.
âPeterâpleaseââ
âPlease what?â He leaned over you, free hand braced beside your head, watching your face while his fingers kept up that cruel, shallow teasing. âYou just had my cock down your throat. Youâre still wearing my come on your face. And now youâre whining because Iâm not fucking you hard enough?â
His middle finger slipped deeper for half a secondâjust enough for you to feel the stretchâthen withdrew completely. He dragged the wet tip of it up over your clit and left it there, pressing lightly, not moving.
You tried to rock up into the pressure. He didnât let you.
âLook at this,â he murmured, eyes flicking down between your legs. âSo wet itâs dripping onto the sheets. All that attitude earlier and the second I put my hands on you, you open up like a needy little slut. Makes me wonder why I ever let you leave the house.â
He started againâslow circles, light flicks, two fingers pushing in just far enough to make you clench before pulling free. Over and over. Never deep enough. Never fast enough. Every time your breathing hitched like you were getting close he backed off completely, leaving you aching and empty.
Your hands fisted in the sheets. The bratty edge started to creep back into your voice without permission.
âYouâre being an asshole,â you muttered, hips squirming under his hold. âJustâfuck me already. Stop playing with it.â
Peterâs mouth curved. Dark. Satisfied.
âThere she is,â he said softly. âKnew it wouldnât take long.â His fingers resumed their slow, deliberate torment, sliding through your soaked cunt like he had all night to ruin you. âGo on. Get bratty again. Give me a reason to make this even worse.â
You only managed two sentences of attitude before he decided heâd heard enough.
âYouâre such a fucking tease,â you snapped, voice already cracking from how empty heâd left you. âIf youâre not gonna do it right then justââ
Peterâs hand left your stomach. In the next breath two of his fingers shoved deep into your cunt, curling hard against the spot that always made your vision blur. At the same time his mouth dropped between your legs and sealed over your clit like heâd been waiting all night to ruin you properly.
The sound you made was broken and loud.
He didnât ease into it. He fucked his fingers into you in short, ruthless strokes, knuckles pressing deep on every thrust, while his tongue worked your clit in the exact filthy rhythm he knew you couldnât last againstâfirm, wet flicks followed by hard suction that pulled a sob out of your throat. Your thighs tried to clamp around his head. He simply hooked an arm over one and held you open, eating you like he was starved for it.
âPeterâfuckâoh my godââ
He groaned against your cunt like the taste of you was getting him hard all over again. The vibration shot straight through your clit. His fingers curled harder, faster, the wet sound of them sliding in and out of you loud and obscene in the quiet room. Every time you tried to twist away from how intense it was he just followed, tongue relentless, two fingers becoming three without warning so the stretch burned perfect and deep.
You came hard enough that your back arched clear off the mattress.
Your cunt clenched around his fingers in tight, helpless pulses, soaking his mouth and chin while he kept licking through it like he wanted every drop. Your thighs shook. Your hands fisted in his hair hard enough to hurt. He didnât stop until the last tremor had been wrung out of you and you were left twitching and oversensitive under his tongue.
His mouth and chin were shiny with you. He looked wrecked and completely smug about it, lips wet, glasses slightly askew, eyes dark with satisfaction as he wiped the back of his wrist across his mouth and then deliberately licked that too.
âThatâs better,â he murmured, voice rough. He kept his fingers inside you while you came down, just slow, lazy curls that made your overstimulated cunt flutter. âLook at the mess you made all over my face. Came like you were fucking desperate for it.â
He crawled up your body, still fully dressed except for his open jeans, and braced himself over you. His free hand caught your jaw againâgentler this time, but no less possessiveâand tilted your face so you had to look at him.
âYouâre not done,â he said quietly. Filthy certainty under every word. âIâm going to fuck you until that bratty little brain of yours is completely empty. Until the only thing you can remember is how full you are and how good it feels when I use you exactly how I want.â
He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and wiped them across your bottom lip, making you taste yourself.
âSo be good and spread your legs wider for me,â he said, already hard and leaking against his sculpted stomach. âIâm not stopping until youâre stupid with it.â
Peter shoved his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off without ever taking his eyes off you. His shirt followed, yanked over his head and tossed somewhere behind him. Then he was on you againâhands rough as he dragged your dress up and off, the fabric catching for a second on your arms before it was gone. Your soaked underwear was next, ripped down your legs and discarded.
You were completely bare under him in seconds.
He didnât give you time to catch your breath. One strong hand hooked under your knee and shoved it up toward your chest, folding you nearly in half against the mattress. The other did the same with your other leg until your thighs were pressed tight to your own body, knees almost at your shoulders, cunt completely exposed and open for him. The stretch in your hips burned in the best way. You could already feel how deep he was going to get like this.
Peter braced one hand beside your head and used the other to guide his cock through the mess between your legs. The head dragged over your clit once, twice, then notched against your entrance.
âFuck, look at you,â he muttered, voice low and hungry. "Such a desperate, needy, jealous baby.â
He sank into you in one long, relentless thrust.
The stretch was immediate and deep. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, cock buried so far it punched the air out of your lungs. You clenched around him hard enough that he groaned and dropped his forehead against yours for half a second.
âJesusâalways so fucking tight. And wet. Youâre gushing around me already.â
He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder, setting a deep, steady rhythm that made the headboard knock against the wall. Every thrust dragged over that perfect spot inside you and forced another wet sound out of your cunt. You could feel yourself soaking him, slick running down over his balls and onto the sheets with every stroke.
Peterâs eyes were dark with satisfaction as he watched your face.
âKnew youâd take me like this,â he breathed, fucking into you deeper. He rolled his hips particularly hard and your back arched. âThere. That. Youâre so fucking responsive for me. Always have been. One good thrust and youâre already trying to come again. So sensitive for such a bratty bitch.â
He leaned down without slowing his pace, mouth finding the side of your neck. Soft kisses firstâopen-mouthed and wetâthen the sharp edge of his teeth. You felt the moment he decided to mark you. He sucked hard, deliberately, right over the sensitive spot under your jaw where everyone would see it tomorrow. You made a small, protesting sound and tried to turn your head away.
Peter only held you still with the angle of his body and bit down harder, then soothed the sting with his tongue before doing it again lower, closer to your collarbone.
âI know baby. You hate when I mark you like this, donât you?â he murmured against your skin, voice rough with amusement even as his hips kept slamming into you. âHate knowing people are going to see these tomorrow and know exactly what I did to you. That I had you folded in half and full of cock. That you're just a little sub in bed and not the bitch you show everyone.â Another harsh suck that made your cunt clench around him. âToo bad. Youâre mine. And I want every single person who looks at you to know it.â
He drove in deeper, folding you even tighter, and groaned at how wet you were getting around him.
âFuckâlisten to that. Gushing every time I bottom out. Keep doing that for me. I want to feel you drip down my cock the entire time I fuck you stupid.â
The second orgasm hit you harder than the first.
Peter drove in deep and stayed there, grinding against that perfect spot while his mouth worked another harsh mark into the side of your neck, and your whole body locked up. Your cunt clenched around his cock in tight, rhythmic pulses, soaking him even more as a broken cry tore out of your throat. Your legs shook against his shoulders. Vision went white at the edges. You were still fluttering around him when he pulled out without warning.
You barely had time to make a sound of protest before his hands were on youâstrong, impatientâflipping you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. He yanked your hips up, shoved a pillow under them, and forced your chest down into the mattress so your ass was high and open for him. One hand planted between your shoulder blades, holding you there. The other guided his cock back to your soaked entrance.
He slammed in from behind in one hard thrust.
The new angle punched a ragged moan out of you. He was so deep like this it almost hurt, every stroke dragging over sensitive walls that were still twitching from the last orgasm. You tried to push up onto your elbows. Peter simply pressed harder between your shoulders until your cheek was flat against the sheets.
âStay down,â he ordered, voice rough and strained. âYouâre not done. I told you I was going to fuck you stupid.â
He set a punishing pace immediatelyâdeep, relentless thrusts that made the wet sound of your cunt taking him fill the room. His free hand slid around your hip and found your still-oversensitive clit without mercy. Two fingers rubbed tight, filthy circles over it while he fucked into you hard enough that the headboard slammed against the wall.
You were already shaking again.
âPeterâwaitâtoo muchââ
âNo.â He leaned over your back, mouth near your ear, never slowing. âYou can take it. Youâre going to come on my cock again while Iâm buried in this perfect cunt from behind. Feel how wet you still are? Fucking soaked for me. I told you I wasn't done with you until you were fucked stupid.â
His fingers on your clit sped up, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips. The dual sensation was overwhelmingâdeep, heavy thrusts stretching you open while those relentless circles dragged you straight toward another edge. Your thighs started to tremble. Your hands fisted in the sheets. A high, desperate sound kept spilling out of you every time he slammed home.
âThatâs it,â he groaned, clearly loving how responsive you were. âI can feel you getting tighter. Youâre gonna come for me again, arenât you? And you said it was too much. Greedy little thing. Came all over my face, came on my cock, and still canât stop.â
He rubbed your clit harder, fingers slick with how wet you were, and drove into you so deep you saw stars.
âCome,â he ordered against your ear. âCome on my cock right now so I can feel this pretty cunt milk me while I keep fucking you through it.â
Your second orgasm ripped through you before you could even try to hold it backâviolent and oversensitive, your whole body jerking under him as you clenched hard around his cock and soaked his hand. Peter didnât stop. He just kept thrusting through the aftershocks, fingers still working your clit in mean little circles, drawing the pleasure out until you were sobbing into the mattress and your arms threatened to give out.
He only slowed when you were trembling and limp beneath him, still buried to the hilt, breathing hard against the back of your neck.
âGood girl,â he murmured, voice wrecked and smug. âBut weâre still not finished.â
Peter pulled out of you with a wet sound that made your oversensitive cunt clench around nothing. You collapsed forward onto the mattress, legs shaking so hard they barely held any weight at all. He didnât give you more than a few seconds before his hands were on your hips again, rolling you over and guiding you up until you were straddling his lap.
Your thighs trembled violently as he positioned you. You had to brace both hands on his chest just to stay upright. The second the head of his cock nudged back against your entrance you made a soft, broken soundâhalf protest, half need.
âI know,â he murmured, voice low and almost gentle even as he gripped your hips and started sinking you down onto him. âLegs arenât working so well anymore, are they? Thatâs what I wanted. Canât even hold yourself up.â
He bottomed out in one slow, deep thrust from below and your head dropped forward. You were so wet and swollen from everything heâd already done that the stretch felt enormous all over again. Peterâs hands stayed firm on your hips, holding you in place as he started fucking up into you in steady, powerful strokes. Every upward snap of his hips forced a high, overstimulated whimper out of your throat.
It didnât take long before the tears started.
Not from painâjust pure, overwhelming sensation. Your cunt was so sensitive that every thrust felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Wetness slicked down his cock and over his stomach. Your thighs shook against his sides. A few tears slipped free and tracked down your cheeks while you tried to keep breathing through it.
Peter saw them immediately.
His rhythm didnât falter, but his expression went soft and dark at the same time. He reached up with one hand and carefully wiped a tear away with his thumb, then brought that same thumb to his mouth and licked it clean while looking straight at you.
âFuck,â he breathed, almost reverent. âYouâre crying for me.â His hips snapped up harder, forcing another broken sound out of you. âFuckâ why is that so hot? Completely fucked out and still taking every inch like a good girl.â
He wiped another tear, licked that one too, and kept thrusting up into you without mercy. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Your cunt kept fluttering and clenching around him in helpless little pulses, another orgasm already building whether you wanted it or not.
âThatâs it,â he groaned, both hands back on your hips now so he could fuck up into you even deeper. âKeep coming for me. I can feel every single one. Youâre so pathetic baby girl. So bratty 'til I get you on this cock.â
The next orgasm hit you like a wave. Your whole body locked up, thighs clamping around his waist as you cried out and clenched hard around him. Peter just kept moving through it, using your body, chasing the next one immediately. You barely came down before the overstimulation dragged you into another, then another, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. Tears kept slipping down your face. Your arms finally gave out and you collapsed forward against his chest, face buried in his neck while he continued to fuck up into you with deep, relentless strokes.
âIâve got you,â he murmured against your hair, sweet and cocky all at once. âJust stay right here and keep coming on my cock like that. Youâre doing so good. S' good princess.â
He lasted longer than he should haveâlong enough that youâd lost count of how many times youâd come, long enough that your cunt was pulsing around him in almost continuous, oversensitive waves. Only when your body was completely limp and shaking against his did his rhythm finally stutter.
Peterâs hands tightened hard on your hips. He buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a low, broken groan, cock pulsing hot inside you as he filled you. You felt every thick pulse, the way it mixed with how wet you already were, the way it spilled out around his cock when he kept grinding through it.
He held you there for a long moment afterward, still buried deep, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other stayed firm on your hip like he wasnât ready to let go yet.
âThere,â he breathed against your temple, voice rough and satisfied. âThatâs my girl. Completely fucked stupid for me.â
His hands were gentle when he finally lifted you off him.
You made a soft, oversensitive sound as his cock slipped free, the mess between your legs immediately noticeable. He eased you down onto your back against the pillows, careful with your still-trembling legs, and brushed damp hair away from your face with the back of his fingers. For a second he just looked at youâwrecked, marked, eyes glassyâand the cocky edge was still there under the softness.
âStay,â he murmured, already climbing off the bed.
He came back with a warm washcloth. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he cleaned you up with quiet focus, wiping the mess from your thighs, between your legs, the streaks still drying on your face and chin. He was thorough but careful, like he knew exactly how sensitive everything still was. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and climbed back in beside you, pulling the sheet up over both of you.
Peter propped himself on one elbow and looked down at you, mouth curved in that small, knowing way.
âSo,â he said, voice low and still a little smug. âYou wanna tell me the truth now? Were you jealous tonight?â
You sighed, the sound tired and honest. The fight had been fucked right out of you hours ago.
ââŚYeah.â
His expression softened immediately. He leaned in and kissed youâslow, deep, no rush. When he pulled back he stayed close, forehead almost touching yours.
âI know,â he said quietly. âI knew the second you started getting sharp with me at that party. You donât have to throw a tantrum next time, you know. You could just tell me.â
You made a small, noncommittal sound. He huffed a soft laugh and shifted closer, sliding one arm under your neck and the other around your waist until you were tucked fully against him. Your head ended up on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, one of his legs hooked over yours to keep you there.
Peterâs fingers traced slow patterns along your spine.
âYouâre mine,â he murmured into your hair, the words simple and certain. âEven when youâre being a complete brat. Even when half the room doesnât get why I put up with it. Youâre mine. And Iâm yours. Thatâs not changing because some guy from lab decided to talk my ear off for five minutes.â
He pressed a softer kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, lingering there.
âNext time just say it,â he added, quieter. âIâll take you home and remind you as many times as you need. But youâre not getting rid of me. Not even when youâre mean about it.â
His arms tightened around you just a little more, warm and solid and completely unbothered by how wrecked heâd left you.
You just let him hold you while you drifted off to sleepâ the sounds of the city acting like a lullaby.
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.
if you see me liking contradicting headcanons for the same character just know it's because I do not give a fuck and I have an active imagination #hewouldsaythat
Do I Exist If I Dont Exist On The Internet? @anxietyismyspideysense - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
ellievsbear
gummygunk
origamiaround
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
