what i really love about gotham tho is how each season Nygma’s outfits just get exponentially more flamboyant
i mean this poor basic bitch starts off like this
then its like ok not bad now there’s a concept we’re getting there
but bitch…this fucking look. i could talk about this look for days. this is the highest of fashion. Couture, you might add. Stylists in Milan are QUAKING at the sight of this, tears in their eyes with the recognition they will never acquire such level of high tailoring. I’m shaking at the sight
and don’t forget the bottom part of this, if you have dared to wonder whether this could get any better
You are his first best friend who understood his divorce and mostly how depressed he was after Lilith. But you helped him see better light at spending time with his daughter as he didn’t know how to talk to his daughter after years.
This man is clingy towards you at time. Literally he is calling your hellphone 24/7 out of his time and your time. One time you overslept and didn’t answer his calls. This motherfucker called you 69 times and next thing you know, your wall is busted to find a full demon formed worried Lucifer. After he had seen you were alive and well he smiles awkwardly at your wall.
Lucifer makes it know that you are his best friend so you won’t be harmed. But also you might be targeted, he knows he would snap a demon in half if you came into harm’s way.
This man literally sends you ducks in your mailbox. One time he made you a duck theme birthday party with your favorite colors with the cast of the hotel staff.
Lucifer and you have matching duck onesies, outfits, rings, shirts that says “I’m the duckling” and “return duckling to older duck”. You were immediately embarrassed but wore it for his sake. 
One time you had to take off the matching duck ring to wash dishes and Lucifer came to your place ready to rant about this duck he made for you so you can blow bubbles with it. As soon he sees you without the ring, he is gasping dramatically asking you if you don’t want to be friends with him with a kicked puppy expression. You sighed at the powerful man saying no as you dried your hands off putting the ring back.
If you had a nightmare, he would be there. If your cramping to pain, he would be there. Oh you’re crying? He’s there with a napkin. Literally he’s there for you as you were there for him when he couldn’t get over Lilith.
ANGEL DUST
If you came from the same industry as him, yeah you both talk shit about Valentino. Like bad shit to the point you two are laughing like hyenas from lion king.
If you aren’t from the industry he is in. You support him. Bread is bread.
I can see Angel always making you two shop and go clubbing as a way to keep you happy and show you how much he cares about your happiness.
I also headcannon that his hugs are like heaven itself with his many arms and his chest fluff. You nuzzle your face in his chest fluff as he chucks with you.
You both make dirty jokes to the point people are sick of it in the hotel or in public. It’s funny to make each other laugh but everyone else insufferable by the jokes.
You two definitely watch RuPaul's Drag Race as you both would make comments on the people in it. Thank god you died with a human world tv.
CHARLIE
She’s like her father but less clingy.
Matching bracelets, match outfits, matching everything as she wants you to redeem if you are a sinner. But if you aren’t a sinner that means she doesn’t have to cry about you leaving her.
You are know as either the princess’s “pet” or just her best friend as it’s pretty clear you two are close.
If you are in a royal family like her, you could definitely help her hotel go into business as you can’t let a friend’s dream go into waste.
VAGGIE likes you as you help her girlfriend around the hotel and herself.
You went out one night as Charlie was worried like a mother who lost her child. She had to send Alastor to find you as he found you at a shopping mall getting clothes. After Charlie scolded you about dangerously is at night. You gotta admit you felt attached to Charlie after she shown her worried side at you.
You two got closer as you two bake cookies for the hotel staff. Hell you even help Charlie get ready for a date with vaggie and it’s funny seeing Charlie freak out over a simple outfit decision.
VAGGIE
If you two knew each other by being angels together, you were saddened to know she was left in hell as you stayed in heaven. As you see her again in court, your eyes light up. Her eyes tear up hugging you. It was an amazing sight in-front of Charlie as Charlie introduced herself. You smile at Charlie and made her feel welcome.
After knowing her plans to redeem sinners, you agree with her like Emily does. It was sad to you again to see vaggie and Charlie go back to hell defeated.
If you are a sinner or hell born, she definitely didn’t trust you at first but soon trusted you not feeling any malice intentions. So you two definitely got along.
You two make sure the hotel is fine.
If VAGGIE chooses to tell you that she is actually an angel, you support you and figure a way for her and Charlie to talk it out. But if Adam bets it to you, vaggie rant about how much an ass adam is for spelling the beans before vaggie can do it with your help.
I headcannon vaggie to be a friend who would listen to your problems a lot and try to fix them but can’t as she doesn’t know how to specifically help you. But she tries her hardest as she always do.
I also headcannon vaggie to let you do her hair as she finds it’s nice to have a friend who is there for her like her girlfriend Charlie. Charlie is also glad to see her partner have a best friend.
ALASTOR
Who would know that the old man had a friend.
PFTTT THIS OLD FUCKER USES YOU AS A ARMY REST! If you are short of course which is obvious that this mf is tall as hell.
If you two knew each other and were partner in crimes and died in hell. He is literally making you an overlord too. He doesn’t have time to worried about you being killed in hell. Plus if you didn’t die to someone. He is killling them in a slow agonizing death for the punishment of killing you.
I headcannon this mf waiting for you in hell after he died, he literally taps his foot checking his wrist hearing you scream. You drop next to him as his shadows place you down lightly beside him.
“What took you long darling!” He says with his creep grin. “I tried to kill the fucka who murdered ya ass” you said as he drops you to the ground due to your foul language.
But yeah I can see you two being platonic soulmates or partners in another life.
I headcannon Alastor sending his shadow minions to find you or just at least check up on you so he can make sure you are safe. Alastor isn’t big on showing PDA. But he definitely shows it by his shadow minions.
You could be having a bad day and he send his demons to give you a puppet show. You chuckle at how dumb it is but at least Alastor smile knowing you are smiling.
HUSK
This grumpy son of a gun will drink listening to you rant, literally you could rant about how some demon tried to rob you and he would drink nodding away.
You had to hide his booze.
But if he was sober, he would still be the same. But slight more grumpy as booze lightens him up.
I headcannon husk that he waltz on drunk into your room and snore beside you who literally got done watching a horror movie.
Bro woke up on the floor with a show thrown at him.
Husker lets you touch his paws as your eyes light up with stars at this. He literally grumbles with purrs erupting from his chest. Hell he knows he purrs but hates it.
One time you pet his wings and his purr was so loud, you both had derpy shocked faces. Ever since that day, you tease him badly about it as he grumbles flipping you off.
He is also the kind of friend to actually listen to you and solve your issues but not fully as it’s your problems and not his. He is just a drunk bartender
I headcannon you two argue over uno to the point you two actually almost fought. Thanks to Charlie who broke you and husk apart from ripping each other throats open.
I headcannon husk curls like a cat when sleeping, so if he is drunk in your room. He sleeps on your bed like a cat as you just sit there confused with a tired expression.
NIFFTY
You two cause so much chaos.
This little manic always cleans your room first.
I can see her telling you about people she killed with a smile on her face. You guys have a dance party when no one is looking as it fun with each other.
One time she accidentally cut her finger and you helped her get a bandage with a skull on it. And she loved it! She asked more of the bandages you got as she loved the design.
Niffty who sleeps on your bed when she misses you
Niffty who stabs bugs in your room who dares to scare you if you don’t like bugs.
SIR PENTIOUS
He lets you take care of his eggs boiz.
You and him bake cookies for each other out of friendship, he made cookies that look like you. It was poorly drawn but it melted your heart. You shown him your cookies that looked like him and he was in tears hugging as he felt amazed at you making cookies for him.
He wraps his tail around you if you both are watching a horror movie. You guys have matching bracelets with your favorite color and his favorite color. When Charlie first heard and seen it, she almost bursted into tears seeing it as it was so adorable.
He literally rants about his creations and killing machines. He was gonna make you his number 1 right hand before he went to the hazbin hotel. You joined him to the hazbin hotel as you two share a liking towards Charlie and her dreams.
But after you and Pentious died and got redeemed together. You two cried holding each other hoping the others were safe in the battle of the angels.
That’s all I have for the headcannons in my head. But I hope you love em.🔥
I saw requests were open, and idk if this would be something up your alley, by I would like to see your writing for Alastor with a mommy kink!
a/n — Up my alley? UP MY ALLEY? BABES THIS IS THE WHOLE DOWNTOWN STREET.
I quite literally giggled and kicked my feet when I saw this because… yes?
Anyways though, I was so tired last night when I wrote this so I apologize if it’s shorter than you hoped.
“Ah— careful, my dear,” Alastor winced as you slid onto his cock. His hands were tied to the bed post, and the only thing giving him any illusion of control was his faltering grin.
It was incredibly rewarding to see him like this, open and defenseless against you. It was putting him on edge, you could tell easily from the way his shoulders tightened and his smile wrinkled down, ever so slightly.
“Relax,” you caressed his face with your thumb, “Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”
You felt his dick twitch inside you, “Nngh, d—dearest, I—“
He’s cute off by an embarrassingly loud whine when you start rolling your hips.
He looks absolutely horrified at himself for the lack of power in the situation, but he doesn’t have time to think about it for too long before your cunt clenches down on his dick.
“Who knew the Radio Demon would sound so pretty in bed?” you tease as you speed up.
Alastor curses himself for the deep static-y moan that comes out. He hated feeling so desperate but he sure as hell loved your attention.
“You—ugh—“ He couldn’t focus with all the stimulation, “—this is perverted.” He stated it as if he wasn’t constantly letting out breathy moans.
“I know you love having mommy dote on you like this , Alastor,” you coo down at him and stroke his hair.
Alastors eyes widened at that comment, before he let out a needy whine.
“You want to be taken care of, pretty baby?” You hump his dick rougher, he nods vigorously. “Want me to praise you and tell you how good of a boy you are?”
He threw his head back into the pillow and kicked his feet out, struggling against the restraint around his wrists.
“Mommy, m—mommy, yes I want—“ his moans and whines are more apparent now as if he stopped trying to hide them.
“You want what, sweetheart?”
“I want—“ he tried again, struggling to collect his thoughts while you milked his sensitive cock. Sex wasn’t something he engaged in often so the sensations got to his head fast.
“Use your words, darling,” you bite your lip while you ride him.
“—I want you, mommy, I need you,” he finished, feeling as if he hadn’t articulated what he’d been trying too.
“Good boy, Alastor, telling me what you want.” You praise, running your hands over his chest.
He moaned pathetically. There was something so madly appealing to him about you calling yourself his ‘mommy.’
Some part of Alastor, deep inside of him, yearned to be praised and cared for. It had been almost an eternity since anyone had done so.
He whined your title in useless slurs, calling out for more. More of what? He didn’t know. He just craved your attention, your touch, your affection, like a starved man.
Your hands roamed his body, along with your lips, while you pussy drank up his cock. His whimpers were getting more frequent and staticky with every hip thrust and bite.
You sensed his climax building from the way he squirmed underneath the restraints of the wrist binds and bucked his dick up into you subconsciously.
In truth, you could feel your own orgasm approaching as well, but you wanted to draw out this for as long as possible. After all, it’s not every day you have the Radio Demon whining for your approval.
“Mommy, ‘m almost there, ‘m so close,” He moaned, still squirming and biting his lip to hold back his release.
His eyes searched yours for the approval to cum, but it wasn’t there.
Instead, finding a vague sympathy as you continued grinding down on his dick, “I know, sweetheart, I know. You’re just going to have to wait, though.”
He whined miserably and kicked his feet. He didn’t like this answer, but for whatever reason he didn’t want to disappoint you.
“Your going to have to wait til after I cum baby,” You explain, breathlessness creeping into your voice, “Until then you’ll just have to be my good boy. How’s that sound?”
He nodded his head weakly, wincing at all of the attention on his cock as he tried to hold back.
You speed up, going fast enough for your orgasm to approach but not fast enough for it to be over to soon.
“Being so good for mommy, Al,” you coo, “Such good control, making mommy feel so good.”
The sides of his mouth look like they ache after smiling through all of this, but he whines regardless.
His eyes are half lidded and needy, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead while the ties around his wrists dug into his skin.
When you finally let go, you throw your head back and moan, still humping his cock but humming softly, satisfied with your orgasm and equally proud of Alastors restraint.
“Please,” Alastor whimpers, trying his hardest to lean up into your touch before being stopped by the ropes, “Please, mommy, now.”
“My pretty baby, of course you can—“ you didn’t even finish your sentence before being cut off by he’s loud desperate moan.
He came almost immediately after getting your approval and then fell back into the mattress, whispering quiet phrases of ‘Thank you, mommy,’
You pulled yourself off of him and laid down next to him on the bed. After untying the ropes around his wrists you take him in your arms and stroke his hair.
“You did so good for me, sweetheart. ‘m so proud of you,” you spoke softly in his ears.
Alastor didn’t say anything, only letting out a small hum of contentment and burying his face in your neck.
You take one of his hands in yours and observe the light bruise the restraints left of his wrist. You rub your thumb against the injury and he winces. For a moment, you’re worried they were tied to tight until you catch a glimpse of his face.
His usually shit-eating grin was replaced by what looked like a smile of genuine satisfaction.
You quietly applauded yourself for accomplishing something you once thought to be impossible, before you rose slightly on the bed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, Al,” you say. You try to move but his arms clings onto your neck and hold on for life. He whines slightly.
“Alright,” you give in and sit back down, “maybe we can’t wait a little longer.”
a/n — this guys misses his mommy so much it’s not even funny oh my god. He’s way more pathetic than meets the eye guys, trust.
I feel like he would get super needy and clingy after this too like. He would constantly be needing all of attention at all times. He would just be competing with everyone for your attention it’d be wild.
It would make for some absolute fire songs though.
Hazbin Hotel Crew Headcannons: When the crew meets Angel’s abused friend
Featuring: Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Angel, Nifty, Sir Pentious, and Alastor
Tw: Mentions of abuse, blood, murder, mentions of drugs, mention of death by drug overdose, insecurities, panic attacks, ptsd, self esteem issues, possessivness, protectiveness, safe spaces, etc….
A/n: I wanted angst today if you read it without looking over warnings sorry not sorry 😞
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel Dust
-After another exhausting day at the studio Angel just wanted to go home and drink himself to sleep, he didn’t expect to be bulldozed into by a panicking demon in tears.
-Had it not been for the birthmark on your forehead he never would’ve realized it was you, “(Y-Y/n)? Babycakes is that you?”, he’d ask in shock.
-You’re to overwhelmed to even realize who you’ve run into but the moment he hears your desperate whimpers for help he’s overcome by a strong protective desire to save you from whatever is happening.
-When you were both alive he treated you like family, kept you safe, and treated you like his little sibling. That wouldn’t change even after death.
-Sure enough your attackers have found you and threaten both of you if you refuse to comply, you’re in tears and rattling like a wet puppy in the middle of winter.
-Angel takes a deep breath and stands up, a pair of his arms wrapped around you tight in a comforting embrace while the other pair whip out his guns and begin to fire away at your attackers.
-The sounds of the screams and bullets overstimulate your frenzied mind and you faint in his arms, Angel doesn’t notice until your attackers are dead and he frowns seeing you bruised and cut up.
-“C’mon dollface, let’s get you somewhere safe.”, he whispers picking you up bridal style, “Out of everyone in the world why did you have to come down to Hell? If anyone deserved a pair of wings it was definitely you.”
-Angel carries you back to the Hazbin Hotel and shocks everyone while holding your unconscious body.
-“They need help Charlie. Please help them.”, Angel begs softly, laying you down on the couch of the waiting area.
-Angel explains who you are and what he’d done, Charlie doesn’t condone violence but she’s proud that he protected you.
-Angel stays by your side for the rest of the night until you’ve finally woken up, now calm you recognize your old friend and hug him while in tears. Angel begins to cry himself remembering how close you two were when you were both alive.
-“It’s okay (Y/n), you’re safe here I promise.”, he swears to you, he waits until you’ve calmed down to take you downstairs to meet everyone.
-Everyone notices you awake when Angel enters the room, “Everyone this little sugarcube here is (Y/n), my best friend from when I was alive. (Y/n) meet the gang.”, Angel introduces everyone one by one and they welcome you wholeheartedly. Charlie is so excited to have you and practically lunges at you for a hug until she notices the way you tense up and flinch.
-Angel steps between you two and just offers Charlie a sad smile which she seems to understand. She steps back and lets Angel calm you down, “It’s okay (Y/n). Here you’re safe, none of us will ever let anything bad happen to you.”, Angel promises, cupping your ears out of habit just like he did when you were both alive.
-It was something you did when you were overstimulated, he remembers how much comfort it would bring you so he does it for you now. Helping you calm down before slowly and calmly continuing introduction.
-This is how you became the Hazbin Hotel’s third guest, with Angel Dust supporting you the whole way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charlie and Vaggie
-Charlie can be very overwhelming, her happiness is contagious but to someone as traumatized as you it’s a bit much.
-She wants to help you heal, like everyone else she believes you deserve to be redeemed and join the angels in heaven. Charlie is always looking for you to spend time with you and help with your self confidence.
-Vaggie does her best to act as a mediator between you two, she’ll remind Charlie to be calm and considerate of your triggers.
-Vaggie is usually very cold to new people but she senses something in you that she can only describe as “innocence” that lets her trust you. She takes it upon herself to train you in self defense, that way you’re safe no matter where you are.
-Charlie does her best to include you in every activity or conversation going on, she doesn’t ever want you to feel left out or unloved.
-After your arrival Angel told her everything about you, how you were neglected by your parents, the abuse you suffered by your ex partner, and ultimately how you died. The way you were found dead and alone in some forgotten alleyway of your home city after overdosing left a pit in her stomach and heart.
-Charlie vowed to herself that she’d make you feel at home, and that you’d never feel loneliness again.
-Vaggie does her best to help Charlie through her mission to befriend you, you’re so quiet around the hotel that almost nobody can find you except for Vaggie.
-Often times Vaggie will find you on the roof of the Hotel building just staring up at the red starred sky of hell, she’ll join you, sit with you in silence just so that you’re not alone.
-Eventually you find yourself lost one night in the Hotel, you begin to panic unsure of where you’d taken a wrong turn. Your mind races and the corridors begin to spin and you get dizzy, your legs give out and you feel weak until the distant call of your name pulls you back to reality.
-“(Y/n)? (Y/n) are you okay?”, the voice asks and you’re greeted by the fuzzy image of Charlie and Vaggie in their pajamas.
-You flinch back from their proximity and Charlie realizes that she’s triggered you again, she shuffles a few feet back and sits on her knees, extending her opened palms out to you.
-You struggle to catch your ragged breathing but notice Charlie taking slow exaggerated breaths, this is part of her exercises for when you’re overwhelmed.
-You mimic her, taking deep breaths to steady your nerves. Vaggie smiles seeing you use the lessons they’d taught you, once you feel a bit more relaxed you place your hands in Charlie’s and she gently holds them.
-“You’re doing great.”, Charlie speaks softly, gently rubbing her thumbs over your knuckles.
-“Good job, slow deep breaths.”, Vaggie adds on.
-Eventually your panic has stopped, you feel better now that you’ve been found. When you’re ready you stand up and blush with embarrassment, “I-I umm…I got lost. I forgot where my room was.”, you explain.
-Charlie and Vaggie both smile at you, they stand up and help you back to your room. They don’t judge you, they don’t make fun of you, they’re just happy to be there for you.
-You slowly open up to them and Charlie is ecstatic when you do, just like that you’ve grown to trust again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Husk
-Wise old Husk, the only person with good advice out of the whole Hotel.
-Husk is good at listening, always had been always would be. He was a demon that certainly intimated you at the beginning but now you two were almost inseparable.
-Husk had a hard time bonding with you, you were too shy to talk to him at first and you didn’t drink alcohol which was basically his job and the way he bonded with people.
-Angel is the one to break the walls down between you two, the amount of faith and trust Angel had in Husk was what lead you to reach out.
-The first night you sat at the bar you just asked for a cup of water and some advice on how to be a better you. Husk was shocked to even hear your voice but a soft smile pulled at his lips, it was finally his turn to offer you some help.
-You spilled your heart out to him, about your past, your fears, your deepest insecurities, and he listened. He listened intently, eyes focused on you with a soft concerned gaze, and a tired smile.
-“All my life I’ve felt like a burden, unwanted, unloved, abused in every way. I want to change but just when I think I’m over one issue another comes up.”, you groaned slamming your forehead on the counter.
-Husk could only laugh in amusement, the more you spoke to him the more he was able to figure out your problem. Husk had a gift, one that helped him at his job, he could almost read anyone like a book and at moments like this it helped.
-He gave you good advice, great advice honestly. Husk said, “Everyone has trauma, whether you choose to let it define you or not is all up to you. You ain’t a kid who comes off to me as someone seeking pity. You’ve got what it takes to be great, you just gotta let the shackles of doubt and insecurity fall off and quit letting them hold you down.”
-After that talk Husk sees a change in you, you’re a bit more confident with each chat you have with him and it makes his heart swell with a sense of purpose. You talk to him more and he’ll never admit it but he really enjoys your talks.
-Now Husk keeps an aray of sodas in the bar fridge for whenever you come to share a drink or talk to him.
-“Just gotta be prepared for my favorite guest.”, he’ll always say, Angel takes great offense to that since Husk never says anything so kind to him.
-Now whenever Husk isn’t behind the bar he’ll be close by you, offering you his tail to play with when you’re stimming and scratching at your hands or biting your nails.
-Will often share long talks with you where you listen to him, you stare at him with wonder and awe when he talks about his past. Sure he’s not the proudest of it but at least he learned from his mistakes and if he could keep you from repeating his biggest sins he was more than happy to talk with you.
-You once called him gramps without realizing it and it made him so happy that he purred, he didn’t correct you or bring it up he was just happy to know you were comfortable around him now.
-When it comes to preening his wings you’re the only person he goes to for help. You’re always excited to help him and play with his wings, just another opportunity for you two to talk.
-His cat like tendencies come out more around you and everyone notices, he’ll splay himself over your lap for wing preening, knock over stuff for you to catch or just yell at him about, and only seeks your attention when he wants it.
-You’re fun to have around and a great listener, he can’t help but gently squeeze your shoulder and hum, “You’re a good egg kid.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Nifty
-Nobody will ever comprehend how you managed to actually befriend the insane housekeeper! The sight of you two together is so strange that people have to take a second glance to see if you’re insane.
-Nifty learned that you had a special gift for cooking, she discovered you baking one day when everyone was gone and was practically drooling with excitement.
-She loved to bake and cook and now she had someone to do it with, just like that you’ve become one of her favorite people.
-Nifty looks for you to help her clean out of reach places for you, she’ll usually be standing on your shoulders dusting and cleaning away at the ceiling tiles and tall windows.
-Somehow you learned the ques for Nifty’s masochistic outbursts and would warn people before it happened. This was a great help since she was so unpredictable.
-Nifty will always spend time with you because she likes you that much, she’ll ask you to help her in the kitchen or ask to dance with you all the time just so that you never feel lonely.
-In your eyes she’s like a little sister even though you swear she’s older than you, you’ve accidentally called her Sis several times and now you can’t call her anything else.
-Sadly Nifty is a bad influence on you, now you both find yourselves chatting away about “Bad Boys” that you see in public and open discuss what you’d do to them if you ever got your hands on them.
-Your imagination is tame compared to the wild thoughts that spill from Nifty’s lips but you’re well aware that she’s mentally insane.
-If someone ever gives you trouble you don’t hesitate to fight them anymore but you do tend to take a piece of them back with you for Nifty to add to her collection.
-Angel witnesses this one time and when he questions you for it you give him the same insane look that Nifty does and giggle, “For the collection.”, leaving him trembling with fear.
-Whenever there is any downtime Nifty will often sit on your shoulders and just let you cardy her around, she’s so light that it doesn’t bother you at all.
-She even knits you a blanket that you often sleep with at night, she’s a weirdo but at least she has a good heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sir Pentious
-The absolute oddball of the group! You aren’t sure how or when this delusion little snake man appointed you an honorary eggy boi, no matter the situation he is by your side.
-He has a difficult time expressing himself but makes up for it with grand gestures that always seem to make you smile.
-“(Y/n) dear, would you perhaps wish to partake in a movie night with the egg bois and I? We can build…what are they called again…Ah yes blanket forts for your security. I will protect your fort from any invaders during the duration of the film.”, he promises, flashing those big ol sweet red puppy dog eyes at you.
-You still can’t understand his speech sometimes but you get the gist of it and that’s all that matters.
-He likes to ask you to teach him modern slang, it’s so funny to hear him try to use the terms correctly but he usually messes up.
-Once asked Cherri to let him ‘rizz’ her up and came back with a black eye, you couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard.
-In his own unique way Pentious is helping you feel at home, he gets being the oddball and doesn’t want you to feel like that.
-The best at making you smile and laugh, always willing to do anything with you and the gang.
-Asks the Egg Boiz to follow you around the Hotel if he ever thinks you’re mad at him, will cry fountains if you are mad at him.
-Eventually you cave and both apologize to each other before heading off to make poor decisions together.
-Your body runs hot because of your Demon form and being cold blooded Sir Pentious coils his body around you to soak up your excess warmth. (HE’S HEAVY BUT HE SWEARS HE ISN’T)
-Once had you cackling on the ground when he asked you to explain what a twink was to him since Cherri Bomb had called him that during a fight.
-He’s so out of pocket but he brings you so much joy so everyone just lets it be.
-“Yo Pen I’m taking the kids out!”, You’ll shout before stealing the eggs away to do things with you.
-You two often fight like divorced parents during these times since you both swear you need the eggs more then the other.
-“Absolutely not. My minions must join me in my evil deeds today!”, Pentious yells from the top of the staircase.
-You flash him the middle finger and yell back, “It’s my day with them today so shut up and goodbye!”
-He cries dramatically and acts all depressed until you’ve all returned, always wants hugs but asks before hugging you because of your trauma.
- Overall the awkward uncle/brother of the group for you, but always loyal and ready to kill someone for you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alastor
-Since the beginning of your stay you felt intimidated by Alastor, you knew exactly who he was and his reputation proceeded him.
-For the longest time you thought he hated you, you were the only person he wouldn’t smile to and it left you uneasy. He doesn’t mean to be rude he’s just not sure of what to make of you.
-He has pity for you but he chooses not to voice it and ruin all the hard work you’ve been doing towards your self improvement.
-He acts cold and pretends not to care for you, and in turn you try your best to avoid him or act civil. He doesn’t mind since he always has eyes on you, the more he watches over you the more he begins to grow a fondness for you.
-He’s just another shadow hovering over you, keeping you safe as Charlie had instructed him until one day he snaps. The whole time you thought he didn’t care about you but oh if only you knew what he’d do for you and the others.
-You suddenly disappear one day, at first nobody worried but then a second day passed without a word from you. Angel was the one to sense something was off and went out looking for you with Husk, a few hours later they returned with your bloodied unconscious body in their arms.
-Everyone is in a frantic buzz trying to help in any way they can. Alastor, smiling like always, comes down from his room to see your beaten body barely breathing on the sofa.
-As if time had stopped for him, he watches as something falls from your hand and onto the floor. It’s a red monocle, to replace the one he’d broken a few days ago. You selflessly choose to get him a considerate gift only to be beaten an inch from second death.
-Before he knows it he feels his face contort into his full demon form as the lights begin to flicker from his rampant powers.
-Angel steps in front of your body just as Alastor’s tentacles begin to reach for you, Angel glares at the demonic creature in front of him and explains who did this to you. “It was (y/n)’s ex. Him and his gang in the drug district hunted (y/n) down and attacked them.”, Angel growled, not once wavering to the hideous antlered creature before him.
-Alastor said nothing, vanishing into the shadows to find those who did this to you, he’s not seen again for the rest of the night. His radio show comes on in the middle of the night with a new batch of anguished screams and cries echoing throught any radio in hell. A cruel reminder to never mess with the Radio Demon or those he protects.
-Alastor returns late one night, taking time to cool his head before returning to the hotel, he’s surprised by a certain smell coming from the kitchen.
-It’s a smell so reminiscent that he finds himself salivating, he’s quick to wipe away his drools and scurries off to the kitchen to see who it is.
-“Nifty dear it’s late shou-oh…it’s you.”, Alastor’s stunned to see (Y/n) awake cooking. The kitchen’s a mess, pots and pans and knives everywhere all while you’re slowly stirring away at the pot.
-You turn to Alastor with the coldest look in your eyes and the deepest frown he’s ever seen, he wants to say something but he’s interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach.
-He laughs it off still flashing you that signature smile of his, before he can say anything you serve him a plate of jambalaya and take a seat on the floor.
-“Hope you like it.”, you whisper, gently rubbing at your bandaged neck that was bruised from being choked half to death.
-Alastor desperately wants to say something to you but for once he’s stumped, he hates your frowning, hates the way you’re reverting to your old self, but he’s also insanely hungry. He takes a huge spoonful of jambalaya into his mouth and if you’d been watching you would’ve noticed the little dance he’d done upon the first bite.
-Before he knows it he’s so engrossed in eating that he doesn’t notice you’ve slipped away until he’s finished his plate, “(Y/n) my dear, you have a gif-“
-Only the red monocle remains in the spot you once sat, Alastor sits alone now in silence and for the first time in a while he feels his smile drop, he’s unsure what to do or how to help you. How can someone so powerful help someone so weak and broken?
Send in as much requests for the random aesthetic challenge as you can lovelies! Remember! They end as soon as March begins! See my pinned post about it! Gn my lovelies! MUAH! 🖤✨
— Summary: The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man’s after battle consequences.
The only thing it doesn’t explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is.
The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.
— Word count: 3.3k
— Warning(s): This work is for 18+ audiences. Minors DNI. Explicit descriptions of sex (f/m). I do not give permission for my work to be used or distributed in other sites.
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< PART ONE
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“I really want you,” you confess.
Spider lets out a shaky breath. “Good.” He nods. The hand on your waist holds on tighter, and he pulls you closer. “I haven’t wanted anything this bad in a long, long time.”
When he kisses you again, you can feel that.
The words, the feelings behind them, the truth in it.
His lips start softly pressing against yours, and you're thankful for the late-night hour, the blanket of darkness washing over your room. Spidey kisses you like he wants you back just as much as you want him.
It's been so long since you've just kissed someone for the sake of kissing, and the realization dawns on you as his tongue meets yours in a delicious, filthy drag.
Spidey pulls your waist to him and slides both your bodies down so you're lying flat against the bed; through the fog that his kisses create on your mind, you realize how easily he moves you.
As if you weigh nothing. Then, it dawns on you—to him, you don't.
That pulls a groan from the pits of your gut.
Spidey's mouth on your swallows it down, and your fingers start grasping and holding on to whatever bits of hair it can reach underneath his mask.
Slowly, his body descents on yours and he lets you feel some of his on weight too. His tall, slender figure covers yours in the best way possible, and you lose yourself to the feeling of kissing him.
How long had it been since you wanted someone so bad to the point of just kissing, and feeling?
He seems to be in the same predicament if your judgment is not too cloudy. Spidey pulls back for air eventually and you whine, chasing the feeling of his lips.
His smile makes your heart do stupid, crazy things inside your chest.
"I've wanted to do this for a while," he breathes close to your mouth. Then, he kisses your jaw. "Didn't know if I could—if I deserved it," he mutters, trailing his mouth from your jawline to your neck. "You always smell so fucking good—why the hell d'you have to smell good?"
That makes you giggle. When pull back to answer him, though, the wide, white bug eyes make your words falter for a moment.
He senses it—Spidey's sense is something out of this world, and with you this close to him, you're sure there's nothing he would miss. "It's weird, right? Is it weird? We can stop—I don't want to, kissing you is the best thing that's happened to me in a while, but we—"
"Spidey," you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and adjusts himself on top of you with either one of his elbows resting on each side of your face. "Do you trust me?"
Without hesitation, he nods. "Yeah."
"Okay," you nod. With determination, you push his body away and he gets the hint, getting off from you. You crawl across the bed towards your double windows and thank the skies that you're the kind of person who's a night owl.
The black-out curtains were one of the first purchases you made when renting this loft and now, you feel blessed by them for more reasons than allowing you to sleep after long shifts and studying all night long.
When the two of them are closed, your room is blanketed with the darkness of the night-sky, and your vision goes blind.
It's crazy how much your other senses come forward when one of them is deprived.
You can hear perfectly your own breathing and the soft ruffling of your sheets. "Spidey?" You whisper.
"I'm here," he says on the opposite end of your bed.
"Can you see anything?" you ask, crawling back towards the direction of his voice, slowly.
"A little more than you, probably," there's soft laughter very close to you, then you feel a hand wrapping around your wrist. He pulls you to him and now Spidey's sitting with his back to the headboard of your bed, fitted between your pillows.
You crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, feeling your heart beating on your throat.
Your hands feel all the way up to his neck.
When they're there, you cup his neck in your hands and caress the soft skin it finds there. "Hi," you mutter.
All you can feel is the heat of his body underneath you. "Hi," he whispers back. His head leans forward and your foreheads touch. "How the hell did I fall on your hands of all the hands in this hell-hole of a city?"
It comes out as a breathless whisper, but it makes your insides curl.
He speaks it in such a reverent way that it's impossible for you to not feel it. "I'm glad you did." You lean forward, giving him enough time to back away and when he doesn't, you press a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. "Can we—can we kiss more? The curtains—I just closed so you'd feel more comfortable," you confess. "You don't have to take the mask off, but I can't see you now."
"I know. I know," Spidey nods, and you feel another kiss pressed on your lips. "It's just—," he swallows thickly, and his hands on your waist pull you flushed against his chest. "Gimme a second."
You sit there, waiting.
Every movement of his body is now felt by you—every inch of his body is pressed against yours, and because you can, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your heels together.
That's when you feel it—you're adjusting yourself on his lap when Spidey's left arm comes up to the back of his neck, and he grips the back of his mask.
The sound of the material being pulled off makes your heart beat faster.
He trusts me. Oh, god, he really, actually trusts me.
"This is better, right?" His voice sounds lower.
Raspier—more serious. His arm around your waist and underneath your ass secures its grip, and you nod. "I... thank you. For trusting me, Spidey-boy," you chuckle, feigning nonchalance to try and mask how much your heart is trying to beat out of your chest.
He laughs too, the same nervous undertone as yours in his mirth, and then kisses you. "I wish I could do this in the light of the day," his voice carries so much that you wonder if this is what you were both chasing when the hug turned into a kiss. Spidey almost sounds on the verge of tears underneath you, and you can tell these are words he's been holding back for a while now. "I wish—D'you get why I don't? I'm—It terrifies me. If I'm me and I meet you, and then someone who's Spider's enemy discovers my identity—it's you they'll go after, Y/n. I've been there before. They can't go after you. D'you get that?"
"I do," you kiss him quiet, and you both lose yourselves in it.
He worries. All those times thinking he didn't want to spend time with me—he just worries.
The thought multiples, and grows like a tree in your mind. It spills over in the kiss.
He wants you, and thought about it, too. He's been protecting you, guarding you against the fact that his double life comes with consequences.
When he pulls back again, you whine in protest. "No—get back here," now that you can, you grab a fistful of his hair.
Spidey groans against your lips, laughing. "Hold on."
"No," you protest, and smash your smiling lips on his again.
Spidey lets you, and the kiss is nothing but two smiles pressed together for the first moment. It takes a couple of pecks and the sweet drag of his bottom lip over your mouth to open you up.
The way he kisses is intoxicating.
It makes you feel like someone new—it sparks something inside of you. It takes so much to make you comfortable and willing, needy and receptive, but his touches all land in the right places.
The kiss builds up. More than touching, it senses like a delivery. All of his wounds are forgotten, and all of your worries dissipate. Nothing but the drag of his tongue against yours and his hands gripping your body tight resonate on your mind, and Spidey uses his hands to guide your arms up—he holds you by the elbow and guides your hands until they reach up, touching his face.
You gasp in his mouth.
"It's ok," he whispers. You feel his smile, and swallow the knot on your throat.
"You sure?"
"Uhum."
Tentatively, you let your hands explore over his face.
It's so real and terrifying to trace the outline of his jawline, the shape of his lips, and his full eyebrows that everything else becomes silent. Spidey lets you do it, allows your hands to draw his features in your mind, caresses over his closed eyelids.
The thought slips out of you in a breathless whisper,
"You're so pretty."
He chuckles, and his legs slide up higher, trapping you inside his hold. "Ah—thanks."
You bite your lip, feeling your mind go hazy.
Underneath you, he's not exactly soft anymore. Both of you must be highly aware of that fact, or at least, you are. It makes you burn, and the core between your legs feels twice hotter since the moment you sat down.
You don't know how far he wants to take this, but stopping kissing him is out of the question. "Hey, Spidey—"
"Peter."
It's a whisper.
It catches you, like a trap in the woods.
Peter.
"I imagine there are enough around there for me to let you have at least this," he whispers, and when his lips are on yours again, they tremble.
Peter.
You kiss him, and melt in his arms in the process. When he pulls apart for air again, you whisper. "Hey, Peter."
"Yeah?"
"Please, don't stop."
Peter takes a deep breath underneath you.
"You don't want me to stop?" He asks, his arms squeezing around you.
Not to stop what, you're unsure. Whatever it is, you're sure of the answer. Shaking your head, you whisper. "No."
Don't stop kissing me.
Don't stop touching me.
Don't leave. Don't go anywhere. Don't leave. Please, don't leave.
Whatever part of your thoughts he hears, he takes it to heart, and pushes all the answers from his lips to yours.
His name is Peter.
That's the first thing you catalog now, and they start webbing one into the other.
Number one, Peter's an excellent kisser.
He knows when to grab you by the hair and guide you where he wants you to be, and knows when to let you take control. He allows you to play with his hair, to grab his face, scratch his nape—all that you have to offer, he's willing to take. Peter lets you bite and nibble on his bottom lip, and in return, he sucks your tongue inside his mouth. It's like a push and pull, a game of wits that one of you is winning, and so is the other one.
Number two, Peter's got a mouth on him.
You discover it the first time he pulls back for much needed air and takes his breaths hiding in the cusp of your neck, with his hands getting bolder and learning the outlines of other parts of your body now—like your stomach, your ribs and your breats. He holds the new parts he finds, and grips the one he likes the most. It pulls mewls and whines out of you, and that's when he first chuckles against your skin, all malice and desire.
"You're sensitive here?" He asks, grabbing your sides. "Or here?" His hands run up to your boobs, cupping them in his hands. "Fuck. D'you know how many times I had to think about the vilest things I've ever seen to distract myself from these right on my face? My line of sight? Fuck, Y/n, they're so soft."
His mouth goes from its trail on your shoulders to your collarbones, pulling on your sleeping shirt to get more access to the space between your tits.
"Wanna kiss them so bad—can I kiss them, pretty?"
"Peter."
"God—teaching you my name's the best idea I've ever fucking had," Peter laughs, with more genuinity and happiness than you've ever heard. "Was that a yes? Can I? Say 'yeah, Peter'."
"Peter."
"Alright, I can take a hint." Peter's hands were quick.
That was Number Three: Peter was quick.
It was an easy fact to forget or overlook, but impossible to let it go once you felt it. Peter had agile fingers and a lot more dexterity in his pinky than most men would ever dream to accomplish with their whole bodies, their entire goddamn lives.
"Peter."
It's your winning word of the night, and the one that rings in your ears when the realization of how hard he already is underneath you hits.
Number four: Peter's not little anywhere.
It's the last fact you're able to register before your notion to count, think, or do anything other than whine and beg come to play.
"Y/n," his hands get a grip on your waist.
The waist that's grinding on him, chasing the outline of his cock and how good it feels fitted between your folds. There's only your your baby doll between you and his sweatpants, and the state his kisses left you is already leaving a spot of wetness on his clothes.
"It's too hot," you whine, and Peter nods on your neck.
"Can I take it off? Our clothes?"
"Yeah."
Your mind swims as he relocates you to his side to undress you. The darkness and Peter start to mingle as one, and this all might as well be a dream.
It feels like one, and tastes like one, too.
He takes off your clothes slowly, and you lay with your back on the bed as your ears pick up him removing his own clothes. Yours, technically, but with his smell. Images of you with the sweater he's wearing tonight over the course of the week flash on your mind—sniffing the material to get a sense of him when he's away. Pathetic, and yet true.
When he lays his body over yours this time, it's only your skin against his.
You swallow thickly, embracing the heat. Your lower back's starting to sweat, as is your temple, but you gladly take it, because the heat Peter brings warms you from the inside out.
He kisses you again, and your legs come up to wrap around his thighs. "Peter."
"Yeah, pretty?"
"Want more."
"You want more?" His waist grinds down. Peter's tall enough to cover your body with his, and his pelvis fits right on yours. The outline of his cock brushing with your folds makes you ever wetter, even needier. "D'you have condoms? I can't carry diseases, but I think you don't want the mess."
OH, god. Your mind blanks, resets, then restarts.
"Get inside me. Right. Now."
Your assertiveness is met with laughter, but is dies on his throat when he lines himself up with you.
The thrust is mutual, and with only a few movements of his waist, there he is.
It's more than just fucking.
There's no rush. No despair.
Peter's vocal with how good you feel—so tight, so good around me, so good, pretty. He's patient, and too damn attentive to every twitch of your body on his.
Peter's strong, and the difference between any previous hook-ups to him is made obvious when he stays there, holding himself with his forearms over you, his hips thrusting inside with no struggle. He eventually moves you on top of him again to let you take control, and holds your whole weight when it gets too much.
He wants you to feel good, and wants you to know that he's feeling good, too.
It may be the continuous, rhythmic movement of your bodies together, grinding on one another and holding tight on your arms and whatever part your hands can reach, or the way he alternates between kissing you and whispering the filthiest compliments to you and how good it feels, your pussy feels so fucking good, pretty.
It may be all that or the fact that it's intimate, it's needed.
Peter builds your orgasm up from the inside—knits the whole thing with his hands and his patience, because all he wants is to feel you all around him.
When it comes, it's a tsunami.
"Peter—feels too good, too good." Reasoning and stringing sentences together was an ability lost when he sat you on his lap and bounced you up and down for the first time, hitting every single spot inside of you.
He understands you just fine. His sweaty locks between your fingers feel almost as good as his grunts and whines pressed right on the middle of your chest. "I know, baby, I know." God, his whines are fucking music. "Oh my god, you're a sap," he laughs.
And oh—, "I said it?"
"You did," he groans. "You're gonna make me cum like this, pretty." Peter grabs your nape and crashes your mouths together, changing the angle of his legs.
With his feet planted on the bed and the headboard as leverage, he can thrust upwards and hit right on your G spot. By your scream, he figures that out pretty quickly.
"Oh my god."
"Oh, you're clenching on me—you gonna cum, pretty?" Peter smacks your ass, and his hand on your nape glides down through the sweat, lower and lower. It wraps on your neck lightly, as if testing the waters, and when you bend your neck backward, Peter's thrusts become erratic.
His hand grips your neck just right.
"Do it. Lemme see, c'mon. Cum on me, baby. Can I cum in you? You want that?" Peter's words are met with incoherent babbles, and you're officially cock drunk now—the bouncing gets louder, the sounds filling up the walls of your room and the heat emanating from your bodies could power up the whole block, probably.
"Please."
"Please what?" He growls.
"Please cum in me," you cry, feeling your legs starting to weaken.
It's okay because he's got you—Peter holds your waist and pounds into you. "Who d'you want to cum in you, pretty? Say it. Say my name, please—"
"PETER, please! Please cum in me. Please, please—"
"Oh my fucking god," Peter cries, and his thumb comes up to rub on your clit at the same time as you feel the heat and the twitching inside of you.
When Peter cums, a part of you blacks out.
Your orgasm is pulled from you in a crashing wave, and he rides it with his mouth on your ear, whispering words that flow in the background.
"You did so good. ... Oh, god. So perfect—you're fucking perfect, baby."
It takes you a while to come back from it.
Everything is still, and his breathing underneath yours connects your chests.
"Peter?"
He shifts his head, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Hm? You okay?"
"... You'll stay, right?"
Peter takes one heartbeat, and then presses a kiss on the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. "'Course." He kisses your cheek. "I've got morning lectures, but—I'll stay. You want me to stay, right?"
"Yes. Please."
"Then I'll stay."
Peter keeps his promise, and you wonder how something you've dreamt of before is the reality that you fall asleep in.
You wonder which will be the reality you wake up to.
tags: tooth-rotting fluff, intimacy, no smut just vibes, boyfriend peter, depictions of violence, mentions of kidnapping, very brief angst
summary: your boyfriend peter parker has been up all week trying to fix his spider-man suit, but finds time to teach you how to use his web-shooters.
note: i am crying yes. no note. just fluff and drama.
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Peter Parker is hopelessly enamored with his girlfriend. When is he not?
He swivels around in his chair, sparing a glance at your body laying on his bed. There’s a loving crinkle at his eyes as he hears you stir with a mumble, and you sleepily roll onto your side to look at him. The hazy gaze written all over your features grows butterflies in his stomach, and the bedhead you dawn immediately makes his day brighter.
You make him happy. Just looking at you is enough to turn a sour day into a sweet one.
“Morning, lover.” You giggle at him, fingers wiggling out as you reach for the brunette. He rushes over to embrace you, pulling you into his chest. It’s familiar. It’s home. It’s Peter, and that’s really all that mattered. “You’re up early.”
“Been trying to fix my suit. Dunno what’s happening with it, maybe need some new material.” He shrugs, tenderly rubbing over your ring finger. “Haven’t been able to properly love on my girl for weeks. I gotta get this done sooner or later or I will implode into the universe.”
“Mhm, yeah. Miss loving on you, too.” You peck his cheek.
“Should I take a break and love on you… now?”
You shriek as Peter suddenly tickles you, he attacks your stomach first, and your knees come up in instinct before he’s all over you. He blows raspberries into your cheek and into your collarbone, before he settles down into the midst of your laughter to look at you. The weight of his body on yours could never compare to any weighted blanket in the world.
His brown eyes looked so gentle, so filled with love and desire to give you the best of himself. The freckles across his nose reminded you of the sea — abundant and beautiful and you felt as if the longer you fixated on them, you’d get lost or perhaps stranded.
Not that you wouldn’t mind. You could get lost in Peter Parker for days, and it would be a gift from heaven itself.
“What are you thinking?” You whisper into the comfortable silence, caressing the side of his head as you realize he’s looking at you with the same fervor.
“Just thinking about you and how much I adore you.” He says without missing a beat. Peter wonders if you know how much space you take up in his mind.
He wonders if you know that his heart belongs to you.
You shake your head at him, “You are a sap, my dear Peter Parker.”
“Yeah, I’m sure we’ve established that a million times already, Y/N.”
You get lost in his features once more. Because you loved looking at Peter — not just for the adoration on his face, but for his scars and his wounds and the bruise that hasn’t gone away in days. It was what made him, him.
“You’re so pretty.” You mutter blissfully, and reach up to kiss him.
His lips are like honey, and tasted unexplainably sweet. They were always soft, and he made an effort to take care of them with chapstick or whatever lip-scrub you’d buy at the beauty store. His hands roam underneath your sweatshirt, grasping at the supple skin beneath. Peter softly nips at your bottom lip with his teeth, only ever pulling away to look at you with such astonishment that you were his.
“I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, you know that?” He kisses into your skin, leaving a tiny hickey in his wake. “I don’t think any picture, or even my own vision can ever do you justice at all.”
You blush, and push him away playfully. “Work on your suit, Parker.” He flashes you his best attempt at puppy eyes, and you ignore him. “Would you like some help?”
“Nah, Y/N. It’s fine.” Peter sits back into the desk chair with a grunt, swiveling to face the damaged suit on the table while his back is to you. “Get some more sleep.”
You hum in reply. “I think I’ll just watch.”
“Freak.”
Seeing Peter Parker at work always made your heart melt. You had never gotten used to that big brain of his, and sometimes his smarts scared you. Peter was never cocky about it though, because intelligence could only get you so far.
Peter was a lover.
He prided himself in his ability to love, and to love harder than anyone else.
His hands move skillfully across the desk, and you struggle to understand what he’s doing from behind the expanse of his shoulders. Getting up from the bed, you move to sit on the edge of his workspace, careful not to bump into anything.
“New web-shooters?” You gesture at the bracelets with cartridges around them. Peter nods silently to acknowledge your question, too focused on sewing a part of his suit together. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “Can I?” You reach for them as Peter nods once more.
You carefully examine the device. Having once worked an internship with Oscorp, you were accustomed to the kind of tech that Peter dealt with — heck, you even helped him build some of it. Yet, somehow, part of you wished that you could try the Spider-Man stuff out. You wanted to know just how bad putting the suit on was, because according to Peter, it was the absolute worst. You wanted to swing across the city with him, you wanted to perch atop of the Empire State Building, or crawl across buildings without the fear of falling.
You wished that you could see the world like Peter did.
Peter notices that you’ve been staring at the web-shooters, not saying a word either. He raises his brows in concern, gently tapping your leg. “Everything okay? Is it broken too?”
His voice draws you back into reality, and you gaze at him with wide eyes. “Huh?”
He chuckles at you. There’s a curious smile that tugs on his lips as he cutely rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “You’re doing that thing again.” You tilt your head in question. “That — uh, like… daydreaming thing. Like you’re here but you’re not.” You nod in agreement. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” You brush it off, moving to place the web-shooters back. Peter grasps your wrist gently.
“I understand if it’s something you don’t feel comfortable saying aloud. But, I hope you know that I enjoy listening to you.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, looking at you intently. “It’s never not nothing. At least for me. I like making sure you’re okay.”
You sigh, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes — God. This is so stupid.” You rub at your temples. Peter doesn’t interrupt, letting you continue on your own account. “I feel — I wish I could be with you when you’re Spider-Man.”
“You’re always with me, though. In my mind.” He points at his head. “In my heart.” He pokes at his chest.
“No, you cheeseball.” You laugh, blushing under his lovestruck gaze. “Like — like I wanna help you. I wanna be there when you’re fighting bad guys, and I wanna swing across buildings. I wanna be useful. Like a sidekick or something.”
Peter’s quiet for a moment. You hear the gulp in his throat. “You know I don’t like putting you in danger like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was just a thought.” You suddenly feel shy. “Didn’t think you’d need a sidekick anyways when you’re already such a badass.”
Your boyfriend grins. “If anything, I’m the sidekick.” Peter touches your thigh when he notices your face fall for a second. “But, hey… I’m not opposed to the swinging thing.” His eyes study the way you sit up straighter, hands no longer stringing together in your lap.
“Really?”
He nods at you with the same excitement. “I mean, given that I’m there.” You roll your eyes at him, making a ‘duh’ face before he goes on. He’s hesitant for a second, before he lets out a grumble and curses under a breath. “How about you come with me on patrol tonight?”
“Are you being serious?” You gasp, hands fumbling with Peter. “Like patrol patrol? Like you fight bad guys and I watch from a distance?”
“More like you watch from the other side of the country, but sure.” There’s a bit of pain in his smile. “Why not? But there’s gonna be rules.”
Peter lists out three things:
One. Never ever interfere when he’s fighting. Even if it looks like he’s getting his ass beaten to Brooklyn and back, don’t step in. No matter what.
Two. Don’t draw attention to yourself. The whole purpose of web-shooters and swinging is to be invisible to the human peripherals, he says.
Three. If anything goes wrong, run. Go home.
“Okay, that’s fair.” You repeat the rules in your head, saying them over and over like a mantra.
“I hate that you’re convincing me.” He slumps over, staring at his lap. “I really do, Y/N. It’s making me nervous.”
“Hey, I can take care of myself.”
“I know. I know. It’s just… I hold myself to a high standard when it comes to protecting you and if anything happens on my watch—“ You kiss him mid-sentence, cupping both his cheeks. You feel the worry through the cracks of his lips and the heaving of his chest.
“Nothing will happen, baby. Nothing.”
You’re wearing workout leggings and a thermal when Peter emerges from the bathroom in his suit. Anxiety is written all over him, but you don’t bring it up, afraid that you’d miss your one chance at this. He eyes you up and down, even though he’s worried sick, you still see the glimmer of adoration in his gaze.
“Not as cool as your suit but it’s iconic, right?” You do a twirl for him, and Peter is already dreading letting you outside. It had been hours since your conversation in the morning, and Peter for once, fears the darkness of midnight.
“Anything you wear is cooler than the suit.” His arms encircle around your waist. He props his chin onto your shoulder, whispering into your ear. “Especially when you have nothing on.”
“Is this routine, Parker?” You spin on your heels to face him, letting your hands roam over his clothed chest. “Get all horny then do your friendly-neighborhood Spider-Man duties? Not very PG of you. So scandalous.”
He softly nudges you away at the joke, and his heart somersaults at your sweet bubble of a giggle. Peter moves to fish out something from his backpack — an extra set of web-shooters.
“Yours, but only for tonight.” Peter emphasizes. You take them hurriedly, clasping them around your wrists tightly. The hero double-checks, and you feel a tingling in your skin as his gloved hands touch you. The Spider-Man mask is sitting at the top of his head. He reaches to pull it down, but you stop him.
“I love you.” You whisper at him, kissing him longingly on the lips. “Let me.” Your fingers slowly pull the material down, careful not to hurt him. With a soft sigh, Peter’s face disappears beneath it.
Leaning back by the wall, you watch Peter push the window up, where he makes his way out first and sticks to the wall. He chivalrously extends his hand to you, and you don’t hesitate to follow in his steps. You sit on the ledge of the window while the chilly air bites at your skin, and you wince as the breeze begins to pick up.
“You know how to use those, yeah?” Peter says.
You check the cartridges, making sure there’s enough web inside. “Yeah, think so.”
“Okay, so - uh, don’t press anything yet! Just aim, and then—“
You shrill loudly as a stringy web connects to the building across the street, taking you with it. The fall is horrifying, and you hear Peter in the distance coming after you. But then, you’re picking up speed, and you find yourself in the air as you swing to a high roof. Your landing is anything but graceful, so you tumble onto the harsh gravel with a groan.
“Oh, my god. Are you okay?! Y/N?” Peter is at your side instantly, and he turns you onto your back. There’s pebbles in your hair, and he picks at them one-by-one.
“Peter.” His eyes search yours. “That was so sick.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m…” You laugh till your stomach hurts, and Peter pulls you onto your feet. “I’m great! This is crazy!”
There are a couple of sirens in the distance, breaking your brief moment of excitement. Peter checks his phone immediately to listen to the police radio, and you could almost see the furrow of his brows through the mask.
“Come on. Stay close.”
After a couple of swings and a bit of falling onto rooftops, you were able to get the hang of things. Being able to crash into buildings seemed like the bigger imminent threat than anything, but by watching Peter, you were able to learn from his movements. He didn’t leave you behind once, even though he was supernaturally fast and experienced.
Peter made sure you were still with him at every given chance.
You drop down onto a top of a brick building, breathing heavily with adrenaline.
“Alright, stay up here.” Peter glances over the edge and in the darkness of the alleyway below, he sees the glint of a knife in the hands of a middle-aged kidnapper. There’s a small helpless whimper that echoes beneath, and Peter shudders. He turns to you with skittish feet, hands in front of him. “Whatever happens, please remember the rules.”
“Hey!” You call out to him in a hushed whisper before he can leave. “Kick some ass, honey.”
He blushes, and you notice his muscles relax at the nickname. Then, he’s off and swings into the shadows of the alleyway. You peer off the side, unable to make anything out in the dark.
There’s a clatter. You hear voices, none of them belong to Peter yet. Something crashes against the dumpster loudly, and you flinch with surprise.
You want to jump off so badly, but you control yourself.
Peter could handle it.
Then, there’s a hurricane of shouting and you hear footsteps rushing about. The sound of fists meeting skin sends a shiver down your spine, and you freeze as a scream emerges from a group of laughter.
The scream sounds too much like him.
“Fuck the rules.”
You hop into the alleyway and land atop of the dumpster, almost breaking your ankles at the fall. You’re able to see clearer now, and your shoes meet the ground with a scrape.
A group of big, burly men stand in a circle around Peter. They’re almost three times his size, and they don’t react as you try to stand boldly in front of them.
You count. There’s about four of them, but one is too focused on your boyfriend. His hand is around his neck as Peter tries to wriggle out of his grip. And you realize that with the wrong move, he’d snap it without hesitation.
Your heart races with horror.
“Y/N - Y/N, no. No, please.” Peter’s voice is hoarse, straining his vocal cords as he tries to break free.
For once, you visibly see the fear radiating off of him.
“Hi, boys. How about we let the insect go and maybe just get on with our lives?” You laugh nervously. You’re scared shitless, but they didn’t need to know that.
The men turn to you, realizing that maybe you are a threat.
“You know her, Spider-Man?” One pipes up, gesturing at you with a crowbar.
Oh, lord.
“I don’t have any idea who she is. Leave her alone.”
“What was your name? Y/N, right?” The guy — who appears to be the leader — makes slow strides toward you.
Oh, fucking hell.
“Yeah, you can call me that.” You quickly raise your arm, pointing your wrist at him as a web shoots out. “Or you can shut the fuck up.”
He lurches forward as you pull him towards you. His mouth is webbed shut, and you take advantage of his surprise to web his wrists and ankles. He drops the crowbar, and you take it with sweaty hands to knock him out. He’s unconscious from the impact to his head, and you nearly rejoice before you’re tackled to the ground. The painful groan that leaves you makes Peter scream; the fear that rushes through his veins transforms itself to strength, and he’s wriggled out of his captor’s grasp.
Peter webs him to the wall, pushing the dumpster against him to trap his legs against it.
He swings over to you, where you find yourself wrestling with one of the goons for the crowbar. Peter doesn’t waste any time, prying the guy off of you harshly and throwing him to the side.
Peter’s eyes meet yours in the chaos. You can tell he’s angry. He snatches the crowbar off the ground, and you look away as he swings it repeatedly against the guy’s stomach till he’s out cold.
You stand as Peter flings the weapon into the darkness, sweat beading off his forehead. It’s quiet till Peter shortly gestures for you to swing to the roof before the police arrive.
His back is to you, and you can almost see the steam blowing out his ears. “What was that?” He asks bluntly.
“I… I-I don’t know, but all that matters is you’re safe.” You try to grab his hand, but he tears his away from you.
He’s never done that.
“Safe? No, what mattered was you staying up here and staying out of danger, Y/N!” He blows up and pulls his mask off, and you curl into yourself as tears form at his eyes.
“I handled it.”
“Yeah, fucking barely.” He spits out.
You don’t fight him on it. He’s right.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were hurt, and — and I really panicked here.” Your words mesh together as you explain yourself. “I know I broke the rules! I apologize. I’m so sorry, Peter. I can’t — I was scared something happened and that I… that if I hadn’t got there in time, you’d be gone.”
“If it was you getting hurt instead of me, I would never forgive myself. You of all people should understand that.” He waves his Spider-Man mask at you. His voice is softer, like a plea. “At the end of the day, I will always be able to protect myself. You don’t have super strength. You can’t sense danger before it comes. Y/N, I know you’re capable. I saw it. But, my god, that guy could’ve killed you.”
“I understand.” You nod, attentive. He’s standing closer to you, and this time, he reaches for your hand. “I’m sorry. You can take me home now. I had fun, but I don’t wanna put you through that again.”
He pulls you close to him, and he can smell your scented shampoo through your hair. He shuts his eyes, and he whispers a ‘Thank God’ into your skin.
“I’m sorry I shouted.” His stubble rubs against your face. “I was angry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
“It’s okay. You had every right.”
He disagrees. “Doesn’t mean I should yell at you.” You kiss his cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Can’t believe you called me an insect, though.”
Peter doesn’t let you swing home the rest of the way. He likes it better like this — you in his arms, as the wind blows through your hair. Safe. It was familiar to him, it wasn’t jarring. He hadn’t a reason to be scared or nervous, because he trusted himself the most when it came to protecting you.
He ushers you through the window of your shared bedroom, and you roll onto the floorboards with the same clumsiness from the rooftop.
Peter laughs, and he tries to forget about the events from earlier.
“God, I’m sore. And I did absolutely nothing.” You wince, pawing the scratches on your face with the tips of your fingers. Peter hisses at you, scolding you about touching them.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He responds with a prideful smirk. He unzips the suit, sitting on the bed as he tucks it underneath in a box. He continues as he puts on an old shirt from college. “I’m still mad at you, but you kicked their asses back there.”
“You think so?” You move to sit next to him on the bed.
“Oh, trust me. I saw it with my own four eyes.” Peter swoons, putting his glasses on.
You snuggle next to him, knees touching as he throws an arm around you. “Thank you for letting me be you for the day.”
“Did you like being me?” He rests his head against yours.
You snicker with a pretend frown, “Yeah, until I got yelled at.”
Peter groans, rubbing his eyes with remorse. “I told you I’m sorry.”
“Mhm, I know.”
There’s a silence that washes over you both. The room is warm, and you feel Peter’s arm flex under your touch. Your eyes can’t help but wander over the bedroom walls, and your heart grows fonder at the sight of you and your boyfriend in the mirror. You feel your lids start to weigh heavy and Peter lightly shakes you awake.
“I think I have something for you.”
The beautiful boy gets up from the bed, and you struggle to sit up as he pads over to his desk. He reaches into the bottom drawer with shaky hands.
When Peter makes his way back to you, there is a unexplainable nervousness in his stance. He’s holding a different kind of web-shooter. Or well, at least the design was new. You hadn’t see it before, and you’re sure it wasn’t on display when Peter was fixing his suit. It was just the left one — black, with chrome red details. It appeared to be a little more feminine, but it was nearly identical to Peter’s original ones. It was obviously well-made and intricately designed. But as you curiously turned it over, onto the side of the cartridge, you noticed the tiniest yet messiest engraving that was a contrast from the sleek aesthetic of the web-shooter.
The handwriting was familiar.
‘Made with love, for Y/N. Yours, Spidey.’
You tear your disbelief away from the device, looking at your boyfriend expectantly. His arms are crossed over his chest, and you don’t miss the tinge of pink in his cheeks.
“What is this?” You laugh nervously.
“I made these a few years ago. On our fourth anniversary.” He pinches at the button of his nose. “I wanted you to have your own for when…”
You wait. “For when?”
“For when I was sure that you’d be in my life forever.”
Peter takes a couple steps toward you. Tenderly, he takes the single web-shooter from you.
His hand envelops yours, and he kisses your forehead before slipping the device onto your wrist.
“What are you up to?”
“You know, people like to say all is fair in love and web-shooters, Y/N.”
You chuckle heartily, feeling a tremble in your free hand. “Absolutely no one says that, Peter.”
“What I’m trying to say is,” He pauses to take in a deep breath. His eyes flicker up to the ceiling, before he makes sure to look directly at you. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll allow me.”
It was the biggest cliché, but it felt as if time was at a standstill. It felt like the whole world vanished, except for you and your lover.
Peter Parker cries quietly as he studies your features, his hand never leaving yours as his thumb draws circles over your knuckles.
“Yes, Peter. Always.” You nod at him, and you start to cry as well when he pulls you into a deep kiss. “I’ll never leave your side.”
He sniffles. “Unless I’m fighting bad guys, then, well… maybe you’ll have to leave then.”
tags: graphic smut overload, fluff and angst, fwb trope, jealous!peter, college!peter, public sex, rough sex but its also funny, spit kink? edging, romance and pining, mentions of insomnia
summary: the idea of friends with benefits meant nothing to peter parker. but for someone who loved to attest that they could “never get attached,” peter does the very thing he promised himself not to do.
note: 7.9k fic of fluff and smut and its just muwah!!! based off of the weeknd’s song “best friends” enjoy!
missing out? ➤ my masterlist
Peter Parker liked to think that he wasn’t easily attached to people. He knew his boundaries, his limits, where friendships started or relationships ended; while he had the patience of a saint, he could also indisputably burn bridges with a fire he had fanned himself as if it didn’t mean anything to him in the first place. Which is why Peter didn’t have the best luck with relationships anymore. He wasn’t an open book, but rather a book that sat collecting dust on a shelf until people would pick him up out of curiosity, to take a gander, to read paragraphs and an extensive storyline with questionable plot holes — just to put him back again like he wasn’t at all interesting to them.
Peter hasn’t realized that he had become the topic of many college girls’ conversations in his year, unaware of how the whispers and giggles they’d share in the lecture hall were about how attractive he was or their shared fantasies about him and his skateboard.
He was rather oblivious to everyone, except you.
He had seen you working at the university bookstore ever since his second semester, and he had been infatuated with how undeniably pretty the bookseller behind the counter was. You’d recognize him from time to time as he walked through the door, hands in pockets, wearing some variation of headphones or earbuds, with his hood up like an angsty teenager. He’d hesitate to make eye contact, but you’d smile welcomingly at him as he’d storm past you like he was in a rush. He’d linger in the back of the bookstore, where he had his own designated table, and would only leave whenever he had class then return later in the day. Sometimes he’d study till closing, and you’d have to politely ask him to leave so that you could put everything away. But the more you saw of him, the more you became inclined to speak to him; a blossoming friendship was quickly established between you and Peter Parker.
Friendship, if that’s what you’d even call it. Because at some point during your shifts, you had stopped asking Peter to leave whenever you’d close. He’d help you sort out literature and textbooks, and you had learned over the time spent together that Peter was anything but shy.
Leaving two lonely, tired and horny college students was the epitome of an accident just waiting to occur.
Eventually one late night, Peter couldn’t help himself. He kissed you hard on the lips, and the erection in his jeans told you everything that you needed to know.
Closing shifts turned into hooking up with him in the storage room or giving him a blowjob against the bookshelves, where objects would clatter to the floor and you’d have to clean it up again after. Sometimes you’d lock the bookstore earlier than you were supposed to just so you could have Peter fuck you on one of the study tables. And again, the both of you would have to clean everything and wipe the desks off to avoid any suspicion from the openers.
It became more than a regular thing; sometimes it would interfere with Peter’s academia, in which he’d skip class to beg you for a quickie in a closet.
You fucked like hormonal rabbits at every chance you could get, but you and Peter were simply just close friends — with benefits, obviously, because Peter does not get attached. Or at least, that’s what he convinced himself. Maybe the sex was addicting. Perhaps he was addicted to you. He didn’t fucking know anymore, and it was driving him insane because he just couldn’t stop seeing you. Sometimes he’d be confused, you were his friend yet you would kiss him like you were in love and it would install unrealistic ideas into his brain, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the night.
But sure, he doesn’t get attached.
The bookstore was silent, except for the loud breathy exchange of moaning that came from behind a shelf. Peter had you pressed up against it, arms pulling you tightly against his chest as he took you from behind with your dress bunching up around your tits.
There was a click at the doors by the entrance.
“Peter.” You swatted his hand with a worried look. He didn’t pay attention, lost in pleasure as his mouth fell ajar with sin. “Peter!”
“Are you close?” He breathed into your hair.
You rolled your eyes. “Dude, no. I think someone’s out there.” He stilled inside you, following the direction of your eyes.
“Y/N,” He nibbled at your neck, leaving hickies that would be visible for everyone to see. “No one is out there. And no one can get in.”
“How sure are you that no one is out there, Peter?” Your head lolled back onto his shoulder as he started to thrust into you again.
“I just do.”
His climax was interrupted by an abrupt noise of someone knocking on the glass, and Peter had no choice but to pull out of you with a face of irritation.
“Jesus fucking…” You cursed sharply, collecting your panties off of the step stool and fixing your dress. The knocks were persistent, and you started to grow anxious. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“Yeah, I wish.” Peter muttered to himself, pulling his shirt over his head with a defeated sigh. He stayed behind, glaring over a row of books as you walked to the front of the store with wobbly legs.
Peter didn’t get jealous. And if he did, it’s either a rare instance or over something completely stupid — like that time you went to a rock concert with a bunch of guys and he didn’t get an invite, or that time you talked to your coworker the whole time during your shift instead of him, or that time you bought coffee for your friends and forgot his as if you hadn’t offered it to begin with. But this time, he had to admit that whatever feeling that was spurring in the depths of his stomach was admittedly the closest thing to anger-inducing jealousy he’d experienced.
Flash Thompson was chatting you up outside, even going so far to prop his arm against the door of the bookstore as he sent you a smooth, easy smile. You were laughing at something he had said, and Peter suddenly wanted nothing but to go back to the dorms and play video games in the common room till he went blind. He listened in closely — a perk of enhanced hearing from the persona you were unaware of — and he regretted his decision instantaneously.
“That new place opened down the street finally. Me and some friends were thinking of heading down there tomorrow for lunch around like two.” Flash touched your shoulder. “You should join us, Y/N.”
Peter frowned deeply. “Oh, tomorrow? I don’t know about that.” He recognized a tone of disinterest in your voice, and you were obviously faking a smile with the way your face strained with discomfort. You blocked the doorway, hand splayed out on the other glass door to prevent Flash from peeking further inside. “I'll be working pretty much the whole day since I have no class, but… uh, thanks for the offer, Flash.”
“Oh, no worries. So you’ll be here?”
“Like I always am.”
“I’ll see if I can stop by. Drop off some food for you.”
Peter grimaced at that; the thought of Flash visiting you in the workplace — the place in which you had spent so much time with him, in where your shared laughter and the smell of sex lingered because you were so horribly touch-starved for one another. He laughed at the thought of Flash leaning over the cashier counter, not having a single clue that Peter had bent you over it one too many times the day before. Your whole body visibly relaxed as soon as Flash left, and you made haste movements to lock the door once again before any unwarranted visitors came knocking to interrupt your festivities with Peter.
“What does he want?” The brunette scrunched his nose, taking long strides to follow you around the bookstore while you double checked that everything was in the right place and order.
You scoffed at him over your shoulder. “Don’t act like you weren’t listening, Peter.” You fiddled with a couple books, effortlessly switching them out into their respective places. “Flash Thompson was asking me on a date, what do you think? Should I call off and join him?” You drew your words out teasingly.
You were egging him on. Peter knew it from the moment you popped such a question despite your distaste for the douchebag, and he had to confess: he let it mess with his head. You liked that he was jealous, you liked whenever you’d clash heads, and Peter figured you got off on seeing him bothered as a result of him being too prideful in admitting that he’d grown attached to whatever you had.
“I thought it was great, really. Makes me wonder what other guys you’re fucking in this store.” He spoke blatantly, slowly trapping you between the wall and a shelf of textbooks. His neck craned ever so slightly to look down at you through his eyelashes. His lips begged to be reunited with yours, and he grew hard at the idea of tasting remnants of himself off of you. “Open.” Your mouth parted; you hadn’t even flinched as Peter’s spit met your tongue. “Are you fucking other guys, Y/N?”
You let out a moan, swallowing before you blissfully grinned up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. Those eyes drove him crazy, and if you’d allow him, he would’ve been on his knees for you.
“What’s it to you?”
The quirk of your brow told him that you were testing his dominance, and he simply took it as an invitation to push you even further. Both his hands squeezed around your throat like it was second nature; his thumbs cradled your jaw as he kissed you softly like you’d shatter into pieces under his touch — as if he hadn’t been shamelessly spitting into your mouth seconds ago.
“Oh, it means nothing,” Peter’s hand trailed up the bare skin of your thigh, slipping underneath the dress you wore. “Just a friend…” He moaned into your mouth, fingers teasingly snapping against the waistband of your underwear. “… looking out for another friend.”
He wasn’t wrong. Because you were, simply put, just friends. Even when Peter’s digits nestled between your thighs, collecting the slick from your folds with a knowing smile. Even when he pushed you up against the drywall, slinging your legs over his shoulders with the devotion to make you cum on his face. Even when he’d crudely watch as his load oozed out of you, spreading you apart so that he could have the best view — it all circled back to friendship at the end of the day.
Peter’s head was buried under the fabric of your dress, swirling his tongue expertly around your entrance before using his fingers to rub gently at your clit. You had to confess, for someone who wasn’t so sexually experienced, Peter knew how to navigate your body. He wasn’t perfect at sex, no one was. But with you, it was like he had memorized every single curve and indent in your body, what kind of language made you tick and how much pressure was needed to make your toes curl.
However, Peter also knew that you were a brat who liked being pleased.
And brats sometimes needed to be taught a lesson.
The brunette pulled himself off of you, wiping the moisture around his mouth with the back of his sleeve. You stood there in a panting heap, looking at him with confusion and desperation as he unhooked your leg from the slope of his left shoulder.
“Forgot I had homework to do.” Peter smoothed the skirt of your dress down with such nonchalance as you stared in shock, unable to comprehend that he had just denied you of an orgasm.
Peter, your friend who loved making you cum, had stopped you from doing the very one thing you wanted to do tonight.
“Homework?! Are you seriously eating me out and thinking about calculus?” He stood up, his taller and lean frame making you squint your eyes in annoyance at him. “You’re an asshole. Why the hell did you do that?”
He shrugged, tucking his hands into the rugged pockets of his coat before heading towards the back exit of the bookstore like he was on a stroll. “Didn’t feel like finishing what I started. Wasn’t hungry anymore.”
Crossing your arms against your chest, you pouted at him. “You think you’re funny. Just wait till I get you back.”
“Bite me, Y/N.” He snarled jokingly at you.
Your eyes didn’t leave his as Peter reached around you, fixing the slanted book on the shelf above. “You kinky bastard, don’t test me. ‘Cause I will.”
His fingers brushed against your waist before they came to rest at his sides. “Hm, and what exactly will you do to me? Have mercy on me, please!” He pleaded dramatically, peppering raspberries on your skin. You giggled at the ticklish sensation, not straying away from him. You hadn’t missed the kiss he pressed to your collarbone before pulling away, and you felt slightly cold from the loss of contact.
Both of your smiles slowly faded as reality washed over you, and there was a sudden stiff awkwardness in the room that reminded you that this situation was too odd for a pair of ‘just friends.’
“We should head out.” You winced as you pointed over your shoulder, before fixing the appearance of your matted hair. “It's really late.”
Peter chuckled, picking a flyaway from your forehead. “Yeah — yeah, totally.”
“But tomorrow, again?” You bounced on your heels, biting the inside of your mouth as you awaited his answer. He hummed in agreement as you both made your way to the back exit; he held the door open for you, whilst checking you out as you walked ahead of him.
“Can I walk you to your dorm?” He caught up with you, doing a little skip that you found undeniably adorable.
“Oh, so now you wanna be nice to me? After edging me?” You kept walking, and Peter continued to skip next to you.
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow if you stop acting entitled.” He smirked, bumping shoulders with you. “Thought edging was hot to you.”
“It is.” Except today, you desperately needed that release. You needed Peter to relieve you of all stress, especially when finals were around the corner and you were behind on a couple assignments. A cheap vibrator from a sketchy website couldn’t do the same job as Peter, especially when the boy had such talented fingers and a pretty mouth.
Peter doesn’t further the conversation, reveling in the quietness and the start of spring air that felt hot against his skin. You didn't speak either, staring at your phone as you walked beside him. Peter couldn’t help but stare at you, wondering why in the first place he agreed to this arrangement. Sex with you was heaven, yes, but he knew that he could seek that same feeling from anyone else, or someone with much more knowledge about pleasure. But yet, the bond between you was irreplaceable. Peter wanted to believe he was simply romanticizing their circumstances – this secret arrangement that no one knew about, the idea of fucking behind everyone’s backs. Although, his conscience told him that it was something different; perhaps he wanted more than to be labeled as a friend, more to having sex in the dark corners of the bookstore, more to only seeing you at night and pretending like nothing had happened the next day.
He strayed from the concept of relationships as much as possible because his life wasn’t meant for a white picket fence and a golden retriever. His double identity was a cloud of burden that would follow him everywhere — even university. Who knew that Spider-Man needed to patrol around fraternity houses?
“Well, this is me.” You clutched the strap of your bookbag and faced Peter. “Good night.”
“I’ll see you in a couple hours, Y/N.” He chuckled with a bashful smile, hands playing with the cloth of his pockets.
You looked at him longer than you should’ve. “So it goes.” There’s hesitation in your stance as you stepped into the dorm building; Peter had an inkling that something was off. “Have a safe walk back, yeah?”
“Of course. You okay?“
You stopped for a second like you were thinking, however your answer never came and the soles of your shoes echoed against the tile as you disappeared into the building; the doors shut behind you, where Peter was left standing on the steps by himself.
Peter always took you as someone who chose their head over their heart. He’d seen you think in logic, and your intelligence tended to rule over your own emotions unlike other people. Sometimes, he’d wish you’d let that big brain of yours relax and let yourself feel whatever needed to be felt. But like him, you fought to remain detached. You didn’t feel the need to be responsible for his heart. The arrangement between you and Peter had nothing to do with emotions, which was something you had established long ago, or so you thought.
And the way you ignored his question worried him.
The boy was late to his lecture in the morning. Honestly, he had been up all night thinking about you. He’d pondered over his feelings during three cups of instant coffee while studying; the visuals of math formulas suddenly shifted into thoughts of you and the fantasy he was wishing to live (plus the suppleness of your thighs; maybe even how pretty you looked in that dress from earlier). His professor’s teachings about the lesson simply were not registering, and he sat lifeless with his cheek resting against his palm. Words went over his head easily, but the half-assed whispering behind him tingled the tips of his ears.
Flash Thompson unfortunately shared this class with him, and to Peter’s dismay, the athlete sat behind him with his group of token frat boys. He didn’t know their names as much as the next person, but Peter didn’t care. All he heard was Flash’s arrogant tone and he could just see the cocky smirk on that asshole’s face.
“Did she say yes?” One of his friends nudged him.
Flash scoffed. “No, stood me up for her job.”
“Ha, this guy! You sure Y/N isn’t dating… you know?” His other companion lowered his voice. “Peter? Like they hang out a shit ton.”
“Trust me. She wants nothing to do with Peter.” Flash leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms out as confidence dripped off of him. “Y/N said it herself when we went out during her break that time.”
Since when did Flash take you out on your breaks?
Maybe you actually liked Flash and you were lying to him in hopes of keeping your arrangement alive. The pair of you were anything but exclusive — because friends didn’t stop friends from dating other people. At the same time, it felt like betrayal because unlike a true friend, you weren’t telling him anything about this part of your life.
“So, when are you asking her out?”
What in the world was he thinking to ask you out when you clearly had nothing in common?
“Shit, more like when am I gonna get to fuck her…”
The brunette couldn’t help but glance back with daggers in his eyes, but the boys behind him were too immersed in their conversation to even notice his pointed glare.
Flash only wanted to fuck you?
Peter’s eyebrows drew into a line of anger, and he started allowing his intrusive thoughts to get the best of him. He couldn’t handle staying for the remainder of the lecture. Abruptly getting up from his seat and barrelling out the exit with bubbling anger, Peter skated towards the bookstore with a frown and his music on maximum volume in hopes of drowning out his disappointment.
You looked up from your book, squinting as Peter appeared on the other side of the door to the bookstore. He stormed inside in the same manner that he did the first time he walked in.
“Hey, Pete. I thought you had class?”
Your eyes followed him closely as he brushed past you without a word. Awkwardly, you glanced at your novel in suspicion, unsure whether or not to follow him. You had noticed his change in demeanor at some point in the string of your arrangements, only ever associating it with his insomnia or the all-nighters he’d pull — despite your protests and requests for him to take better care of himself. But perhaps, his demeanor stemmed from something else. With a look of concern, you went to search for Peter in the corners of the bookstore, knowing that he’d be at the table you reserved only for him. He didn’t look up as you slowly approached him, even going so far as to sit in the empty chair across his.
“Are you in your angsty teenager era again?” You probed with a lighthearted voice, crossing your forearms atop of the table. He refused to look at you, burying his nose in a book that surely did not belong to him. “Since when did you read books about…” You reached over to check the cover. “Oh, very interesting read here. Toilet Paper Origami? I’m surprised this isn’t a bestseller, Peter.”
He didn’t laugh or crack a single smile. He remained silent and stoic, which was a first in a while.
Something was wrong.
“Pete?” You shook his arm, and Peter pulled away from you like your touch had seared his skin. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine, you should get back to work.”
You didn’t push him, knowing that he’d only become even more closed-off. Returning to your place by the counter, you found yourself constantly checking on him from afar, glancing through the spaces between the bookshelves. The bell above the front door jingled, and you greeted the guests while your eyes remained on Peter.
“Y/N!” Your head snapped towards the sound of Flash’s booming voice — too rowdy and loud for a bookstore, but you didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him off, especially when he was trying to be nice. “Got you lunch from that new place, remember? Here.” Peter couldn’t help but peek over his book, huffing as Flash handed you a take-out bag. “I think it’s your favorite.”
You thanked him and reached into the bag to pull out a sandwich. Peter knew by the look on your face that it wasn’t anywhere near your favorite; he knew exactly what you liked in your food and what you didn’t, and Flash happened to fuck up that part immeasurably. Your smile, again, was faked. It pained Peter to watch the conversation unfold, and he cringed at Flash’s futile attempt at asking you out.
Oh, fuck. He was asking you out.
Peter hadn’t thought twice before he got up from the table, nearly stomping across the carpet as he made his way towards you and Flash. You didn’t realize he was gone from his original place until you noticed a towering presence beside you. Your eyes widened, and you immediately figured the direction of where this was headed as Peter jutted his chin out in dominance.
“Hey, man.” Flash laughed in annoyance. “Kinda occupied right now. You know, in the middle of a conversation and all.” He gestured between you and himself.
“I know.” Peter began calmly, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Yeah, how about you fuck off and stay away from Y/N.”
“Peter.” You gasped at him. You were thankful there was a counter in between the two men; had there not been, you were sure they would’ve been at each other’s throats already.
“Dude, I mean no harm. Just asking her out on a date, that’s it.”
“Asking her on a date or just trying to get into her pants?”
You grew irritated, pushing at his chest as he attempted to confront Flash. “Peter, chill out.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out.” Your friend looked at you. “Flash clearly has the wrong intentions.”
“Okay, enough! Both of you! Flash, I’m sorry. You have to leave.” The athlete started to defend himself, but you saw right through his ‘nice-guy’ façade in an instant and kicked him out of the bookstore, along with the sandwich he’d given to you.
“Asshole.” Peter muttered under his breath, moving to return back to his book.
You pulled him back by the cloth of his top, nostrils flaring as you tried to comprehend what unfolded. “What the fuck was that?”
“Flash wanted to fuck you, not take you out a date.”
“I knew that from the beginning. I’m not dumb, Peter. How is Flash wanting to fuck me any different from you fucking me?” You snapped at him, gesturing at him like he was pathetic.
“It’s one-hundred percent different. I’m nothing like Flash, I… I care about you.”
“Yeah, right. I meant, why the fuck did you intervene?”
“I don’t know! I just had to, okay?”
“What? Did you want to play hero and defend me? You’re not Spider-Man, yeah? I didn’t need you to step in. I don’t know why you’re acting like…”
(He would’ve found the dig amusing, but he’d save that revelation for another instance). You were angry, and so was he, and your tone of voice wasn’t making it any easier for him to listen to you.
“Acting like what, huh? Don’t play coy, Y/N. The only reason why you’re mad is because I got in the way of the ‘possible’ relationship you always dreamed you could have. And guess what? You’ll never be able to get it like this. The only reason why we’re doing this — doing this fucking arrangement shit is because you can’t stand the idea of yourself in a relationship and you can’t stand the idea of getting attached to anyone because you’re scared.”
The store had been empty, but it felt like a million faces were judging you. Nothing hurt more than the manner in which Peter stared at you, blinded by unresolved anger and issues.
“Is that the reason I’m mad? Or is it the reason you are?” Your voice broke as you stepped towards him.
His jaw clenched as he broke eye contact. “I should’ve never been your friend. I should’ve never walked in here. You should never have spoken to me, or else I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have…”
“Okay, Peter. We’re not doing this. Get out.”
“Y/N.”
“Please just go.” He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it when he realized how much his words had stung. You held back your tears as you watched him leave, sobbing quietly into the sleeve of your jacket because he hadn’t hurt you like this ever.
It was like your heart shattered in a billion pieces. The words spewing out of Peter’s mouth were purely out of spite and frustration, yet every syllable was laced with sincerity and it seemed as if he’d been wanting to tell you that for ages. Almost like he despised you. Were your years of friendship meaningless? Was your arrangement damaging? Did Peter have feelings for you?
And it hit you hard.
Over time, Peter’s touch would linger longer than usual, especially his kisses. What used to be short and hurried hookups turned into full-length foreplay and aftercare that was never part of the package. Pillowtalk (usually happened with you and Peter laying on top of a study table half-naked) turned into the deepest of conversations; he’d ask about your plans for the next week or when you would be visiting home, and you thought of it as a curious friend asking curious questions. On some nights that Peter would walk you to your dorm, he’d ask if he could come in and stay around longer — just to hang out, he’d say. But hanging out after hookups was never a thing between you two, and sometimes he’d prolong helping you close the bookstore by distracting you so that you could have more time together.
Peter was attached and he liked you.
You and the brunette didn’t talk for the rest of the week. He’d come into the store, but wouldn’t even go out of his way to say hello or apologize and it was making you indignant because you simply had done nothing wrong — until Peter entirely stopped showing up and the back of the bookstore was hauntingly empty without him. He didn’t pick up his phone, nor did his roommate say that he saw him lately. You knew he hadn’t gone back to Queens, because his stuff was still in his dorm except the suspicious backpack he’d sometimes carry around was missing.
It worried you, but you knew that he was fine. Peter never got himself into danger. He’d turn up sooner or later, and like always, you were right.
The bell by the front door chimed, yet your attention never left the new book in your hands.
“Hi, welcome.” You sighed with a monotonous voice, turning the page.
The person approached you slowly, and you asked them if they needed anything before their odd silence made you look up. Solemn, brown eyes met your gaze.
Peter Parker stood with a bouquet of flowers and a bruised cheekbone. He looked at you apologetically with a close-lipped smile, causing the dimples in his face to appear prominently.
“Y/N.” He spoke softly.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry for what I said to you.”
You eyed him deliberately. “Is that it?”
He exhaled audibly, burying his face in the flowers like he was embarrassed before he straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I am deeply sorry that I hurt you and I said all those awful things. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that I… I just got angry and I didn’t like the idea of — of you being around another guy. None of those insults were true.”
“Peter, I thought we weren’t exclusive.”
“We aren’t. I know we aren’t.” He frowned. “I’m really sorry.”
You pushed the book away from you, leaning over the counter to look at him. “So do you still wanna be my friend or was that part true?”
“I don’t wanna be your friend.”
The hope drained from your face. He continued on, taking your silence to heart.
“I don’t wanna be friends anymore, Y/N. I want — I like you. I always have. When I yelled at you, it was more of me talking about myself. I didn’t want you to be around Flash, I wanted you to be around me. I don’t wanna be friends because I want more with you and — and I don’t wanna keep fucking and running around with each other like it means nothing because you mean fucking everything to me, Y/N.” He held out the bouquet towards you. “I like you and I want to be your boyfriend. If I can. If you feel the same way.”
Too stunned to speak, you took it from Peter with disbelief, losing yourself in the colors of the flower petals and their scent – then the honey of Peter’s eyes.
“I like you, too.”
His face broke out into a huge grin, and for the first time, Peter was able to call you more than his friend. He rushed around the counter and pulled you into a real kiss, fingertips brushing under your chin as he breathed you in. Peter was kissing you with a different tenor, savoring every piece of you as you slung your arms around his shoulders.
You broke away from him, gasping at the intensity and the adrenaline rushing through your body. “Do you wanna go into the office?”
“The office? Right now?” He looked around. “There’s an office here?”
“Yeah, in the back. It’s always locked but… I just so happen to have the keys and maybe we could put it to good use.” You smirked at him, running your nails subtly against his jean-clad thigh.
“Crazy girl. Aren’t you on the clock?” His hips grinded against your front, and he bit his lip.
“No one will notice I’m gone.”
“I thought you were always scared of getting caught.” He held back a whine as you stood on the tips of your toes to kiss the underside of his jaw.
“Maybe I wanna try something different.”
Peter couldn’t waste time any longer. Breathless, he led you by the arm into the back, checking over his shoulder for guests. With jittery hands, you unlocked the office, then Peter had you pressed against the wall in seconds. Your hair was mussed from his fingers and he hadn’t missed the fluttering of your breath from the new hickey he was nursing on your neck. He could hear the increase of blood running through your body, and let his growing smugness take over while he unzipped your jacket.
“You’re nervous?” His nose bumped against yours with each motion, before you were nodding with newfound meekness that formed a cocky smile upon Peter’s lips. “Now why is that, Y/N? You act like you’ve never had my dick in your mouth before.”
You were nearly shaking as his fingers pressed into your hip bones, relishing in the softness of the exposed skin under your shirt. “Because you’re…” A flush of shyness flooded your face, and you shut your eyes as your garbled voice emerged from the back of your throat. “You’re just really hot.”
Peter laughed, taking the chance to hum at the submissive confession. His hand entangled itself in your locks, bunching it together so that he could pull you by the hair. “So shy for me now, reminds me of that first night you let me ruin you. Where did my little brat go, baby?” His forehead fell against the coolness of your cheek, pressing soft yet needy kisses as you mumbled with incoherence. “You wanna tell me something, Y/N? Use your words. Come on.”
“I just really really wanna be fucked right now.” You admitted with playful and heavy eyes, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of Peter’s jeans. “Please?”
The words went straight to his dick, and an unprepared sigh left his trembling lips as you dropped to your knees without hesitation. Clumsy fingers worked around the zipper and button of his pants; Peter looked down at you with wide, trusting eyes as you eased the material down the length of his legs. Desperation was written all over your features as you eyed the outline of his hardening cock through his boxers. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to it, earning a shameless shudder from Peter who had to sturdy himself against the mahogany desk behind him.
He loved this part as much as he loved being buried between your legs.
You ran kisses along the expanse of his abs, and each peck became wetter as you kissed down the path of his faint happy trail. Each motion sent him into a whirlwind of longing, and he had to look away as you tugged his underwear down his thighs. Your hand slowly wrapped around the girth, where your fingers barely met as you began to stroke him. Your lips puckered, pressing a lustful kiss to the leaking tip of his cock. A moan rolled off of Peter’s tongue, and his head fell back in pleasure as you collected the drops of pre-cum off of his length and took him impatiently into your mouth.
“God, Y/N. You’re a fucking angel, you know that?” He cooed lovingly. The praise went straight to the wet patch between your thighs and Peter couldn’t help but admire the string of saliva that connected him to her lips. “My beautiful, beautiful Y/N.”
You moaned at the remark, and Peter let out a gasp as the sensation of your throat vibrating around him. You peppered silky kisses across the underside of his cock, and looked up at Peter with teary-eyes — his swollen lip tucked between his teeth, lids screwed shut, head thrown back in sinful satisfaction.
“Look at you. You suck dick so well.” His hand came to rub over the bulge in your cheek as you took him into your mouth again, bobbing your head with darkened eyes at his comment. He pulled back a little to give you relief, putting his weight onto his palms as you stared with moony eyes at him. “You wanna say something? Go on, baby.”
With his cock resting against your lips, you gulped loudly for air. Your head was pounding while you wiped the edges of your mouth. The flavor of your chapstick mixed with the taste of Peter’s pre-cum, and the disheveled sight of your appearance made Peter want to show you just how much he adored you.
Your throat ached and you rubbed the tops of your thighs with sticky palms through an eager whisper. “ I want you to fuck my mouth.”
“Oh, baby.” Your jaw remained loose, saliva nearly dripping down the front of your neck as Peter swiped the tears away from your droopy eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I wanna make you feel good, Pete.” You kissed his stomach, laying your head against the bareness of his abdomen. “Pretty please?”
Peter whined, having to suppress the growl that wanted to escape him. His hand came to push the hair away from your face, and you submissively let him hold you by the chin. “Another time, Y/N. Let me take care of you. Up, now.” He pulled you to your feet. Without a word, he turned to the table behind him and pushed everything off it. You flinched with a shocked laugh as the objects clattered to the floor loudly, and Peter shushed you between tiny kisses and giggles, lips finding yours messily as he hoisted you up onto the mahogany. “I love that you wanna please me, but nothing beats pleasing you. This okay?”
You nodded quickly as he stood between your legs, pulling your shirt over your head and taking your bra with it. Your jeans disappeared into the puddle of clothing on the floor, and you blissfully observed how Peter couldn’t take his eyes off your body. He dragged his index finger down your throat, between the valley of your breasts, past the indents of your stomach, and paused by the wet patch of your panties.
“Always such a good girl.” Peter buried his face into your shoulder, letting his fingertips ghost over your clothed core. “Can I?” You answered in a moan, but that wasn’t enough for the brunette. “Words, Y/N. Need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes. Please.”
Your eagerness was a test of his self-control. “Lay down for me.” He cleared off more of the table, guiding you back as he propped your knees up at an angle. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
You missed the way his eyes glistened with want as he pulled your panties to the side. His nose nudged against your clit, to which you reacted with a breathy mewl. His senses are filled to the brim because of you — your fragrance, the taste of you against his textured tongue. He gripped the backs of your thighs harshly, keeping you spread open as he lapped at your folds.
He moaned at the way you tugged on his hair, whining his name in a plea. He flicked his expert tongue over your clit again, chuckling against you at the noises escaping your throat. You sounded broken, like his mouth was just that good and it fully inflated his ego.
“P-Peter…” You hid your face behind your hands through a muffled groan, and Peter’s hands trailed up your skin to knead at your breasts. Your wetness was driving him insane. Peter could just feel it accumulate onto his lips and every drop of you was so intoxicating, it made him drunk off of your pussy. He sucked onto your clit hard. “Oh! Fuck!”
The thing about Peter was that he was a giver. He loved giving, even though he loved receiving just as the next person. But you — your thighs flexing around his head and your moans ringing through his ears — he’d give himself to you any day at any time.
“If you keep going like that…” You breathed out, sitting up on your forearms to meet the intensity of his pupils. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Is that not what you want?” He perked up, mouth still working on you. “Weren’t you just begging me the week before? Oh, Peter, you asshole.” He licked a stripe across your folds, mimicking you with a high-pitched voice. “Why didn’t you let me cum?”
“Listen,” You pulled him by the hair, pushing the hungry brunette off of you as he pouted. “I would love to cum right here, right now, but we both know I’d prefer having you inside me.”
He shrugged, pressing loving kisses to the redness on your knees in an effort to restrain himself. “Well, you could’ve just said that.” He brought you closer to him, sitting you on the edge of the table. “Who am I to say no?”
You let your hand lightly cup Peter’s throat, feeling the apple of his neck bob against the sensation of your fingertips pushing into his pulse point. His arm swooped under the back of your knees, and you took it as a signal to wrap your legs around him.
“Good to go?” You smiled, teeth bumping into his as he held you firmly by the waist.
“Just making sure you’re comfortable.” He captured you in a kiss once more. “But you know by the end of this you’re not gonna be able to walk.”
You bit onto his shoulder as he smoothed his calloused hands over your back, and you shuddered as he parted your wet folds with his cock. The pair of you gasped in relief, at the fullness of Peter and the tightness of you. He groaned as you already began squeezing around him, as if you hadn’t taken his length before. He thrusted slowly, careful of not hurting you with overbearing strength. The pit of his belly pulsated, and his fingers quickly found the button of your clit once more as he bottomed into you.
“Fuck, Peter. Holy fuck.” You wedged the knuckle of your pointer finger between your teeth, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him stretching you out. His thrusts started to quicken, and you began rocking against him in the same desperation he was exhibiting. You let Peter manhandle you, pulling your arched form against his chest so that you were laying flat against him. His hand rested against the nape of your neck, feeling every rush of adrenaline in your bloodstream as a choked moan left his body. Your swollen lips found him in the chaos, and Peter only ever moved away to give the same affection to your jaw.
“I’m so close…” Peter’s sweet voice whined into the saltiness of your skin. His strokes were sloppy, yet it still felt good with every inch of him filling you. “Y/N, I’m — fuck, I want you to come with me.”
“I’m almost there.” Peter attacked your collarbone with open-mouthed kisses, and his heightened senses were sent to overdrive as you clenched once, twice, three times around him. “Cum, Peter. Please cum for me.”
The boy resonated with the dirtiness yet elegance of your voice, resting his forehead against yours as you intently watched him sputter inside of you. The feeling of you squeezing around him left him in a daze, and he clutched onto your thighs as they trembled in the midst of your orgasm.
You stay like that for a moment.
A quiet whimper fell from your mouth, and Peter panted as he slowly pulled out of you. A mixture of your juices and his own trickled down your leg. Peter was quick to find the tissue box on the floor, fishing a couple tissues to wipe at your leg and gently pat against your pussy. You jolted at each touch, sensitive after such activities.
Peter’s voice was softer, contrasting the dominant tone from earlier. “Bend your legs.” You didn’t talk as he patted you clean, mumbling an apology as you hissed at the delightful soreness. “Sorry, let me know if this is too rough.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” You shut your eyes as he discarded the tissue into a bin, and you sighed in relief as his warm touch met your body once more. “So sweet to me.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Mmm, I know.” Your eyelids fluttered open, staring at Peter hazily in a dreamy gaze as his hand found yours. “But you…”
“Yeah, what about me?” He questioned, collecting your shirt and bra from the floor.
“Kinda crazy how you fuck your crush before taking them out on the first date.” You joked. He slapped your calf gently at the snarky remark, scoffing at you. You lifted your arms into the air as Peter pulled your shirt over you, helping you get into your clothing before you did the same for him.
“I like doing things out of order, Y/N, if you haven’t noticed.” He smirked, brushing your hair with his fingers.
“How about we take a stroll down that farmer’s market across the street?” You suggested. Peter blushed and pressed another kiss to your temple like he couldn’t get enough of you.
“If you can even walk.”
“If I can even — psh. Watch me.”
You moved to jump off the desk, losing your balance as your knees buckled in front of Peter. The brunette cackled before helping you up, glancing at the plumpness of your swollen lips with full admiration.
“I told you.”
“Just take me on that date, alright?”
“Perhaps I should carry you there!” He exclaimed, scooping you into his arms as you shouted protests through a fit of laughter. His nose buried itself in the strands of your hair, and Peter closed his eyes at how natural this felt.
The bubble of your laugh. The scent of you that lingered on his clothes. The taste of your lips.
The way you memorized him like no one else.
Peter Parker did get attached. But this time, he hadn’t expressed any opposition to the idea.
Because he had you. You, who was no longer his friend, but his girlfriend. So much for just friends, in the end.
