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𝐍𝐨 𝐍𝐮𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT! 18+, unprotected sex, language, sexual, teasing, closet sex, fluff

Summary → It's November, Peter and Ned decided to join no nut November, it's a disaster for Peter.

Gif not mine

The bell rang, signaling the end of fourth period, and Peter Parker jogged down the hallway to meet his best friend, Ned Leeds. The two had been talking about this all week—a pact that would supposedly test their self-control and prove who had the better willpower. Peter was already regretting it.

"So, it's official. We're doing this," Ned said as he adjusted the straps of his backpack, looking more serious than usual.

Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, fine, we’ll do it. No Nut November. Winner gets whatever they want from the loser."

“Anything,” Ned emphasized, grinning.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Within reason. I'm not buying you another Lego Death Star.”

Ned pouted but nodded. “Fine. But I’ll win anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Peter gave him a doubtful look. “Dude, you have a girlfriend, too. It’s not exactly gonna be easy for either of us.”

Ned smirked, looking far too confident. “Betty and I will survive. It’s about mental discipline, Parker. Something you clearly lack.”

Peter frowned. “Hey, I have plenty of discipline!”

Ned snorted. “Sure you do, Horny Ball.”

“Stop calling me that!” Peter hissed, his cheeks turning red as a group of juniors walked by, giggling.

By the time they reached the cafeteria, the stakes felt higher than Peter anticipated. He spotted you, MJ, and Betty sitting at your usual table near the windows. You waved, smiling brightly, and Peter’s heart skipped a beat. He loved seeing you, but suddenly he realized what this challenge actually meant: no physical affection for an entire month.

This was going to be hell.

---

You noticed Peter’s weird expression as he slid into the seat beside you. “What’s with the face? Did something explode in the lab again?”

“No, not this time,” Peter muttered.

Betty looked between Ned and Peter suspiciously. “What are you two plotting now?”

Ned sat up straighter, clearing his throat dramatically. “It’s not plotting. It’s a gentleman’s challenge. Peter and I are doing No Nut November.”

You choked on your drink, coughing as you tried to process what he just said. “You’re doing what?! ”

Betty’s jaw dropped, and even MJ looked mildly interested, though her expression remained neutral.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Ned said, grinning like he’d just won a debate. “We’re not gonna… you know… for the whole month. Winner gets whatever they want from the loser.”

Your eyes snapped to Peter, who was staring at the table like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Dude, you can’t be serious! You’re gonna leave me high and dry for a whole month, Parker?!”

Peter winced. “It’s just a month, babe—”

“Just a month?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re always all over me, and now you think you can just flip a switch and go cold turkey? I give you three days, max.”

MJ smirked from across the table, resting her chin in her hand. “My money’s on Peter. He’s definitely gonna lose.”

Peter’s head snapped up. “What? Why me?!”

“Because you’re a horny ball who can’t keep his hands to himself,” MJ said bluntly.

Betty stifled a laugh, and you couldn’t help but smile despite your annoyance. Peter’s face turned a shade of red that could rival his Spider-Man suit.

“I’ll win this,” Peter said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll show you.”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Parker. Whatever you say.”

---

Later that afternoon, you and MJ were sitting in the library, attempting to study. Well, you were trying to study. MJ, on the other hand, was scrolling through her phone with a mischievous grin.

“What’s with the look?” You asked, setting your pen down.

MJ leaned closer, her voice low. “You should wear short skirts.”

You blinked. “W-what?”

“I want Parker to lose,” MJ said matter-of-factly. “If you wear skirts, he’ll crack in no time.”

You stared at her, your cheeks heating up. “Oh my god, MJ. That’s evil.”

“Come on, it’s a win-win,” MJ said, smirking. “I’ll win the bet with Peter, and you’ll get what you want. Everybody’s happy.”

You shook your head, laughing nervously. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” MJ said, leaning back in her chair. “Just think about it.”

And think about it, you did. Because the idea of teasing Peter just enough to make him lose was starting to sound very, very tempting.

---

You had to admit, Peter had more self-control than you gave him credit for. A whole week had gone by, and he hadn’t so much as faltered. You’d tried subtle things—extra long hugs, sitting closer than usual, kissing him longer—but he held strong. You were impressed, but also annoyed.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself as you stood in front of your mirror the next morning. “If he wants a challenge, I’ll give him one.”

Your short black skirt sat perfectly at mid-thigh, teasing just enough to make Peter’s resolve crumble. Normally, you’d pair it with leggings, but not today. Today, you went bare-legged.

MJ would be proud.

---

Walking into school, you could feel the difference immediately. Heads turned as you walked down the hall, but you only had eyes for Peter. You spotted him near his locker, chatting with Ned, completely unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

“Hey, Pete!” You called out, smiling innocently as you approached.

Peter turned, and the moment he saw you, his eyes dropped to your legs. He quickly snapped his gaze back up, but the damage was done. His face turned an alarming shade of red.

“H-hey, babe,” he stuttered, his voice cracking slightly.

You tilted your head, pretending not to notice his reaction. “You okay? You look… flustered.”

“I’m fine!” Peter squeaked, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Ned looked between the two of you, his eyebrows furrowing. “Dude, you’re sweating.”

Peter shot him a glare. “I’m not sweating!”

“You’re totally sweating,” Ned whispered to himself.

From across the hall, you caught MJ watching the whole thing, a grin stretched across her face. She mouthed, You’re evil, and you couldn’t help but grin back.

---

By lunchtime, Peter was a mess. Every time you walked past him, he turned into a stuttering, blushing disaster. At one point, you dropped your pen “accidentally” during chemistry, and when you bent to pick it up, you swore you heard him whisper, “Oh my god.”

“Nice legs, Y/n/n,” MJ said casually as you sat down at the lunch table.

“Thanks, MJ,” you replied with a sweet smile, knowing full well what she was doing.

Peter, who was already seated, looked like he was trying to disappear into his hoodie. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

“Parker, you good?” MJ asked, smirking.

“I’m great!” He blurted out, his voice about an octave higher than usual. “Totally great. Why wouldn’t I be great?”

Betty frowned. “You sound like you’re about to pass out.”

Peter groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand. “Poor baby. You’ve been working so hard.”

His eyes flicked to your legs for a split second before he snapped his gaze back to his tray, cheeks blazing.

MJ leaned in, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. “He’s so losing this bet.”

You hid your smile behind your drink, thoroughly enjoying Peter’s torment. It wasn’t often you got to see him this flustered, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t fun.

The question now was: how much longer could he hold out?

---

Peter Parker was unraveling, and it was glorious.

After seeing the effect your first skirt had on him, you decided to up the ante. The next day, you wore the fitted top he always complimented, the one that hugged you in all the right places. The day after that, it was a slightly lower-cut blouse that gave him just a hint of cleavage. And you didn’t stop there. Each outfit became a calculated move to test his willpower.

It worked.

By the fourth day, Peter was a wreck.

During lunch, he couldn’t sit still. Every time you leaned over to grab something or shifted in your seat, he’d gulp and glance away, his face a permanent shade of red. You noticed he kept his backpack strategically placed on his lap, and you bit back a grin, knowing exactly why.

When the bell rang, he bolted, mumbling something about needing to use the bathroom.

---

It became a pattern.

You’d show up to school in a new outfit designed to torment him, and without fail, Peter would find some excuse to escape. He’d stammer his way through conversations, avoid sitting too close to you, and, if you kissed him, he’d pull away as if his life depended on it.

The first time it happened, you’d leaned in for a sweet, innocent kiss after class. But when your hands cupped his face and your lips lingered just a second too long, Peter froze.

His hands gripped your waist tightly before he abruptly pulled back, panting slightly. “I—I have to go,” he mumbled, backing away and nearly tripping over his own feet.

You blinked, confused. “What? Why?”

“I just—uh—bathroom! Yeah, bathroom!” He turned and practically ran down the hall, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

MJ, who had witnessed the whole thing, sidled up to you, smirking. “I think you broke him.”

---

Two days in a row, Peter disappeared mid-conversation or after a kiss, and you could tell he was struggling. Every time he avoided your touch or looked away when you leaned closer, it only fueled your determination.

And now, he was actively avoiding you. He’d dodge down different hallways, sit at the far end of the lunch table, and make up excuses to leave early. It was both hilarious and a little frustrating.

That afternoon, you cornered him by his locker, blocking his escape. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” you said, hands on your hips. “What is going on?”

He avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck. “Nothing! I’m just… busy, y’know? School, patrol… lots of stuff…”

“Busy avoiding me?” You challenged, stepping closer.

Peter swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the floor. “I’m not avoiding you!”

“Then why do you run off every time I kiss you?”

His face turned beet red, and he stammered, “I—I just—look, it’s not you! It’s me! I mean, it is you, but not in a bad way, it’s just—”

“Peter.” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re killing me, Y/n.”

You smirked. “Good.”

---

It was the third week of November, and Peter Parker was at his breaking point. He’d managed to hold out longer than you expected, but today was the final straw.

You strutted through the hallway in your short skirt, tank top, and an open jacket, radiating confidence. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you the moment you turned the corner. You didn’t look his way, but you knew—knew—he was watching you, struggling to keep his composure.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you into the janitor’s closet before you could even react. The door slammed shut behind you, and before you could utter a word, Peter’s lips crashed into yours.

His hands were everywhere—on your waist, in your hair, gripping your thighs. His kiss was desperate, his breathing ragged as he pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours.

“You—” he broke away just enough to speak, his voice low and breathless, “—you’ve been doing this on purpose.”

You blinked, still reeling from the intensity of his kiss. “Doing what?” You teased, your voice dripping with innocence.

His eyes narrowed, dark and heated. “Don’t play dumb, Y/n. The skirts, the tops, the way you kiss me—you’re trying to kill me.”

A smirk tugged at your lips. “And what if I am?”

Peter groaned, his forehead resting against yours. “You win. Alright? You win. I can’t—I can’t take it anymore.”

Your breath hitched as he pressed himself against you, and you felt exactly how affected he was. “See?” He rasped. “See what you’ve done to me? I’ve been walking around like this for three weeks because of you.”

“Good,” you whispered, a grin spreading across your face.

He let out a low growl, his lips finding yours again, more insistent this time. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pinned you against the wall. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He murmured against your lips. “You wanted me to break.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. “Maybe.”

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “you have no idea what you’ve started.”

His hands tightened on your waist, and for the first time in weeks, he let go of the bet entirely. The only thing on his mind now was you—and he wasn’t about to stop.

The air was thick with tension as Peter's lips met yours, soft at first but quickly deepening into something hungry and desperate. His hands cupped your face, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing your skin as if he couldn’t believe you were real. You let out a small sigh against his mouth, your hands instinctively tangling in his messy curls, tugging gently, drawing a low groan from him.

Peter pulled back for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared at you, his brown eyes darkened with need. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Peter," you whispered back, your tone full of want, but also affection.

He didn't reply, just leaned back in, capturing your lips again. This time, the kiss was more feverish, his hands trailing down your sides, slipping beneath your jacket. In one swift motion, he pulled it off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, soft kisses peppering your skin as he reached your neck.

"You smell so good," he muttered against your skin, his voice raspy, lips brushing your collarbone now. His hands tugged gently at the strap of your tank top, pulling it down as he kissed lower, letting his teeth graze your skin.

Your breaths came faster, your chest rising and falling against his. "Babe," you breathed again, your voice barely audible, laced with a mix of anticipation and shyness.

His lips paused for a moment, and he looked up at you, his forehead pressed against yours. "We have to be quiet, baby," he said softly, his voice laced with amusement but also a hint of teasing. "Unless you want everyone to know how good I'm making you feel."

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Peter's hands traveled lower, slipping under the hem of your tank top to touch the bare skin of your waist, his thumbs brushing over the curve of your hips. His touch was electrifying, sending shivers down your spine as he moved one hand between your thighs, his fingers circling your clothed core.

A soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, and Peter grinned against your neck. "Shh," he teased, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't make me gag you."

You swatted his shoulder lightly, a small laugh escaping despite the heat of the moment. "You wish."

Peter chuckled lowly, his voice deep and full of affection. "Maybe later," he quipped, before his focus shifted again.

He fumbled with his belt, the sound of the buckle and the zipper filling the quiet room. He worked quickly, tugging his pants down just enough to free himself, his hand wrapping around his length as he pumped himself a few times.

His other hand slipped under your thighs, lifting you slightly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. Peter hooked his finger under your panties, pulling them to the side with a soft growl.

"You sure?" He asked suddenly, his voice softer now, his forehead resting against yours again.

Your heart melted at his concern, and you cupped his face, nodding. "I'm sure," you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Peter aligned himself with you, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch. A sharp gasp left your lips, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck," Peter groaned, his voice strained, "you feel so good, baby. So perfect."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the noises threatening to spill from you as he began to move, his hips rolling into yours with slow, deliberate thrusts. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you buried your face in his shoulder, your breaths hot against his neck.

"You're doing so good," Peter murmured, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he tried to keep himself steady. "So good for me."

"Peter," you whimpered, your voice muffled against his skin.

His pace quickened slightly, his breath coming in short gasps as he buried himself deeper in you. "I love you," he said suddenly, his voice filled with raw emotion. "I love you so much."

You tightened your hold on him. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice shaky but sincere.

Peter kissed you again, his lips capturing yours in a passionate, almost desperate kiss. The room was filled with the sound of your quiet gasps and the soft rustle of clothing, the world outside fading away until there was only the two of you, tangled together in a perfect moment of love and connection.

Peter’s pace remained steady, each movement deliberate yet filled with urgency as if he were trying to memorize how you felt against him. His lips never stayed in one place for long; they trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You shivered under his touch, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt for grounding.

"God, you're incredible," he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with awe and reverence. His hands slid up to cradle your face, tilting it slightly so your eyes could meet. "I can't believe you're mine."

His words tugged at your heart, and you smiled softly, reaching up to brush the curls sticking to his damp forehead. "Always yours," you whispered back, your voice tender but trembling with emotion.

Peter’s expression softened, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he kissed you again—slow and gentle, in stark contrast to the desperate rhythm of his hips. The way he looked at you made your chest tighten, his gaze filled with something so pure it was overwhelming.

The warmth building between you both grew stronger, the tension in the air becoming almost unbearable. Peter’s movements grew slightly more erratic, his breath hitching as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Y/n,” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple, running your fingers through his curls again to soothe him. “It’s okay,” you murmured, your lips brushing his ear. “I’m so close, Peter.”

That seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with more fervor. He brought one hand between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your sensitive spot with a precision that made you gasp. Your back arched against him, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Shh, baby,” Peter whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ve got you. Just let go for me, yeah?”

And you did, the knot in your stomach unraveling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your body trembled against his, and Peter held you tighter, murmuring soothing words you could barely register through the haze.

Moments later, Peter followed, his body shuddering as he buried himself as deeply as he could. He let out a low groan, his hands gripping your waist as if to ground himself. When he finally stilled, his forehead rested against yours, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

For a moment, the closet was silent except for the soft rhythm of your breathing. The air still felt electric, charged with what had just happened. Peter’s arms stayed locked around you, like if he let go, you might vanish.

“You okay?” He asked after a beat, voice low and hoarse but threaded with concern.

You smiled, brushing a hand down his flushed cheek. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your words soft but full of warmth.

Peter’s lips quirked into a bashful smile. “You’re perfect,” he countered quietly, before pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips—gentler this time, almost reverent.

You stayed like that for a moment, the world reduced to the scent of dust and his cologne. When you finally pulled back, both of you looked like chaos—hair messy, clothes wrinkled, cheeks pink and glowing.

You laughed under your breath. “Hold still,” you whispered, reaching up to smooth down his wild curls. They were sticking out in every direction, evidence of what you’d both been up to.

Peter blinked, his grin shy but mischievous. “Do I look okay?”

“You look suspicious,” you teased, swatting at his chest.

He huffed a soft laugh. “You should see your hair.”

You groaned, running your hands through it quickly. “We’re never doing that again during school hours.”

“Agreed,” he said—though his smirk said otherwise.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re so dead if someone finds out we missed class.”

You grinned, tugging at his hoodie. “Then we just don’t get caught.”

Together, you fixed each other up. You straightened his hoodie, brushed dust off your skirt, and tugged at his collar until it looked semi-presentable. He fussed with your jacket, smoothing the fabric like it would erase what had happened. When you finally stepped back to look each other over, you both burst into soft laughter.

“We look way too suspicious,” Peter muttered, trying to flatten his hair again.

“Relax,” you whispered, opening the door a crack to peek outside. The hallway was blissfully empty. “Coast is clear.”

You slipped out first, tugging his wrist. Every squeak of your sneakers sounded like thunder in the silence. Once you reached the corner, Peter finally exhaled.

“Mission accomplished,” he whispered dramatically.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not Spider-Man right now. Calm down, Agent Parker.”

“Still pretty good teamwork, though,” he teased, bumping your shoulder.

Ten minutes later, the bell rang for lunch. You exchanged a look—half guilt, half amusement—and silently agreed to act normal. Whatever “normal” meant after what just happened.

But as soon as you entered the cafeteria, MJ’s grin was waiting for you like a trap. Ned and Betty sat beside her, mid-laughter, but MJ’s gaze locked on you both like a laser.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, smirking. “Look who finally decided to show up. You two missed class.”

Peter froze. “Oh, uh—yeah, we were just... catching up on Spanish?”

MJ arched a brow. “Spanish? In the janitor’s closet? ”

Ned choked on his soda. Betty giggled uncontrollably.

Peter’s ears turned crimson. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” MJ said, sipping her drink like royalty. “Y/n’s neck and your little vanishing act kind of scream guilty.”

Your hand shot up to your neck. “My—what?! ”

MJ smirked wider. “Yep. Nice little souvenir he left you there.”

“Peter!” You hissed.

“I’m sorry! I got carried away!” He stammered, burying his face in his hands.

Ned practically bounced in his seat. “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t last till the end of the month!”

Peter groaned. “Please don’t—”

“I won!” Ned whooped. “That’s Delmar’s sandwiches for a week! No backsies!”

Betty laughed so hard she nearly dropped her tray. “You guys are unbelievable.”

MJ raised her soda cup with a smug grin. “To the fall of Peter Parker’s self-control. May it rest in peace. Also—hand me my money, Parker.”

You hid your face in your hands, giggling despite your embarrassment. Peter peeked over at you, cheeks still flushed but smiling softly.

“This is your fault,” he whispered, voice low.

You smirked. “Oh, I know—but not entirely.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, frowning curiously.

You leaned in close, lips quirking. “The short skirt idea?” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Peter blinked. “Yeah?”

You grinned. “MJ’s idea. She said it would help her win the bet.”

Peter froze. MJ choked on her drink. Ned started laughing again.

“Dude?!” MJ yelped. “You weren’t supposed to tell him!”

Peter turned to her with mock outrage. “You’re so paying for my next date night.”

You laughed, leaning into him and whispering, “Worth it, though.”

Peter’s expression softened. He took your hand under the table, brushing his thumb across your skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured with a small smile. “Definitely worth it.”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

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