bad boy, shiny toy with a price, you know that i bought it.
Peter Whitney x fem!reader
word count: 2.3k
tags: enemies to lovers, banter, reader has curves, Peter has depression, unprotected p in v sex (reader is on the pill), some degradation (Peter calls reader a slut), oral (m and f receiving), handjob, creampie, cockwarming, jumping between reader and peter's pov because I'm a mess, set post-season 1 finale, some discussion of antidepressants
summary: Peter continues his crashout of the century by hooking up with the one person he never thought he would. But it just might end up being what he needs right now.
note: title from cruel summer by Taylor Swift. Couldn't get this awful frat boy out of my head after watching Overcompensating, so of course I had to write about him.
18+ only—minors DNI!
The second semester of senior year was supposed to be epic.
Peter had had his final semester at Yates all mapped out—he'd be kickin' it as the Keeper of Flesh & Gold, his girlfriend Grace at his side as the perfect power couple, with a sick finance job waiting for him in New York during the summer. But then the first semester happened: he found out he was only made Keeper because people felt sorry for him, he got dumped by his girlfriend, and he had to fly to New York to basically grovel for a second chance at his dream banking job. (Which he probably wouldn't even get because Grace was right: he was dumb.)
Peter masked his feelings as best as he could while back home in Pittsburgh for the break. (He couldn't hide the breakup for long, but they definitely didn't need to know that he'd stopped taking his antidepressants.) He fell back into familiar patterns, sleeping with past high school hookups he'd met through the all-girls' school that paired with his all-boys' school for dances and shit. It was safe, comfortable territory, with familiar pretty faces who wouldn't cause him to dwell on his insecurities or ask too many questions. Peter could just get his dick wet and leave.
But winter break was over now, and Peter was faced with reality. He was at Yates again, moving back into his on-campus apartment. Peter hadn't talked to anyone from school in a month—not even Gabe, his so-called best friend who was content talking shit about Peter behind his back and basically calling him a loser. He wasn't ready to face anyone, to be honest, especially not Grace. Peter finally unfollowed and blocked her IG account because he couldn't stop obsessively checking her updates and seeing how much happier she looked without him.
Once he was all unpacked, Peter trudged to his favorite on-campus bar, ready to drink away all of the feelings that swirled in his gut. He hopped onto a barstool, ordering his favorite craft beer.
“Well well well, if it isn’t one of my least favorite people here to ruin my day.”
That familiar snarky voice made Peter jump. He looked up from his phone to see you sitting right next to him, your typical judgmental look on your face as you popped cheese fries into your mouth.
You and Peter had…history. You were a junior at Yates who used to date Parker McCall, one of Peter’s Flesh & Gold brothers. Peter always thought you were a bit judgy and uptight whenever the two of you crossed paths though he couldn’t deny that you were kinda hot. You and Parker had broken up before the school year started—Parker hadn’t said anything to the F&G bros, but his Instagram posts and stories over the summer were definitely not that of a man in a relationship—so Peter hadn’t seen you in months. He almost had to pinch himself to make sure you were real.
Peter smirked. “I missed you too, baby.”
You rolled your eyes, scowling when Peter swiped a handful of fries off of your plate. “What the fuck, Whitney. Buy your own damn fries,” you grumbled.
The bartender returned with Peter’s beer, and Peter maintained eye contact with you as he sipped his drink. “Didn’t they teach you that sharing is caring, princess?” Peter teased, munching on a fry.
You exhaled sharply through your nose. Peter delighted in winding you up back when you and Parker were dating. Your ex always seemed amused by your exchanges with Peter, and once asked why you let him get to you so much. How were you supposed to answer that? Peter was just…insufferable. And infuriating. You just had to argue with him, because nobody else was gonna put him in his place.
Peter took another sip of his craft beer, letting his eyes trail down your body. You were mouthy and mean, but damn were you something to look at. Your soft-looking, pouty lips. The way your eyes still looked gorgeous even when you were rolling them at him. And that body...even covered up with an oversized cardigan, Peter noticed your curves.
He felt his blood rushing south. Fuuuck, he was horny.
"You're being weirdly quiet," you teased, arching an eyebrow at Peter. "Have I finally managed to break your brain?"
Peter cleared his throat. "You, uh, doing anything later?" Real smooth, Whitney.
You eyed him suspiciously, popping another fry into your mouth. "Oh, I've got huge plans. Gonna watch The Gilded Age alone in my apartment and jack off to George Russell. Exciting stuff," you quipped.
Peter smirked, the wheels turning in his head. You were both single—might as well shoot his shot. "You should come over to my place instead. Guarantee you'll have more fun."
You don't know what possessed you to act the way you did in that moment. Peter was douchey and annoying, the Platonic Ideal of the typical frat boy. And yet—
"Sure, why not," you agreed, shrugging your shoulders. "But you're waiting until I finish my fries."
-
Peter's apartment was surprisingly...clean. You were expecting clothes scattered all over the floor and bikini pics of Sydney Sweeney on the wall, but the decor was actually nice. It looked like a place you would actually want to spend time in.
You and Peter flopped down on his couch, the tension crackling like lightning between the two of you. You noticed his headset and gaming console lying around and snorted. Of course, he had the exact same gaming headphones as Parker.
"What's so funny, huh?" Peter asked, arching an eyebrow at you.
"Nothing. Just wondering what kind of a gamer you are. Your whole demeanor screams Call of Duty or Halo," you remarked.
Peter grinned crookedly. "I'm more of a SlutSlayer guy myself."
You threw your head back in laughter. "Oh man. You would be into a game about slaying sluts."
"It's surprisingly feminist!" Peter argued. "Focuses on strong female characters and shit. Don't knock it till you try it."
You shook your head, trying to fight off a smile. "Peter Whitney, you are ridiculous."
You smiled. At him. Not a smirk either—an actual, legit smile. Fuck, as if you couldn't get any more beautiful. Peter loved the way your smile lit up your entire face, making your eyes sparkle as you giggled.
Before he could overthink it, Peter crashed his lips into yours. You let out a yelp of surprise before kissing him back. Peter moaned at how soft your lips were and pulled you into his lap, needing to have your body closer to his.
You groaned as Peter slid his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Your mind started spinning. What was your life right now? You were sitting in Peter Whitney's lap. Kissing him. Grinding against the growing bulge in his pants like you were an animal in heat.
You and Peter eventually broke apart, gasping for air. Peter picked you up, carrying you off the couch and tossing you on top of the bed. Peter quickly unbuckled his pants, letting them puddle at his feet before sliding out of his boxers, his cock already erect, the tip an angry red and leaking with precum.
You gulped. Fuck, Peter was girthy—definitely bigger and longer than Parker—and slightly curved, its veins pulsing with arousal. You sat up on the bed, positioning yourself on your knees for him.
Peter grinned lazily. "You gonna suck me off?"
Instead of replying, you took his length into your mouth, sucking on the tip while you rubbed up and down Peter's dick with one hand.
Peter gasped, shutting his eyes in pleasure. "Oh fuck. Aw, shit. Love the way your pretty little mouth feels on me."
You took Peter’s dick as far as it could go in your mouth without gagging, idly fondling his balls as you sucked him off.
“Oh god, you feel so good. Fuck me—gonna cum down this pretty throat,” Peter grunted, releasing his spunk into your mouth. You dutifully swallowed the salty mixture, and Peter swore he could bust again just from watching you drink his cum.
Peter laid you back on the bed, stripping you down to your bra and panties. He marveled at you, amazed that Parker fumbled you so hard. (Though people could say the same about him and Grace. Peter definitely fucked that up.)
He kissed down your body, enjoying how you squirmed underneath him. He paused when he got to the space between your legs, moving your panties to the side.
“Damn, look at this pussy,” he murmured. “So fucking pretty.”
Peter dove into your cunt, holding your legs open while he plunged his tongue inside, greedily licking and sucking as he ate you out.
Parker never ate you out unless you asked him to. Not because he didn’t care about you—he had—but it was never something that he exactly loved doing. But Peter? You could just tell that he ate pussy because he enjoyed it. He hungrily lapped at you, burying himself inside and savoring your taste.
Soon, you were unraveling for Peter, and he helped you ride out your orgasm, continuing to suck you off until your head was swimming from overstimulation. Holy shit.
"You good, princess?" Peter chuckled, watching you catch your breath and return to Earth.
"I—That was—" You truly didn't know what to say right now. Up was down. Down was up. This asshole had truly scrambled your brain and all it took was his tongue inside of you.
Peter smirked, nipping at a spot right below your ear. "Better than Parker?" he asked.
You rolled your eyes, not wanting to stroke Peter's already massive ego. "Why is it always a dick-measuring contest with you guys?"
Peter chuckled darkly. "So that's a 'yes' then. And I haven't even fucked you properly yet."
You squeezed your legs together in anticipation. Peter grinned, kissing the nape of your neck as his fingers lazily rubbed at your clit. "Gonna go get a condom," he mumbled.
"No need; I'm on the pill," you replied, gasping as Peter pressed down on your clit with his thumb.
Your words were music to Peter's ears. He pumped his dick, already hard again just from kissing you. You were plenty soaked, so he was able to slide in easily. Peter grunted as your pussy clamped around you, sucking him in with your tight, warm walls.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Peter gasped, adjusting himself inside of you. "You feel so fuckin' good."
You dug your nails into Peter's back as his cock stretched out your walls. Damn it. You hated that this asshole was actually good at sex. You moaned as Peter fucked into you, grabbing your hips and muttering all sorts of nasty things in your ear.
Peter managed to coax another orgasm out of you, enjoying the way you creamed all around his dick. "You're such a good little slut for me," Peter praised, balls deep in your cunt. "Still so fuckin tight tho—gonna make me cum real soon. Where do you want me?"
"Inside," you whined, your brain reduced to static at this point.
Peter kissed you deeply, biting your lip before he shot ropes of his hot cum inside you, filling you up. He collapsed on top of you, his cock still nestled inside. The two of you were a sweaty, sticky mess, though neither of you was willing to untangle yourselves yet.
"So..." You trailed off, just saying something to fill the silence. "I hate to stroke your ego, but...that was good. Like, really good."
You felt Peter's grin at the nape of your neck. "That was amazing," he said. "I really needed that."
You hadn't been living under a rock—you knew all about Peter's incredible crashout last semester and how Grace totally dumped his ass. And as much of a douche as Peter could be, you did feel some sympathy for him. The gossip you'd heard about him had been kind of brutal, and nobody deserved to be laughed at like that.
"You know what? I liked hanging out with you tonight," you admitted. "You're actually not that bad."
Peter flushed bright red, suddenly feeling vulnerable in front of you. It had been fun to mess around with you and trade jabs, but there was something about cutting out the shit and just being real with you. The sex was incredible, obviously, but he was really grateful for your company in general. He totally got what Parker had seen in you besides looks, though the looks were a hell of a bonus.
"Before...everything happened last semester, I stopped taking my meds," Peter admitted, his voice small. A few weeks ago, he would've rather died than admit this to anyone, but he finally felt comfortable enough to let his walls down.
You frowned. "Why?" you wondered, your voice full of concern that made Peter's heart clench.
Peter scoffed. "It's stupid. I couldn't get my dick hard when Grace and I were having sex so I stopped taking my antidepressants so I could take Viagra. But then everything just started to go to shit and I just...kept not taking them. I just didn't see the point anymore, you know."
"I'm not your doctor or anything, but going back on your meds might be a good idea," you suggested. "I take antidepressants too and I feel like they're so helpful for me. Or if you don't want to do that, then talk to someone. A therapist. Or I'm here too, if you want."
"So you admit you like me? Never thought I'd see the day," Peter teased.
"Nice deflection, Whitney," you deadpanned. "But yeah, I like you. Are you happy now?"
Peter gazed at you fondly. "You know what? I think I am."
The two of you stayed like that for a while, cuddling each other close. You weren't entirely sure what your status with Peter was now, but you knew you wouldn't mind doing this—whatever it was—again.
Peter was quiet, but you could tell he felt the same way. He was holding you firmly, a nonspoken sign that he wanted you to stay. And you weren't planning on leaving anytime soon.
