jealous!reader x peter parker and him j being like fuck that’s hot when she gets mad when other girls flirt w him
i can't believe i've never written jealous!reader before but this is a perfect time to start. thank you for the request!!
juicy 18+ content under the cut, which may or may not include antics in a janitor's closet that are not school appropriate
she had taken your seat before you got there.
it was the only shared class you and peter had that semester, the class where you always did your lab work together pressed arm to arm behind test tubes and titrations. that had been your seat for the past seven weeks, and peter had let her take it.
Peter doesn't need to turn around to know that you've been glaring at them for the last 45 minutes. it wasn't his fault. he just had a hard time saying no to people, especially when the people in question were as brazenly determined to get something as the girl currently sitting beside him evidently is.
and then he feels it, the manicured hand that comes to grasp at his knee under the table, and he knows he's done for. Peter thinks he might hear the snapping of a pencil somewhere behind him.
he has to jog down the hallway after class to catch up to you. your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, and your only reaction to his presence beside you is to quicken the pace, try to move away from him to no avail, his long strides falling into step with you easily.
"it wasn't my fault," is the first thing he says, his first line of defence against the glare that you shoot him between narrowed eyes. you stay silent. "y/n, come on, you know how I am about saying no to people and she was just-"
"oh, really? was it hard for you to say no when she was basically offering you a handjob in the middle of class?"
"what? she wasn't- you saw me! I basically jumped to the other end of the table when she-"
"but you gave her my seat, peter."
you stop when you say it, turn to him in the middle of the hallway, arms still crossed firmly over your chest.
peter tries to mouth the opening to a defence, tries again and falls flat. he looks at you for a long moment, at your clenched jaw and your stormy eyes, takes a look left, takes a look right, and tugs open the janitor's closet you've stopped conveniently next to.
"what the hell are you- oh, you are absolutely not doing this, parker."
Peter's on his knees. you're in a cramped, dark closet that wreaks of bleach and chemicals and dirty mop water, and peter is on his knees. "forgive me?"
"get up, peter."
"let me make it up to you."
his hands are already at the waist of your jeans, fingers hovering over the button as if waiting for permission. you sigh, admittedly a little breathless, reach down to rake your fingers through his hair and tilt his face even further up towards you.
the only light in the tiny room is the artificial white that struggles through the sliver of glazed glass. but it's all you need to understand the look in his eyes, the absolute hunger in them. you give his hair a harsh tug, savour the sound it draws from the back of his throat and let it fuel the growing heat in your lower half.
"... this doesn't mean I'm over it."
"Good." He's grinning at you, that devilish glint in his eye, and you think it's sick, that he has this much power over you when he's the one on his knees. Your jeans are forgotten in a pool of denim on the floor, and peter tugs down until they're hanging loosely around your ankles, slides his hand up your calf and hooks one knee over his shoulder. "Maybe you can figure out a way to show everyone just who I belong to when we have a little more privacy."
e smiles again, when he hears you gasp, except for this time the curve of his lips is pressed right against your aching core.
You have to cover your mouth to muffle that moan that threatens to announce your little entanglement to the entire science building, can't help it when his tongue swirls around your clit before sucking the sensitive bundle between plump lips.
"Pete, jesus-"
The hand holding you by the small of your back presses forward, tilts your hips up so he can slip down and taste the pool of wetness just outside your entrance. The breach of his tongue makes you tug at his hair again, this one an involuntarily reaction, an instinct of heat of his mouth on you.
You feel him pull away, feel the simultaneous heat and coolness of his breath against your cunt.
"Look at me, sweetheart." He's still hovering below you, refuses to make contact until you look down to meet his eyes. A kiss, lips wrapped around your swollen clit for infinitely less time than you need, holds your gaze the whole time. "There she is... bet you're thinkin' about all the way you could mark me up as your own, aren't you honey."
"Peter..." Your voice is strained, breathy, your ability to articulate anything substantial entirely lost when he presses another sloppy kiss to your core, yet again pulls away all too quickly. "Anyone... anybody could come in, anyone could-"
"Is this your way of telling me to put my mouth to better use?"
He doesn't give you the time to answer, mouth back on you in an instant, moves like he's trying to drown in you as two fingers ease inside of you.
Everything is frantic now, doesn't give you time to adjust to the stretch of his fingers before he's curling them in and out of you, send the slick, squelching sounds of his effect on you echoing crudely around the tiny space.
He doesn't protest to you throwing your head back, to you pulling even harder at his locks to press him against you, only tightens the already bruising grip around your thigh.
Everything feels too good, feels objectively better than it should surrounded by cleaning supplies and with the threat of the unlocked door beside you.
Every fluid motion of his tongue and his fingers pushes you closer and closer, has spent enough time with his head between your thighs to know how to get you there quickly when he wants to. He can tell that it's working, too, feels your legs start to shake and the slump of your weight against his arms.
"Fuck, Pete, so fucking good. So close, baby."
The light squeeze he gives to your thigh is acknowledgement enough, makes you look back down and the sight of him between your legs, chin soaked with your slick and clouded eye looking right into yours, is enough alone to push you over the edge.
It washes over you like an earthquake, makes you tremble in his hands as you hold your breath around a silent moan, feel him lifting you against the shelves for a moment as your other leg pushes off the floor, tries to escape the movements of his mouth attempting to coax you through your orgasm.
He doesn't let up until he hears the heavy sigh from above him, slowly settles you onto unsteady feet, drags your panties and jeans back up your legs as he stands.
You kiss him as soon as he's close enough, hum a moan into the taste of yourself on his tongue.
This is peter's form of chivalry, redressing you in the musky darkness of a janitor's closet.
"Am I forgiven?"
"Not even fucking close."
