can't stop thinking about toxic/fuckboy!tasm!peter and casual by chappel roan played soooo
tw: toxic relationship, situationship, pet names, oral (f rec.), semi-public
ngl i kinda hate how i wrote this but that's okay
"can you pick me up from the airport?"
The dark screen of your phone illuminating and the sound of a text coming through making your hands move so quickly it ought to be embarrassing. You knew who it was, who else would be texting you this late on a weeknight?
The voices of your friends were already failing to scream in your subconscious as you re-read the text a few times. It was nearly midnight, you had to work in the morning, an assignment open on your computer. You promised them, and yourself, you'd be done with Peter when you graduate from college. He didn't need to know about that. And they didn't need to know about the conversation you had with him last week ultimately leading to your consideration of grad school.
"what time?" you type back, immediately biting at your nails and watching the little bubbles of him texting back appear.
"now. i'll make it worth your time, baby."
You didn't bother responding yet. You both know you don't need to. Quickly saving of your assignment, you found yourself slipping your shoes on and pulling a hoodie over your frame, one that you hated to admit to anyone was Peter's. The warm fabric smelled faintly of his cologne, and for a few moments you were able to believe that this was normal, that he was yours in the same way you've become his.
"Pull 'round to the alley, Aunt May put a camera on the front door last week." His voice gruff, like he hadn't slept properly in days, the ride from the airport to his Aunt's silent other than his occasional humming to the music you were playing.
The suitcase that sat in the backseat was his nicer one, letting you know how he had been travelling for work, the shadow of scruff an indicator it wasn't something super professional. Maybe a conference or meeting a long-time client for Oscorp? He would have taken a duffle bag if it was a personal trip. Maybe he'll tell you about it this weekend after the movies on the way back to your place.
The second you pulled the gear shift into park, he was pushing his seat back and maneuvering his body so he was knelt down at the glove box, facing the seat. Words hadn't been exchanged, and they weren't needed as you slid yourself out of your own seat to the passenger side. This was such an occurrence it might as well be routine, and so much so that he had paid to get your car windows tinted a few months back.
It was like Peter was sensing you were about to say something, his hands making quick work to pull the soft fabric of your pajama pants and underwear down. He didn't bother removing them, never did. Peter would always just pull them down enough to properly spread your legs and delve into you like a man starved.
"Always so fucking good," his praise against your cunt sending vibrations through you, as his arms hooked around your thighs pulling you down the seat to sit snuggly against his shoulders. It was as if any and every doubt you had started melting away once his lips begin suckling at you.
"Peter," the breathless moaning was only met with more feverish licks, your hand tangling in his soft hair causing a muffled groan to pull from his chest. His mouth might as well be made of magic, your orgasm brewing deep and quick.
"Don't you dare hold it," His voice coming out rough, eyes dark and blown wide as he held your gaze and quickly returned to lapping at your clit like he was being paid to do so. Peter started rocking your hips with his hold your thighs, helping you ride his lips to the high only he was capable of pulling from your body.
Peter watched with pure pride as you squeezed his head between your thighs, small whines and moans sneaking around your hand that was poorly covering your mouth. His eyes were half lidded as he pulled away, face glistening with your slick arousal. "Told you it'd be worth your time, baby," the smug tone sending shivers up your spine.
"Go to hell," you breathed out, though your words lacked any animosity.
Peter chuckled breathlessly, using the inside of his collar to wipe his face. You didn't even have a moment to fix your clothes or slide back into your seat before Peter was pulling the door open and clambering his way out of the car.
It was blurry and quick, Peter opening the back door and grabbing his suitcase. His hesitancy would no doubt repeat in your mind later on, but his words made their work of leaving that empty feeling, "I-uh- remember, no attachment, but thanks for the ride, babe.
