SHOW ME — ୨୧ childhoodbsf!peterparker
| peter walks in on you touching yourself, and offers to help
warnings: smut with plot, fingering, clit stimulation, afab female!reader, female masterbation, male masterbation, inexperienced!reader, inexperienced!peter, teasing, dirty talk, using peter’s mask to insulate your sounds.
word count: 3k .ᐟ.ᐟ no spoilers for brand new day
Sweet sounds escaped your lips as your hand broke into your waistband. Immediately you found your clit, making tight circles as your mouth fell agape. You threw your head back, exposing your neck. A single finger traced your entrance. Your mind scoured for anything that would make you wet enough to push yourself inside.
The perfect ammunition was always Peter. Any time you touched yourself, the image of him surfaced. It would bring you to climax—imagining the things your bestfriend could do to you. You created scenarios you knew you shouldn’t, and they sufficed every time. Your mind was a powerful tool.
But afterwards, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. He was your closest friend since childhood, and you knew that line was never to be crossed.
This guilt was the reason you weren’t able to finish this time. You frantically rubbed your clit, aching for release. But nothing came of it.
It was then that you heard the sound of a fist on glass. Not strong enough to break it, but enough to make your hand shoot out of your pants. Your eyes immediately landed to the side of your bed, where your window was. There was only one person that would be here at this hour. You crawled along your covers, unlocking the latch.
Peter slipped in your open window, onto the soft comforter of your bed. Crisp nighttime air wafted into your room. His red mask was settled over his face, clinging to his features. As he pulled it off, you caught site of how tired he looked.
Purple bruises were forming along the soft skin of his cheeks. Dark circles shadowed his under eyes, evidence of his exhaustion. With brows turned upwards and limbs limp, he slouched on your array of pillows.
You knew of his extracurricular activities, but hadn’t seen how much of a toll they were taking on him. Peter made sure to keep the vulnerable part of himself tucked away.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he assured, before you could say anything.
You tilted your head, crossing your arms at your chest. “You don’t look okay.”
“Ouch.” Peter feigned grabbing his heart, and laughed.
You scowled. “You know what I mean.” Shutting the window, you sat beside Peter. “So, what happened out there?”
Exhaling, he sunk deeper into the white duvet. With his back flat on the bed, he stared at the ceiling. You sat upright against your headboard, watching as his chest rose and fell.
Once it was clear he had no intention of responding, you spoke again. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just stay here with me.”
Despite him there, exhausted, your pussy still throbbed with unfinished business.
Rolling onto his side, Peter’s eyes met with yours. In a single second, it was as if all of his sorrows were your own.
You two had always been like this—connected. Since childhood, you felt each other’s emotions in such an intimate way. If he were sad, you couldn’t help but let tears fall down your cheeks. If you were happy, he was laughing alongside you. ‘Attached at the hip’—as everyone would say. As the years went by, this connection led to assumptions of a romance between you.
Of course, these were only rumors. Little remarks made by school classmates or family members. But over time, they crept into the crevices of your mind. A thousand ‘what ifs’ constantly swirled in your brain.
What if you and Peter were more than friends?
What if you wanted to be?
You stashed these intrusive thoughts away, labeling them as unwanted. But were they really unwanted?
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Peter suddenly said, forcing you to reign in your imagination.
“Nothing.”
Peter nudged your shoulder with his hand. “Come on, I know you better than that.”
Tucking your knees to your chest, you shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just—“
He straightened up to sit as you were. “Just..?”
When you caught his gaze again, it felt different this time. Butterflies thrashed at your chest. You tore your eyes away before they could lower to his lips. Unfortunately, they landed on the gray sweatpants sagging at Peter’s torso.
He followed your line of vision. “You good?”
Clearing your throat, you pretended to look at the posters taped to your walls.
Peter adjusted his hips upwards, as if to tease you. You saw it from the corner of your vision.
You gulped. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He mocked your previously said words. “You don’t look okay.”
He was right. You were far from okay. But how do you tell your bestfriend that you fantasize about him? And that you were doing it mere seconds before he came?
“And why’d it take you so long to let me in? I was knocking for like, a minute,” Peter added.
Colour drained from your face. A minute? Had he seen what you had been doing?
“Oh um, I didn’t hear you.” You avoided his eye contact.
“How?” He pushed.
“I guess I was just in my own world.”
Peter played with the strings of his sweats. You focused on his fingers—and the veins that traced up them. As he fidgeted, your mouth became increasingly dry.
“Can I sleep here?” He asked, not looking up from his lap.
“I mean, I’m not home alone.” You nodded towards your door.
“It’s not like we’ll be loud.”
Of course, this caused you to imagine the sounds that Peter could make. For a brief second, you zoned out.
Collecting yourself, you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Right. Yeah, you can stay.”
Wetness pooled at your core. You could feel it collecting between your thighs as you watched Peter’s fingers move. It felt illegal—a forbidden arousal triggered by your best friend. Part of you wanted to kick him out, so you could finish the job. But the majority of you wanted him to be the one parting your folds.
You laid your legs flat on the bed, then crossed them.
Peter wasn’t an idiot. He saw the way your breath hitched as he adjusted his hips. He noticed how you were hiding your right hand. And, accidentally, he caught a glimpse of what you were doing through the glass.
The way your legs parted, how your mouth fell, it was intoxicating. Peter had stayed awake at night imagining the sight—but seeing it in person was a dream. He had stroked down himself before, thinking of the sounds you could make. Pretty whimpers of pleasure that he could elicit from you. Unfortunately, the window insulated these noises. But he was determined to hear them.
You generally weren’t this awkward around eachother. Normally, conversation flowed smoothly. But with the lust clouding your mind, it was impossible to think straight. You almost convinced yourself that Peter was growing hard, but you knew that was just wishful thinking.
Maybe if you guys just went to sleep, you could ignore it.
“Are you tired?” You asked.
“I mean, yeah.” He shrugged.
“Great—uh.. I’ll turn off the light.” You rolled over to your lamp.
As darkness fell over your room, Peter pulled off his shirt. When you turned to look at him, the city lights illuminated over his chiseled stomach. Statuesque abs laid down his abdomen. You bit your lip on instinct, staring at his muscles. Biceps bulged at his arms, not doing well in extinguishing your arousal. You knew he slept shirtless, but had forgotten when you offered to go to bed. You cursed yourself.
To avoid looking at him, you got under your covers—facing opposite of Peter. He joined you under the sheets, behind you. His back was to the wall and you could feel the soft heat of his breath on your shoulder.
This position was no better for your hormonal mind. You could think of a thousand positions you wanted him to have you in.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Peter questioned softly.
You continued looking forward as you answered, “sure.”
He gulped. “Were you touching yourself before I came inside?”
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
“I—kinda saw you.”
You stayed silent, unable to get your mouth to open.
“Y’know… you didn’t have to stop.”
Your heart was thrashing before, but now you wouldn’t be surprised if it stopped beating all together. Willing yourself to move, you flipped to look at Peter. It was dark, but you could still see his face in a deep blue hue.
“What do you mean?” Your voice was barely a whisper.
He kept the tone. “I would’ve helped you.”
His hand moved up the duvet, hesitantly resting on your cheek. Heat crept onto your skin at his touch. His hands were smooth and tender, feeling like an indirect kiss. You wanted to be calmed by the sensation, but instead felt greedy. It wasn’t enough. All your fantasies corroded your mind, unable to be shaken.
You became aware of the proximity of the two of you. The fabric of your shorts was scarce, your bare legs almost brushing the softness of his pants. He had his bottom lip captured in his teeth, mere inches from you. You unconsciously synced your breaths to his.
“Would you have been…” Peter brushed your skin with his thumb. “Okay with that?”
You nodded.
He shook his head. “You gotta say it.”
“I would’ve been more than okay with it,” you spoke timidly.
Peter smiled slightly. “Do you still want help now?”
Looking between each of his eyes, you whispered a soft, “yes.”
His touch lingered for a moment as he read your expression for any hint of hesitancy. When he found none, his hand dragged softly down the column of your neck. A strapped, lace pajama top sat at your chest. With your body on its side, your boobs pressed firmly together. The covers fell past your shoulder as his hand moved, allowing him to get a full look of your cleavage.
Propping himself on his elbow, Peter looked down at you. At your waistband, his fingers traced. You were holding your breath unknowingly, waiting for his next move. All he did was dart his eyes across your boobs like they were a work of art.
Your lips pursed into a pout. “Please, Peter.”
His cock throbbed at your words, but he didn’t move. Instead, he moved along the band of your shorts, teasing the goosebumps on your stomach. You shivered at the way he handled you.
Slowly, he slipped his hand down the side of your hip, taking the fabric with him. You wriggled out of the clothes beneath your waist—pushing them to a disregarded place under your duvet. Propping your outer leg up, Peter now had plenty of leverage.
Despite your bottom half being below the blankets, he still found your clit effortlessly. He didn’t stay there though, instead dragging his fingers to the wetness leaking from you.
He gasped as he made it to your entrance. “God, you’re wet.”
Embarrassed, you blushed. “Sorry.”
“No, no, you’re beautiful. Don’t be sorry.”
His words were sweet, but they only made you needier. You bucked your hips into his hand. This movement changed something in Peter.
“What do you think about?” He asked, looking down at your parted lips.
You tilted your head.
“When you touch yourself.”
Blinking, you tried to find anything to say besides the truth. Even though Peter had you like this, it still felt wrong to admit.
“I don’t know,” you lied.
His fingertip dragged your arousal to your clit, circling slowly. “I think you do.”
You shuddered. “Peter…”
“Tell me.”
“I think about you,” you admitted, finally.
A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. You weren’t sure what this expression meant, but didn’t feel you were in a state to be questioning him.
“Show me,” he whispered, “how you do it.”
Your hand was flush to your stomach, and he placed his own over it. He was larger than you were, his fingers falling far past the ends of yours. In a slow motion, he guided you downwards. Soon, you made contact with your dripping pussy. For a second, you were sheepish of how soaked you were.
You did as he asked. Muscle memory made you dip inside of yourself. The weight of his hand over yours made your brain go fuzzy. Collecting the wetness, you brought it back to your sensitive bud. All the while, Peter watched you.
He grazed the strap of your top. “Can I?”
At your nod, he pulled it off of your shoulder. Material fell down your tits. Your nipples hardened at once, as if they knew Peter was looking. Conscious shattering like glass, the only thing you could think about was pleasure. You quickened your pace on your clit.
While you rubbed, he slipped downwards and pressed into your pussy. His finger was bigger than your own, and your walls tightened around him. The sensation overwhelmed you. You took your hand off of yourself and grabbed his bicep for relief. The muscle flexed under your grip.
“Peter—“ you whimpered. “I’ve never done this before.”
You saying his name was enough to make him release against the fabric of his sweats. He rutted forward, aching for friction that never came.
“Me neither,” he admitted. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
This caused relief to wash over you. “Do you want me to tell you what to do?”
He nodded, brunette waves falling down his forehead.
“Curve your finger a little, like this.” You made a motion with your free hand.
Still inside of you, he did as you asked.
You immediate shuddered. “Y-yeah, fuck, like that.”
Peter bent perfectly at your g-spot. His fingertip pressed deep in you, and you held firm on his arm. Crescents formed where you dug into his muscle. Wet rhythmic sounds cascaded through your room. Moans fell from your throat in time with his motions.
“Shhhh,” Peter cooed. More than anything he wanted to hear you scream for him, but he knew you weren’t alone in the house.
Biting your lip, you tried to stop your cries. You bent your head sideways, breathing into your pillow. The silk muffled nothing.
With his finger still working inside of your pussy, he leaned over, grabbing his red mask.
“Open,” he ordered.
Once you did, he pressed the material into your mouth. Your teeth clamped around it, insulating your moans.
Peter’s dick strained painfully. A wet spot of pre-cum seeped through his pants. But he didn’t care—only focusing on your pleasure. He used his thumb to rub your clit, while simultaneously adding a second finger. At the stretch, your teeth sunk deeper into the mask.
“This okay?” He asked, palming your tit.
You nodded frantically, your thighs shaking. Placing your hand atop his, you kneaded your boob. Your breaths were erratic, chest heaving. Both of his fingertips rammed into your g-spot, nearing you dangerously close to release.
“Breath for me,” Peter said.
You slowed your inhales as much as you could.
“That’s it.” He smiled, quickening his rubbing of your clit.
Just as heat began coiling at your stomach, a piercing noise ripped through your room. A siren. Peter looked up, his head tilting like a dog hearing a trigger word. His eyes widened as he looked at you, as if he was fighting an internal battle.
With brows furrowed, he pulled his fingers out of your pussy. You nodded sincerely.
“I promise you I’ll be back,” Peter insisted, looking at the window.
He leaned down to you, pressing his lips against your forehead. In the same movement, he pulled his mask from your mouth.
“Wait for me.” Were the last words he said before he dove back out of your window, into the night.
a/n: first time writing for marvel, kinda nervous 🙈
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