Doctor Tony Stark was a very good known doctor in his city. He was very busy, because he was the best in what he did.
Peter Parker knew that the man had important stuff to do. But he couldn’t help pretending to be sick, he couldn’t help missing a stairs step so he end up with a bleeding nose in Dr. Stark’s cabinet.
His only fear was that Tony could hear his heartbeat going crazy. But at the same time, it kinda made it exciting.
Tony Stark may be a good doctor, he may not be a good man. Because there’s this patient of him… Christ, that boy was just asking to be railed. And the way he saw the boy’s pupils dilate everytime he brought the stethoscope close him. And Tony can’t promise that he won’t take advantage of this next time Peter will come to his cabinet.
can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?
It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.
He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.
Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.
An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.
The doctor is paying attention to him.
"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...
Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.
His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.
Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.
Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.
Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.
Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.
He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.
Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.
"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."
He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.
"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)
(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)
The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.
(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)
Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.
There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.
Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.
The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.
He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.
As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."
Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.
Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.
"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.
Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"
Why help me escape?
"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.
You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.
"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.
(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)
"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."
" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.
"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."
Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.
Can I get some Peter getting hard as he’s getting a check over and our fav doctors ~treating~ him 🐞
“Shhh, it’s okay, good boy. Take your hands away, let the doctor see. Oh, you’re so hard, Peter. It’s been over two weeks since your surgery, and you haven’t been able to get off since, have you?”
“N-no... Cause- you said- not to...”
“I did, because I don’t want you to hurt yourself. It would be such a shame if you ripped your stitches out and you’d have to be rushed back to surgery for me to fix, again.”
“Yes, Doctuh Stark...”
“But, I can see that you’ve been healing well. And, you look so achingly hard. I almost feel bad for you.”
“Nngh!”
“Perhaps... Perhaps if I can give you a little something to settle, then you won’t trash around so much if I help you out. After all, this could help with your circulation and make you heal faster.”
“P-please! Doctuh Stark, please!”
“Shhh, you’ll have to be quiet, or I’ll give you enough to knock you out. You wouldn’t want to miss your orgasm, now would you?”
“No, Doctuh-...”
“Okay, slight pinch now. Shh, good boy. Now just let me take care of you.”
Hii!! I have this Starker prompt and it goes like this~ Peter is a highschooler who gets bullied by Flash everyday and as the days go by, it gets very serious. One day Flash and his sidekicks beat-up Peter so bad that he has to be taken to the hospital. And there he is treated by Dr. Tony Stark. Can you add some fluff AND smut in this please?? Also, you blog is bloody AWESOME!! 😍😍💞 May the Sun keep shining upon your blog and may you keep giving us these cool posts forever!! 😘😘
First of all: THANK YOU SO MUCH!! That’s so sweet of you to say!!
Secondly: this turned into 2,6k and I’m not even remotely sorry. Enjoy!!!
He should have known it was a dumb idea to stay late after school, especially with Flash and his stupid fanclub of braindead bullies constantly lurking around. But he didn’t think and when he finally left the classroom it was already too late. With four guys coming at him at once, led by a very satisfied Flash of course, Peter stood no chance.
Sometime during the beating up he received, Peter must have passed out, because the next thing he remembers after Flash’s initial blow and the disgusting grin on his face, is that he’s in a hospital bed and stares at the tiled ceiling. For a few minutes, he just lays there, trying to process the weird mixture of amusement and dread he feels. Only he would end up in a hospital after some idiots cornered him. Typical.
He’s been awake for a few more minutes before the door opens and someone walks into the room - a room that only consists of Peter until then and the dumb, annoying beeping noise from the machines he is connected to - and the boy manages to turn his head. Well, the day just turned a bit brighter, despite everything hurting. The man that walks in is incredibly handsome, though Peter can’t say if it’s the white coat or the face. Whatever it is, he likes it.
“Mister Parker?” the man asks and Peter can only grin at him. Damn, what did they give him that he feels so silly suddenly? Morphium? “I see we’ve woken up? How do you feel?”
“Dumb,” Peter says and can’t help but laugh at the probably worst word to use. “Sorry… I meant… I’m fine.”
“Well,” the doctor - at least he looks like one - says and walks over to the bed. “Dumb isn’t what I would call it. It says here you’ve been going against… four guys? Not a smart move, really.”
“Not my fault,” Peter huffs and shifts a little. “They started it. Don’t really know what happened, I guess I got knocked out.”
“That you did,” the doctor smirks and shakes his head. “No major injuries, don’t worry, but you’ll have to stay here for a few day so we can make sure there’s no internal bleeding and such.”
“You’re my doctor, right?” Peter asks, earning a nod in return. “Perfect… at least this time I’m not treated by a troll.”
At this, the doctor laughs quietly and looks down at his board. “I won’t tell Doctor Banner you said that, but thank you. Now try to get some rest, you need it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Doctor Stark, but you can call me Tony if it’s easier,” the doctor winks and leaves before the boy can say anything else to embarrass himself.
Peter grins when he turns his head back to look at the ceiling. Damn, he’s lucky this time. Even if it’s just the medication he gets that makes him so giddy, he can’t wait until the doctor comes back to examine him again. The man looks damn hot.
The day goes by rather quiet and contrary to what Peter believes, he stays alone in the room. When a nurse brings him his food in the evening he asks if the doctor will come by again that day - claiming he’d like to know if he will be woken up sometime during the night for examinations and such - and she smiles gently at him, explaining that the doctor will, in fact, look after him again before he goes to bed, to make sure he feels comfortable and doesn’t need any more medication. Peter can’t fully suppress his excitement about that and is even able to look past the bland taste of his food.
He spends the rest of the early evening watching TV - there’s either cartoons or talk shows and he doesn’t need other people’s problems, so he settles for the first - and continues to empty the water bottle on his nightstand as the nurse instructed him to. It tastes a bit weird, so he expects some sort of medication in there too. Not that he minds, the pain is almost gone at this point and he feels much better already.
Around eight, Peter gets up to follow nature’s call, luckily there are no needles in his arm anymore after lunch. He uses the chance to clean himself up a bit, mostly his face because he feels icky after Flash touched him, and when he comes out finds someone sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Doctor Stark.
“You’re feeling better already, I see?” the doctor asks and Peter nods with a smirk.
“Much better after washing that idiot’s touch off my face,” he says and walks over. Before he can lay back down, however, the man takes his wrist and stops him.
“Do you mind if I check out your bruises again, to see if there’s anything wrong?” he asks and Peter slowly shakes his head. “Good, get out of that shirt then.”
The boy tries really hard to not grin when he pulls the shirt over his head. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to wear one of those nasty hospital gowns, he absolutely hates those. Once his upper body is bare, he steps in front of the doctor, between his legs, so he can examine him.
“How bad is it, doctor?” he asks quietly as the man’s hands begin to move. He can hardly suppress a gasp when he feels those big, strong fingers on him and closes his eyes.
“You got a few pretty bad hits, kid,” the doctor replies, almost as quiet as Peter. It sounds like he’s fighting to keep his voice steady. “Does this hurt?” he then asks and presses a finger against one of the dark spots on Peter’s hips, making the boy jerk up.
“Ah - yes! That… that hurts,” Peter gasps and bites the insides of his cheeks. The procedure is repeated several times and with every new gasp, Peter begins feeling more dizzy and tingly. Fuck, this man’s hands know what they are doing, even when their touch hurts. At one point he asks Peter to turn around so he can look at his front, and he does so while holding his breath.
“You’re a good boy, Peter,” the doctor says after a while, before swallowing. “I’m almost done.”
Damn, Peter wishes he would have more bruises that the man could be checking out. Surprisingly though, when he is done, Peter can still feel the doctor’s hands on his hips. They don’t move anymore, just stay there and he can hear the man’s breathing go slow and shakily. At this, Peter finally opens his eyes again and looks down, catching himself just in time to prevent a moan at just how handsome and zoned out he looks.
“Doctor Stark?” Peter asks, his own voice trembling and after a moment, the doctor looks up at him, his gorgeous brown eyes darkened and slightly unfocused.
“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, as if he’s just repeating something he knows he should say right now.
“Good,” Peter gulps, without breaking eye contact. “Your hands… feel good on me.”
At this, the doctor begins moving his thumbs, rubbing over Peter’s hip bones and the boy’s breath hitches at the shudder that goes through his body. Fuck, why does this feel so awesome? He has to hold onto the man’s shoulder to steady himself, his head dropping.
“P-Please don’t stop,” he breathes heavily. It feels so good, Peter wants him to keep going.
The doctor stills for a moment and Peter already fears he will just get up and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to rub over the boy’s skin, adding a bit more pressure and Peter thinks he might lose it right there and then. He’s a needy thing, he knows that and it got him into so much trouble already, but fuck, this is better than all of that and Doctor Stark didn’t even do anything yet.
“You should go back to bed, Peter,” the doctor murmurs, without showing any sign of wanting to give his patient the chance to even do it. “You’re still hurt, you need rest.”
“I can… rest later,” Peter whispers, letting out a hushed breath at the doctor pressing his thumbs roughly against his hips. “I… I want you to touch me, doctor…”
“Bad idea, kid,” the man says, without actually stopping to touch Peter. “You’re my patient, I’ll get into lots of trouble. And you’re 16… really bad idea.”
“I won’t tell,” Peter gasps, squeezing the doctor’s shoulder. “P-Please, I won’t tell, I promise…”
“Fuck, Peter…” There’s a groan and then two shaky hands are on Peter’s jeans, opening the button. “I’m gonna get fired and worse, fuck…”
“I won’t tell, doctor, I won’t, I won’t…” Peter moans softly, trembling under the man’s experienced and yet insecure fingers. When he pulls the zipper down, Peter digs his nail into the coat covering the doctor’s shoulders.
“You gotta be quiet, kid, can you do that?” Doctor Stark asks and looks up at Peter, who immediately nods.
“I’ll… I’ll try,” he mumbles and bites his bottom lip.
When a strong hand suddenly shoves into his boxers and pulls his cock out, Peter’s throat is so tight the moan he wants to get out won’t come. Which is probably good because it would have been so fucking loud, everyone would have heard.
“God, please, doctor…” Peter begs, voice still trembling and drops his head onto the man’s shoulder. “I want you, please…”
Doctor Stark doesn’t answer, instead, he begins stroking Peter’s cock that is already half hard, easily bringing him to his full length. Once his gaze drops his eyes are glued to it, to his hand wrapping around Peter’s whole length so easily, to the little drop of precum he draws with his movements.
“So fucking pretty, fuck,” he breathes and leans down, his tongue teasingly licking over the tip of Peter’s cock and licking up his sweet, salty spill. “God, you taste perfect, kid… you like that?”
Peter has his mouth pressed against the man’s shoulder to muffle his sounds, but now he turns his head, letting out a whimper. “Y-Yes, i-it feels so good,” he trembles and lets out a hot breath against the other’s neck. “P-Please keep going, please…”
The doctor continues to move his hand slowly, the other moving between his own legs. Peter can see it and it’s impossible to suppress the groan at that. He’s touching himself… he’s touching himself while he touches him… Oh God…
“Kid, you’re gonna kill me,” Doctor Stark growls and suddenly Peter can feel - and see - his lips wrap around his cock and he buries his face back against the man’s shoulder to muffle his moan. Peter shudders when the doctor begins to move, his knees become weak and he slumps forward, unable to keep himself up any longer.
Peter never experienced something so amazing and groundbreaking, something that turns his whole ability to think into dust. He trembles and moans, barely able to breathe through the arousal and pleasure the man’s lips create inside of him. The doctor takes him in all the way with ease and Peter can feel the vibrations in his cock when he moans and hums and it makes him so absolutely weak.
“You good, kid?” the doctor asks at one point and Peter didn’t even realize he pulled back. He shakes his head slowly, breath hitching and frantic and every nerve in his body screaming and on edge.
“Fuck yeah,” Peter moans and can’t even recognize his own voice from just how husky it is. “Fuck, this is so good, I… I can feel… my heartbeat… in here…” The boy grabs his throat shakily.
“Stay still, kid, enjoy it,” the doctor growls and strokes Peter with his hand slowly. “You want me to make you cum like this?”
“Oh fuck yes, yes please…” Peter gasps at the thought alone, unable to hide how much he wants this.
With another low groan, Doctor Stark is back on his cock, swallowing him like it’s the most natural thing, almost making the boy scream. Peter forces himself to stay quiet by pressing his mouth against the man’s shoulder, but it’s of so little use, this just feels so damn good he can hardly muffle his moans.
The boy doesn’t last long, not at all. He clings to the doctor as he goes down on him, sucks him in the most mind-blowing way possible and he can feel his vision become blurry, unfocused and he can’t keep it together anymore, there’s just no way.
“Oh God, Doctor Stark, I – I’m gonna –”
Peter can’t finish his sentence. The man hollows his cheeks and goes down on him again, all the way to his base, and Peter loses it. He cums with a shout against the doctor’s shoulder, tears running down his cheeks from just how intense this orgasm hits him and bucking his hips desperately while he’s being milked by the man’s mouth mercilessly.
At one point, Peter must have collapsed against the other, because the next thing he remembers is that two strong arms hold him and carefully place him down on the bed again. His eyes flutter open and meet the doctor’s wonderfully warm ones and without thinking, Peter grabs the man’s coat and pulls him down into a sloppy and absolutely blissful kiss. He can taste himself on the other’s lips and can’t suppress a moan.
When the doctor finally pulls back, Peter is still panting. He can’t do much more than weakly hold onto him, his eyes dark and dreamy and his mind caught somewhere between blissful happiness and outright panic.
“Sleep, kiddo,” the doctor smiles at him, brushing a gentle hand through his hair. Peter wants to say something, but he’s so far gone already, all he can get out I’d a weak, mumbled ‘Thank you, sir,’ before his eyes fall shut and he’s off to dreamland.
The next day, Doctor Stark doesn’t show up. Doctor Banner took over Peter’s case and for the next three days, the boy is anything but happy. Only when he’s back home and is about to hang up his jacket - the one that has been sitting in the hospital wardrobe for days - he notices the small note in his pocket. On it is a number with the words ‘text me’ on it, without a name.
Peter’s heart beats faster when he takes his phone and puts the number in. He sends a message, just as the note told him to.
[Hey, doc. Been a while]
Peter doesn’t know if it’s actually the doctor or perhaps just the cutest nurse that kept flirting with him all the time, but his worries are blown away after an hour of waiting.
[Tell me it’s you, kid. Sorry, I had to finish an operation.]
Peter’s heart skips a beat when he replies.
[It’s me. Did it go well?]
[Smoothly as always. I thought you wouldn’t message me.]
[Only found the note now, sorry. Why did you put it there anywhere?]
There’s a long pause before Peter gets a reply and when he does, he can feel his insides coil again already.
[Have to finish what I started, don’t I? Easier if you’re not stuck at the hospital.]
Peter grins and settles down on his bed. He can’t believe this is real, but he got the evidence right there. He quickly saves the doctor’s number - as Dr. Sexy ❤️ obviously - before replying.
[Tell me when and where, I’ll be there.]
And Peter has never been more excited than when he gets a message back, telling him exactly when he’s going to be fucked real good.
