"UN PASADO CANDENTE" Nick Wilde X Mr Wolf

"UN PASADO CANDENTE" Nick Wilde x Mr Wolf

NOTA: TW: SMUT, MUY HOT, pasado oscuro, criminal, violencia, infidelidad. PALABRAS ANTISONANTES, temas sensibles.

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NOTA DE LOS AUTORES:

HOLA QUERIDOS LESCTORES, MIS HERMOSOS PEQUEÑOS KITTENS. Los saludan los autores de este hermoso one shot apasionad, lo hicimos con mucho amor en muchos días de arduo trabajo y cansancio. ESPERAMOS LES GUSTE.

El final es MUY PICANTE, recomendamos discreción..............

ATTE: M&M

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Nick se despertó apurado porque su maldita alarma no sonaba, Judy nunca le hacía caso de comprar una nueva, estaba frustrado pero no quería molestarla con eso, entonces agarro lo primero que vio en la cocina para comer y salir en seguida a la conferencia que tendría junto a ella. Sería una mañana muy ajetreada...

Estar en la comisaria seguía sin encantarle al 100, no lo admitía pero seguía extrañando sus gloriosos días de crimen y pasión, pero había dejado todo ese mundo por Judy, su coneja...se sentía culpable de extrañar su pasado, pero era quien era ¿Qué podía hacer? Sus pensamientos fueros interrumpidos deprisa gracias al Jefe Bogo que lo miraba con su vistazo típico que no podía descifrar ¿era enojo, curiosidad, una mezcla de todo eso?

"Wilde...veo que el premio que te dio el Alcalde no esta a tu altura"

Hubo un silencio un poco incomodo, no sabía que responder...

"No llenas los zapatos del trabajo que hace la sargento Hopps, no deberías siquiera en misiones con ella" Nick miró abajo un poco triste, las palabras resonaban en su cabeza, en cierta forma sabía que era verdad.

"Mejor vete por el día Wilde, no estorbes donde necesitamos trabajar, lo que menos necesitamos es un....rufián" escupió Bogo con desprecio para Nick alejándose dejándolo solo con sus pensamientos en la soledad de la comisaría...

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Nick salió, divagando por las calles todavía en su uniforme, no quería sentirse ¿inútil? tal vez era eso...tenía demasiado en su mente. Le envió un text a Judy para avisarle que tendría el día libre, solo para ponerlo en silencio. Necesitaba tiempo a solas, en Zootopia tenía la libertad de hacerlo.

Pasaron unas horas caminando, cansado llegó al museo donde recordó con cierta nostalgia donde había derrotado a la cabra que quería difamar a los depredadores de la ciudad junto Hopps, algo lo atrajo a la entrada. Tal vez era la nostalgia que sentía, o un sentimiento que todavía no podía expresar, de todas formas entro, sintiendo el aire ligeramente pesado.

Recorriendo los solitarios pasillos donde se encontraban bellas piezas de arte, observándolos, percibió que faltaba una. Una pieza importante para la historia de la ciudad ¿la habrían cambiado? no había nadie, estaba solo...demasiado solo.

A lo lejos del pasillo pudo notar el chillido de las ruedas de un carro de limpieza, este no era el horario de aseo, eso era peculiarmente raro. Nick camino cautelosamente al origen del sonido, notando una sombra alta. Trago en seco. Estaba en shock, "No podía, acaso...¿acaso era?"

No tuvo tiempo de actuar lógicamente, estaba en automático el otro lo percató. Cruzaron miradas, lo que para Wilde fue una eternidad, solo fueron unos segundos, se volvió en un escape del contrario. Se dio cuenta, estaba robando la pieza de arte que faltaba.

Corrió hacía él intentando parar lo que parecía ser ahora una persecución entre ambos depredadores, Nick estaba confundido, fue tan rápido el cambio de escenario pero sabía que tenía que hacer lo correcto. Tenía un día libre, pero seguía siendo un comisario, ya no era quien solía ser.

Llegó un punto donde Nick estaba arrinconándolo, tenía confianza de recuperar la pieza de arte, acercándose a lo que parecía ser el ladrón "¿sigues sin ser tan ágil, no?" dijo Nick con una sonrisa pícara acercándose, solo para percatarse que lo que pensaba era el ladrón era una pila de artículos de limpieza.

"y tu sigues sin ser tan rápido, Wilde?- Nick volteó rápido al escucharle

"¿qu-qué? ¿cómo sabes..?" Nick bajó la mirada apenado sabiendo lo que había hecho para conocerlo, siendo interrumpido por la voz profunda que estaba frente a él.

"¿Crees que me voy a tragar ese cuento, Wilde? tú sabes quien eres realmente, te conozco detrás de ese estúpido uniforme"- le miró con el seño fruncido analizando sus pupilas con pena. Se acercaba con pasos lentos. Nick estaba siendo arrinconado, se sentía una presa, ¿Qué era lo que estaba pasando en su ser?

"Wolf...y-yo..yo"- Nick no podía hablar, sus ojos recorrían el cuerpo del lobo, recordando sus momentos juntos, no quería olvidar que estaba ahí para arrestarlo pero algo en su mente lo detenía, tal vez eran esos hermosos ojos que había querido mantener fuera de su mente.. "¿Sabes? no te sienta tan mal ese traje...Nick" Wolf por fin lo acorrala y apoya su brazo contra la pared, con su mano izquierda agarra con cierta brusquedad que Nick no esperaba, haciéndolo mirar a sus pupilas dilatas. "Wilde, no recordaba lo adorable que eras...sabes que ser policía no es lo tuyo ¿no? puedes pretender todo lo que quieras pero.... siempre serás un sucio criminal"

Nick gruñó al ser recordado lo que era, afirmar sus pensamientos por un compañero de crímenes, por alguien que había sido un poco más que eso...

No podía dejar todo lo que era en realidad arruinar su presente, lo que tenía construido con Judy destruirse por dejarse llevar gracias a Mr.Wolf. Solo lo hacía para llevarse la obra de arte más fácil del museo... "concéntrate Nick Wilde, concéntrate"

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Ser un criminal, como todos los llamaban, era mala reputación, sí. Pero era lo que siempre sintió que era para él. Ser un simple lobo en la sociedad, trabajando para las masas, dejarse llevarse por las reglas, no era lo suyo. Creció sintiéndose diferente, quería dejar una huella, y robar la más famosa pieza de Zootopia sería su mayor logro. Había muchas huellas suyas por todos los lugares, sin embargo él también había sido marcado, una huella que no importaba el tiempo seguía en sí...Nick Wilde.

Un ex compañero de crimen, había sido su juventud, no sabían muy bien lo que hacían pues eran muy jóvenes para el mundo. Habían tenido sus aventuras, sus líos. Pero cuando Wolf supo lo que quería, Nick tuvo miedo. Iba cambiar todo. Podía ser visto con malas miradas, iba a estar marcado como alguien diferente. ¿Qué pensarían de un zorro desviado? o así era como su madre le recordaba...

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"concéntrate, Nick Wilde, concéntrate" era lo único que pasaba por la mente del zorro al estar a centímetros del lobo, no recordaba ese aroma, esa tensión que sentía, ese entusiasmo en su corazón al tenerlo cerca de su rostro. "te ves tan estúpido tratando de quitarme mi tesoro, nuestro...¿no lo recuerdas, Wilde?- Wolf toma distancia con una expresión de decepción y enojo- "todo el tiempo que lo planeamos, lo dejaste por ...por una simple medalla" Mr Wolf vuelve a acercarse a Nick con nostalgia tratando de tomar sus manos sin pensar. Nick rápidamente agarra las esposas que traía en su pantalón, dando un paso en seco intentando esposarlo.

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Estaba contra la pared, no supo en qué momento se despisto pero el lobo lo había esposado a él. Estaba sorprendido, en un parpadeó él era el esposado. ¿En qué momento el día había cambiado tanto?

"Yo puedo quitarte esas ideas, foxy" susurró contra su oído con una voz calmada pero intensa. "Te tengo tengo que enseñar como ser un buen zorro ¿no?" - con una mano sosteniendo las esposas, otra posa en el pecho de Nick haciendo círculos suaves.

"Tengo...tengo a Judy"- susurró con timidez Nick. No sabía lo que le estaba pasando. Ya no le importaba la pieza, estaba borracho del aroma de Wolf. Estaba atrapado en los recuerdos de su cercanía, quería evitar sus instintos. "W-wolf..No puedo"- Soltó Nick queriendo negar más alto, rogando para que nadie hubiera llegado al museo y verlo así, en su forma más vulnerable.

"olvídate de esto"- dijo Wolf de forma suave haciendo un trazo de besos en el cuello de Nick, quitando calmado las esposas. El corazón del lobo estaba al mil, la adrenalina solo subía al pensar en tener a Nick de nuevo en sus brazos. Tener por fin la pieza de arte y lo que más ha anhelado, a Nick Wilde.

"ven conmigo, cariño...concéntrate en mí"- le ofreció su mano tratando de ocultar su rostro sonrojado, estaba nervioso, no sabía si los sentimientos de Nick seguían siendo los mismos, él daba el mundo por ese hermoso zorro que ahora se daba la vuelta para mirarlo. Lo estaba mirando a él, solo a él...

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Su pasado era excitante, era una montaña rusa de emociones que vivían diario en años de inexperiencia en robos. Cuando llegaron a Zootopia Wolf pensaba que se relación formalizaría pues los comentarios no estarían presentes, Nick estaría mejor, estaría libre ¿no? lo prometió...Por fin estarían juntos.

No fue hasta que desapareció, lo buscó por todas partes, el zorro no se iría así. Sabía que Nick era mejor que eso, que irse sin explicarle nada. Que decepción fue verlo en la televisión de su apartamento con una... ¿oficial de la policía? Sabía que a veces intentaba fingir con lo que creció. Pero le prometió... él, le había mentido, dijo que jamás cambiaría.

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Miraba los ojos de Wolf dudando de lo que sentía era como un remolino pero sabía que quería estar solo una vez más, una vez más recordar su pasado no estaría mal ¿no?

Wolf no se dió cuenta de la cercanía por estar inmerso en sus pensamientos hasta que Nick plantó un beso en sus labios. Ahí lo supo, que Wilde era para él. Era suyo.

Mr. Wolf continua ese beso apasionado que le plantó Nick, con sus manos tomo su cintura acercándolo a su cálido cuerpo. Se culean y se vienen *gimen* Nick dice "oh si oh si Mr Wolf que hot eres daddy dame más"

Al fina Nick termina a judy y se casa con el lobo feróz, adoptan bebés cerditos años después.

VIVA EL AMOR HOMOSEXUAL.

Hi, Storm! I’m so ready for your comphet post! I still experience that and I’ve known I was a lesbian since middle school. Sometimes I’ll talk to my friends and say “I have no desire to do this” or “I’m not attracted to this” or “I never want to date or get married” and my friends will say “…but what if it was a girl” and I’m all “Oh yeah!! Actually I would do all those things!” Just thought I’d share some of my experience :) <3

Hi lovely! I'm 100% just going to use your ask to make my post 💜 Thanks for sharing your experience. It's absolutely what I'm wanting to talk about. Lol

So I'm going to start off real basic, talk about queerness in general, and then bring it around back to BTS in the end. So I hope you stick around for it, especially if you perhaps don't fully understand what compulsory heteronormativity is and how it affects everyone and every part of life. In some ways.

Comp Het (or compulsory heteronormativity) is basically the theory that heterosexuality is assumed and enforced upon people by a patriarchal and heteronormative society. The term was coined by Adrienne Rich in the 1980s and mostly used in wlw circles but can apply to all queer people. It's essentially meaning that being straight is the norm and how that genuinely affects not only how queer people exist in the world, but how we can come to terms with who we are and our place in the world ourselves too. And it can come with a whole Lotta baggage to unpack as well.

So we all grow up in this world, where the idea is that to be normal or that the default, is to be heterosexual. So for MOST of us, because nothing is ever 100%, we all just assume that is what we are. Everyone just assumes, yes... Everyone is straight, so I am straight. Except for a some anomalies out there. And this can lead to a lot of weird brain confusion and just assuming that the way you think and feel IS NORMAL for being straight. That Everyone is straight and therefore, Everyone thinks this way. When this is just fundamentally untrue. We all think that if we are queer, we will just know. That's not true though when we all grow up in a society where everyone is assumed straight. So we assume that we are straight. And so thoughts or ideas that other people would go "that wasn't your giveaway?" and no, it wasnt. Because if I think I'm straight, im going to think all my thoughts are the norm for straightness then too. You assume that you are the default, so you assume that all the thoughts and experiences you have are the thoughts/experiences of the default.

This also stems from everyone around us who has the constant assumption that everyone is straight. In its world, you are straight unless proven otherwise. The world builds that closet around you. And every single person you meet, you have to decide if you are going to lock the door or come out. Over and over and over again. And sometimes, when everyone assumes you are the default, for a long time, you will too. Straight people will not realize how many times in casual conversations they will have with ANYONE, they make the assumption that everyone in the room.... is straight. Even when you know you are queer and you don't even think you are in the closet. All of a sudden all the straight people around you will make an assumption and build an entire closet back around you and before you know it, you are back inside the closet and have to decide if you want to come out (again) or just let them assume and just be as authentic as you can from inside your closet. And this metaphorical closet building straight people do can be as simple as seeing the woman sitting next to you has a wedding ring on and asking about her husband. You've went ahead and assumed she was straight and married to a man. And therefore, if she is not, she has to decide if it's worth coming out the closet you just shoved her in and maybe correcting you to say wife. And possibly having to brace for a negative reaction. Or just letting that slide and going "they're great." For another example, take the closet the fandom shoves Yoongi into with every excuse in the book. Aka "the stylists gave him those shoes" "it was a mistranslation" "it's just song lyrics, it doesn't mean anything for sure" "we shouldn't assume" So a lot of people, who hate that closet but who either can't come out or are tired of constantly coming out or for any other reason. Will end up wanting to try and make it very Clear that they are queer, so perhaps the assumption might not happen. Sometimes with the things they say or the things they wear or any other type of variation of blinking rainbow lights without actually having to say it out loud for everyone else. Because no straight person has to announce they are straight.

Another thing that can layer into comphet for queer people who also have bought into this for so long they fully believe they are straight when they aren't? The group culture around you. If you are in a friend group where you don't talk about this stuff, then you (as a man) just assume that literally everyone finds a big strong thigh on another man to be incredibly hot and attractive. And not in an aesthic way. So it's not "weird" to "crush" on another man. Everyone gets those crushes. It's normal heterosexual thoughts. If you are in a group culture where everyone hugs, kisses, cuddles and is fairly open with each other, it wouldn't dawn on you (as a woman) that perhaps the urge to kiss another girl is "abnormal" from the "default." And that it might be platonic for some while it's not for you. And you just don't clock in to that. Or if you are in a group culture that is incredibly complimentary and it's super normalized for yall to just tell each other how beautiful yall are or give compliments or hype each other up... you might not realize that when you hype up someone, you are actually legitimately attracted to them (even if you don't want to date them or don't like them that way). Whereas others might just mean aesthically and to give compliments. And so if you assume that if you, as a woman, think everyone thinks that women are more attractive and they'd probably be willing to "experiment" you'd be likely to assume those are normal heterosexual thoughts. When they aren't. And plently of straight women are actually genuinely attracted to men only.

It's everyone around you seeing your gender and assuming you MUST be attracted to the gender of the opposite sex. And putting you in a position where you must agree with that if you can't be out, or coming out again if you correct them. It's queer people in the closet trying to think of the correct answers and assuming everyone feels the same way. Aka Hayley Kiyoko sharing a video on tiktok with the caption "my gayest moment in the closet, baby Hayley thinking of the first male celebrity she could think of."

Contrasted nicely with....

Coming up with a popular female idol who he does like and admires and enjoys when confronted with a girlfriend hetnorm question. Do you have a girlfriend? No, qnd after the question continued after the first no, it gives "but maybe I should give an answer anyway" type vibes. And considering before this in the early years his "ideal type of girl" changed drastically every time he was asked just lends to this as well.

Not to mention that queer relationships have been so fetishized in media and in general that often it almost becomes normalized, but in a bad way. Aka, doesn't every woman kiss other women? Like at least once? Isn't that normal? Or in Kpop, you've got the BL fanservice fetishization normalization happening (which I'm not saying BTS do fanservice, they don't. I have post on that already. Go read it). So then it almost becomes surprising. What do you mean not all women have kissed other women or don't even want to? Or any other example. Because those experiences have almost been normalized, but not for genuine experience or for queer people to exist. But rather for a straight persons enjoyment. Making it seem like kissing another girl (or another guy) IS a normal part of the heterosexual experience. And it is not for *most* people. And that can end up confusing to people who are questioning or trying to figure out their own sexuality too.

This is why you'll have PowerPoint presentation long lists of so many queer people about "things they thought were normal before realizing they weren't straight." Like I saw a tiktok the other day from a woman asking why people like boobs. And that's when someone realized that no, not everyone actually finds women attractive and that's an impossible question to answer 🤣 Or someone who thought they were in love with their gay feminine best friend. But turns out, no they weren't. That was the comp het speaking, making her think she had to be in love with a man and she was actually attracted to femininity. It's like when you have Nico from PJO (yes, I'm bringing books into it) believing that perhaps his crush on Percy wasn't an actual crush, but just hero worship at first. Or once he figured himself out, allowing everyone to assume that his awkward glances and some of his behaviors were because he had a crush on Annabeth, rather than on Annabeths boyfriend instead.

And so when i see people throwing out answers to comphet/hetnorm questions that BTS gave in particularly their early years but in general throughout their careers.... well it makes me realize how many people, cishet people in particular, just TRULY do not understand what it's like to grow up queer in a heteronormative world. And how that can genuinely affect how you talk about things. And how even saying things like "a guy wouldn't affect me like that" "i like this kinda girl" or even sleeping with/dating someone of the opposite gender, can have no bearing on if a person is queer or not. So saying xyz can't be gay, he did xyz before or said xyz about women, while discounting everything else they've said or done that points to otherwise.... is just being 1) ignorant, on purpose or otherwise, and 2) dismissive and 3) it's ignoring how many sexualities include attraction to multiple genders or none. It's also just not correct. And in the case of BTS in particular, that closet (if any of them are in one) is not going ANYWHERE. So they all just exist as truthfully and honestly as they can inside it while valuing their own safety as much as possible. And unless you've ever lived in the closet, you won't be able to understand the mental balancing act that is.

Now if you've made it this far, thank you! For everyone on my account who is ace or falls under the ace umbrella. I'd like to recommend this tiktok account to you if you have a tiktok. Im not ace, so i feel ill equipped to give advice over it. But I had more people than I excepted comment or DM me saying that they didn't know how to answer my little are you queer or not Twitter poll. Because they are ace or demi or non-allo in some way. And I just want you guys to know you would and should all be accepted at pride. The A in LGBTQIA+ stands for asexual. You are not heterosexual or heteromatic (even if you are one of the above, it still counts). But that's just my opinion. Labels can be useful tools, but they aren't meant to be constricting. You can all be whatever you want to be and identify however you want. But in my opinion, if you are ace, you are part of the queer community. And no one should make you feel like you don't belong in this community. This account just seems to give good advice and has a lot of knowledge about asexuality. And might be a good resource.

And if anyone else has any questions over comphet or anything else. Or just wants to share your own experiences because I DEFINITELY didn't cover everything. Please feel free to do so. And if you ask questions, I'll do my best to answer. But keep in mind I'm not a spokesperson for the queer community at all. I can just give my own thoughts and opinions.

Thanks for letting me share! And sorry for the essay. I can never keep things short and sweet over here. Lol Hopefully this mess of words makes sense. I'm mostly just speaking off what I know personally and that's it. And this isn't touching on gender binaries either.

PINCHE MADRE Q BONITO ES EL AMOR 😭😭

off the table

pairing: tasm!peter parker x ex!reader

tags: NSFW, breakup angst, sadness, graphic smut, alcohol use, mentions of wounds from a fight, exes, drunk!peter, ex!peter, slight choking

summary: ever since the breakup, peter hasn’t seen you in months. when he drunkenly shows up at your door, the two of you realize that there’s some things that haven’t been addressed.

notes: this fic became longer than i expected so enjoy almost 6k of pining, miscommunication, and smut!!! based off of the song “off the table” by ariana <3

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

Peter Parker doesn’t believe in the right person at the wrong time. He grew up with the knowledge that if someone was right for his heart, then the timing could never be wrong. Everything would fall in line just how it was destined to be, like it was meant to. If one chapter closed in his life, then another one opened. Yet Peter believed in second chances, especially for those he loved. No matter how unsuitable a person could be for him, he always held onto the silver lining that circumstances could become better — that a person could become better and he wouldn’t have to close a chapter.

Peter isn’t ready to close yours.

But you weren’t just a simple chapter to him. You were an entire novel, interwoven with stories and quotes and unspoken dialogue that would live in the wrinkles of his brain. Your love lingered in the cracks of his lips and the insides of his palms from the nights he couldn’t stop touching you, and the nights you couldn’t stop moaning his name against his own mouth.

God, he missed those nights.

Peter could still memorize every mole, freckle, and scar on your body. He could still recite every one of your favorite lines from that rom-com you used to watch together. Everytime your song came on, he found himself singing along to the lyrics as if you never left.

As if you were still together.

He doesn’t know how he got here. The smell of liquor is pungent on his clothes as he sniffles into the air. Peter usually never drank, but there was something about today that made him want to drown his sorrows away in the least responsible manner. Because with great responsibility comes — wait, what was it again?

The right side of Peter’s body harshly collides into the wall with enough impact to create a dent. His footing is messy and he can barely hold himself up as he sways lazily in the hallway to find the familiar apartment.

“Fuck…” Peter murmurs to himself as he hears your laugh echo from outside your door, causing him to clumsily stumble onto his knees. “Get it together, man.”

He pulls himself to his feet, using the ground for leverage before his forehead is leaning against the coolness of the white-colored door as Peter attempts to remember the whole speech he had planned out in the haziness of his mind. With an uncertain hand, he knocks. There isn’t an answer until he decides to knock again, to which he then hears the chirpy sound of your voice shouting ‘coming!’ from the other side, followed by the sharp clacking of heels against the floorboards.

He’s leaning against the wall by the time the door swings open and his breathing becomes ragged at the sight of you.

You, in a sequined dress, something he thought would be too short and flashy for your own liking. You, with your hair up and freshly-done makeup that reminds Peter of all the times you’d gotten dressed up to see him. You, staring at him, as the smile fades from your lips like you’d seen a ghost.

“Y/N.” Peter exhales with a lopsided grin.

“Peter,” You stare at him with wide eyes in disbelief. You stick your head outside of the door to glance at either end of the hallway for anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs tiredly and runs a heavy hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t like — I couldn't find my way back home and I think I lost my phone somewhere.” He chuckles, pointing at you. “Did I… um, are you gonna leave? I’m sorry, I dunno how I — dunno what I’m doing, Y/N.”

You smell it then — the alcohol. And it makes sense. You’re unsure how to approach him, because you hadn’t seen Peter in several months ever since your breakup halfway through college. He continues to mumble under his breath; the sight of his disheveled appearance makes your heart ache, which only makes you feel sorry for him.

There’s a discoloration of purpled blues and bloody reds by his eyebrow that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Are these bruises? Oh, my god. Peter, I’m gonna call you a cab.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He instantly grabs your wrist before you can turn away from him, then your head snaps to look at him.

“No, no need. Can‘t do hospitals, remember?”

You swallow hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

You don’t miss the way his thumb rubs your skin in the silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll go.” Peter starts to lose his footing. Your hands instantly find his shoulders to steady him before he can fall over, sighing as he tries to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have anyone else — I don’t know… I don’t have anyone else.”

You screw your eyes shut in a mix of pity and frustration.

“Oh, fucking hell. Come inside, Peter.”

You guide his tall frame into the apartment as you shut the door behind you, carefully watching where he walks as you lead him onto the couch. He plops down onto the pillows with a lack of grace, and his eyes glaze over the exposed skin of your thighs.

You pad towards the bathroom, rummaging for the first aid kit that you hadn’t used ever since Peter had lived here. There’s a distance in your gaze as you return to the living room, setting bandages and towels on the coffee table before you’re kneeling in front of Peter.

He then sees that the apartment looks different. Any trace of himself was obviously gone, replaced with pictures of people he couldn’t recognize and replaced with stuff that he doesn’t remember buying for you. The whiteboard on the fridge that Peter used to write notes for you is now filled with a schedule, reminding him that his presence was causing a disturbance to the peaceful night you were going to have.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“Leg.” You motion, holding his calf as you pull his shoe off.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Other one.”

“Why are you all dressed up?”

“Peter, I need you to put your leg up.”

“You look so pretty. Is it a date? Are you still…” He huffed with a short laugh. “… are you dating again?”

You chase the frown off of your face with a shake of your head, trying to level your patience. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, Peter.” Realization flashes across his features. You interrupt before he can speak. “I was headed out for drinks with friends. I’m not dating anyone.”

“Oh.” He scratches his nose. “Right, yeah.”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

You set his shoes aside and sit by him on the couch, taking the first aid kit into your lap as Peter gazes at you longingly. “S’okay, didn’t wanna go out anyways.” Your knee brushes against his thigh as you survey the blossoming bruises on his face. Your fingers ever-so-slightly twitch as you reach for him. “May I? My hands are clean. Just wanna put a bandage over it.”

“Don’t need to ask me.”

You gingerly tilt his head back with a hum, “I do.”

“You always asked.” Peter sucks in a breath as you dab at the small cuts with a gauze pad. “Every time I was hurt after patrol and needed you, you’d ask. As if you hadn’t touched me before.” He studies the flicker of nostalgia on your face. He talks as if the words are meant for himself more than you. “No other person cared for me like you did.”

In a sick way, him being here feels like home again.

Guilt sinks into you as you turn away from him. You and Peter never had a proper conversation about what happened between you two. People grow apart. People lose interest. People find somebody else. But none of that ever happened, and the reasons for your break-up were never addressed which is what made his comment sting harder than it should have.

You pat a warm towel against his cheeks and neck, wiping away the sweat and the stench of the bar from his skin. With steady hands, you rip the small band-aid open, placing it over the surface wounds on his eyebrow.

“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, spidey?” The timbre of your voice is gentle as you look at him, eyes wandering over his face in sympathy.

He shifts in his seat. “Just some assholes who drank too much.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Peter chuckles at your remark, head lolling to the side. “Is that what you think of me right now? Asshole who drank too much?”

“Maybe just the ‘drank too much’ part.”

“Personally, I was hoping you’d say I’m an asshole.” He scoffs, cradling his own cheek.

A sad smile falls upon your lips as you gaze at him. “Hm, why’s that?”

“Would be easier to know you have some semblance of hatred for me.”

The declaration feels like a punch in the stomach, and you find yourself at a loss for words when Peter’s fingers nudge against your hand. You close your eyes when you feel his pinky curl against yours. Unable to look at him, you sit forward on your elbows, hunching over in your lap.

“You’re drunk, Pete.”

The nickname makes him weak.

“Tell me you hate me.” He leans over to you, his breath fanning over your shoulder. You feel tears prickle in your eyes. “Please, Y/N.”

Your voice is muffled as you cover your face. “I don’t hate you.”

“I want you to.”

“I couldn’t — I couldn’t possibly hate you.” You cross your arms over your chest. He lingers over your back. He wants to kiss the softness of your skin, to remember how you tasted, how your body reacted to him and him only. But Peter knows better than to chase the old life that you had shared together. “Nothing you do is worth hating.” You can feel him inhale your perfume, and you don’t move when his chin settles in the curve of your shoulder.

The action is one of longing, one that tells you that Peter hadn’t stumbled at your door for no reason, one that whispers ‘I miss you, do you miss me?’ in every language, and every iteration of each wordless apology that refuses to leave him.

A sob rustles through the air.

“We were so good together, and you left.” The boy whispers brokenly. “I loved you and you left.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What about this is supposed to be fair?”

“I left because I loved you too much.” Peter feels the drunkenness fade from his body at the sight of tears on your face, heightening his powered senses. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I loved you to the point that I’d actually allow you to destroy yourself as Spider-Man, because I know I couldn’t stop you. What kind of person does that?” You sit up, interlocking your hands behind your neck as an overwhelming wave of emotion hits. “How could I just — just stand there and support you knowing that you could be gone at any moment? That it would ruin me and I’d be okay with it because you would be doing the very thing you loved to do?”

The space under Peter’s eyes is stained with tear tracks, sniffling loudly at your thoughts. “Is that not what love is?”

“To watch a person ruin themselves?”

His eyelashes flutter against your jawline as he leans into your neck. “To be so selfless, that you’d put someone’s happiness over your own, even if that meant losing them.” He trembles. “Y/N, I wish you’d talked to me.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” You feel the clenching of his jaw. “Suppose it’s different now, yeah?”

“It’s never different with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll always love you. I never stopped.” He finally presses a chaste kiss of longing to your clavicle. “You were my girl.”

You hold back tears. “Is this really you talking?” Peter notices the sputter of your chest, your throat threatening to let a sob wrack through your body.

He turns you towards him, letting his hand dip down just above your hip. Your distressed eyes search his face for an answer as your bottom lip quivers in visible heartache. He takes your hand in his free one, kissing the pads of your fingers before he places them over his heart. “This is me sober.” He kisses them again. “This is me in love.” Another kiss. “This is yours.” He runs your hand over his chest, up his neck and then his cheek with wet lashes. “I am yours. Everything I am is yours. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Your lip juts out in anguish when Peter’s tears fall against your skin. You shudder. “I think you should go.”

He’s all over you. His scent. His eyes.

“I’ll never love anyone the same way I love you.”

You feel like you’re suffocating under the colossal weight of his poetry.

“Peter, I can’t do this tonight.”

You’re moving to get up, until his arms wrap around your legs. He keeps you there — unable to move, stagnant, and unchanged like you had no choice but to endure this. His head rests against your abdomen while you fight to stand straight, refusing to give in.

But it’s so difficult.

It feels like betrayal as you watch him cry into the material of your dress, whispering chants of ‘don’t go’ in the same manner as a broken record. You hold your chin up high, ignoring how empathetic tears of your own trail down your face at the sounds of his whimpering.

“Y/N.” He hisses through teeth. “Y/N, please.”

The crack of his voice injures your conscience.

“I tried for you.”

Peter’s hands cup the backside of your thighs as his words stumble over each other in a hurry. “So try again with me.”

Your hands subconsciously entangle in his hair before you slowly bend down to plant a wistful kiss to the top of his head — more of a sob than a kiss, but Peter feels relief at the sensation of your lips on his body anyhow. Your fingers knot through the chestnut strands as they drift past the nape of his neck.

His hair smells like your old shampoo.

“Oh, Pete.” You sigh, allowing him to pull you into his arms. His hands are large against the curvature of your back, and he’s feverishly grasping at your skin under the touch of you.

The crushing embrace is one of love and yearning, but there’s an underlying heat in the way Peter takes you into his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck as his face buries itself beside your ear. The hitching of his breath reminds you that this is real — that you’re in his arms and he still loves you in a way that such words cannot describe.

“It’s not like this with anyone else.” He whispers, causing the wetness of his lips to transfer onto your skin. The peak of his nose drags against your cheek as his breath ghosts over you.

“Peter…” The name heeds as a warning when his lips come dangerously near yours. His eyes dance across your features; his heart shrivels at the sight of your cries and the shaking in your arms.

“Why are you scared?”

“If you kiss me, I’m afraid I’ll tell you all the things I never got to tell you.” You whimper when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You can tell me anything you want.” He speaks breathily as his lips follow along your jaw. “Tell me you miss me.” Kiss. “Tell me you hate me.” Kiss. “Tell me you need me, or you don’t.” Kiss. “Tell me you love me, Y/N. You can say anything and nothing will change.”

Peter gazes up at you. His eyes are glassy, and the loving brown hue of them is suddenly darker than you remember. You shake your head at him without a word, unable to talk with how your throat bubbles in rehashed misery. The brunette leans into you as you gently cradle the side of his face. You hesitate, and he catches it. His forehead presses up against yours. “You don’t need to do anything unless you want to.”

Peter’s comment causes a tear to slip out from the corner of your eye. A whine eases between your lips as you pull him closer towards you until your noses are touching.

He surveys your next move.

He prays you aren’t ready to close this chapter.

Peter loses any and all sound of mind when your lips clash against his. It’s hurried and messy, teeth bumping into each other with a clicking noise, accidental moans escaping your mouths. His hand softly holds you by the neck, while the other travels to the suppleness of your bottom to hold you up.

Your breathing is noisy, and Peter feels like he’s burning up a fever when you bite at his bottom lip. He doesn’t hide the aching groan that leaves him.

Nothing about the kiss is smooth.

Nothing about the way Peter touches you is innocent.

He’s completely sober at this moment. Any ounce of alcohol left in his system has faded as a result of how his body functions, and because Peter really wants to make the effort to remember this — you. He wants to savor every bite, every moan, every whisper of his name, every drop of you and every tear that leaves your eyes.

“I haven’t…” You pull away from him for relief. “… you know… in months.” Your tone is shy. The embarrassed blush on your cheeks makes Peter weak in the knees.

Peter nods in understanding. “Neither have I.” He plants a kiss on your sternum. “It’s okay.”

Your gaze doesn't leave him when his hand reaches around to hold your ponytail. He takes the band around your hair, gently tugging it out of place while being careful not to hurt you. He slips it around his wrist as messy strands fall around your face, cascading and framing each detail of you.

He runs his fingers through your part, humming at the way you shut your eyes. He sits forward and wraps your legs around his waist before he stands effortlessly; Peter’s strength makes you feel miniscule in his grasp until his lips find yours again and suddenly you can feel the fire within you growing.

Like second nature, Peter navigates your bodies to your bedroom, hoping that it is the same as it once was. The room is dark, and neither of you care for lights when Peter tenderly lays you out on the bed.

His lips leave yours and now he stands over your body.

You admire his face.

“Are your bruises okay?” The whisper melts into the heavy silence.

“Bruises have never stopped me when it comes to you.” He runs his hands down your legs before he’s kneeling on the floorboards, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He rids you of your heels, softly kissing the tops of your feet as he makes his way up your legs. “God, you’re perfect.” His mouth is wet on your skin and the saliva glistens in the shadows.

“Pete…”

“I need you, Y/N,” He whispers, fingers kneading at the flesh of your thighs, “Christ, all of you.” His nails are digging into you. His grip is rougher.

“Stop teasing.” You nudge him with your foot.

“Oh, baby, it’s not teasing.” Your eyes meet his brown ones in the dark as he slowly hikes your dress up your stomach, revealing your underwear. His laugh comes out as a scoff. You instantly pick up on the way his voice shifts to a lower tone, accenting his words as he takes off his sweater. “I can show you what teasing is if you want.”

Fuck.

“I missed you.” You confess. “I missed this.”

“Keep talking to me.” His breaths are ragged as he kisses the skin around your core. He’s pulling your knees apart, nibbling on the insides of your thighs as his chest hits the frame of the bed. “Work for it, Y/N.”

“Haven’t been touched like this. In a while.” You sit up on your forearms to watch Peter’s reaction. “Haven’t touched myself since we were together.”

He moans sinfully at the remark, moving to sit beside you with an amused chuckle until he’s pulling you into his lap again. His chest is flush against your back as he spreads your legs for you.

The mirror across the room is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

“Is this what you were afraid to tell me?” His nose buries into your hair. He’s exhaling into your skin, jaw slack as he helps you push your panties down your thighs. You can only nod as you study your reflections in the glass. “That you can’t get off without me?” You let your head fall against his shoulder, sucking a mark on his neck. His throat flexes at the motion. “What do you want me to do with you?”

“Finger me, Peter.” You breathe out, caressing his jaw. Your lipstick stains his chin. “Please.”

His finger dips down between your folds. A mocking chuckle leaves him as you sigh at the feeling of him touching you. He toys with your clit, rubbing gentle circles against the nub.

“Just as beautiful as the day I met you.” He gazes longingly at your desperate state in the mirror, spurred on by the visual of your head thrown back in helpless desire. “Look at yourself. So needy, aren’t you?” The tip of his finger prods at your entrance. “Fuck, Y/N.” His other hand wraps around your throat, pressing on your pulse point.

His middle finger enters you, slowly curling inside you until he’s pumping the digit in and out of you. You can hear the sounds of your wetness accumulating around your folds, and it’s even dirtier now that Peter can see it in the mirror. His jaw hangs open in a ‘O’ as you shut your eyes, sighing against him as he adds another finger to fill you.

“Oh, Peter…” You whine, nearly closing your legs at the sudden feeling. You use your own fingers to touch your clit, moaning as the heel of Peter’s palm presses against your mound. “Fucking… god, it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

Peter’s erection strains against the denim of his jeans, and you use your free hand to reach behind you to grasp him through the material. He moans raspily at the touch, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction.

“Take your pants off.” You mutter into his lips as you eye him through heavy lashes. The ache between your thighs doesn’t go unnoticed, but getting Peter off was just as pleasurable as his fingers inside of you.

He smirks, “Yes, ma’am.”

You crawl off his lap, laying on your stomach as he rids himself of his underwear and jeans. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch him, licking your lips when his cock comes to view. He scoots closer to you, letting you take control as you wrap a fist around his length. Your dress rides up your backside, giving Peter a chance to gaze at the curve of your ass as your legs cross innocently in the air. His nostrils flare into a deep inhale as you take him into your mouth, suctioning your lips around his tip.

He controls the urge to snap his hips into you, wanting to bask in the feeling of you sucking him off. Your lips pepper the underside of his cock; your stare never leaves him as you peer up doe-eyed and trusting.

“So big,” You mumble before your head bobs down and takes him fully into your mouth.

“Jeez, Y/N.” Peter can see the outline of his tip from the bulge in your cheek, and he chuckles shakily when your hand splays out onto his stomach as you squeeze your lips around him. “God, fuck, y-your mouth…” He’s throbbing and his voice comes out broken and needy. “Oh, baby, so good.”

Baby.

The pet name makes you clench your thighs together.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock when you pull off for air, nearly gasping as your throat opens up again. There’s tears in your eyes from the way his girth filled your mouth. Peter doesn’t hesitate to wipe them away from your face, cooing softly as your mascara stains your skin.

“I got you, Y/N. I got you.” He shushes you, rubbing your back as you cough. “Hey, don’t tire yourself.”

You rest your cheek against him, lazily pumping his length in your hand as you shake your head. “I’m sorry, wanna make you cum.”

“I’ll cum when you do.”

You chuckle in reminiscence. “Always a giver, Pete.”

“Well, only for you.”

“Hm, really?” You pump him at a slow pace. He hisses audibly with a wordless nod of his head. You can see the yearning on his face. “I want you inside me. Would you give me that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

You sit up on your knees, hand leaving the warmth of his cock as you grab onto his shoulders. Your lips drag down his face, capturing his mouth into a clumsy kiss that causes your limbs to tangle with one another. He carefully rolls you back onto the bed so that he’s on top, and he takes advantage of the moment to slip your body out of your dress.

Peter caresses your bare tits, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as he leaves a trail of hickies across your chest. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his other fingers rubbing your clit between the mess of your bodies.

“Tell me where you want me again.” His dilated eyes search yours hungrily while he grinds against you, awed by how your face contorts into pleasure. “Inside you?” You nod rapidly. “Stretch you out? Are you sure you can take me?”

“I’ve taken it before.”

He grins. “Good girl.” Peter runs his length down your folds, teasing your entrance with newfound patience that rattles you. You shut your eyes to focus on your breathing, until anxious thoughts make their way into your brain.

“Peter, wait.”

The boy stops immediately.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft with concern. He worriedly cups your face. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

Your eyelids open reluctantly. With a rough gulp, you blink weakly at him. “If we have sex, what does this make us?”

He opens his mouth, yet nothing comes of it. You see the reality of the situation fall upon his features.

“Can’t I just have you for tonight?”

You feel a rush of tears approach. “And what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, if you’d let me.” He kisses your nose. “And then the next day. And the day after. A week from now. A month.” His fingertips ghost over your ribs. “Take me back anytime you want, whenever you want. No matter how long it takes, I’m yours.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“You’re alright?” Peter pushes your hair back.

“Mhm, yeah.”

“Say yes for me, baby.”

“Yes, Pete.”

He looks at you one more time before his gaze shifts between your legs. Carefully, he pushes into you. You hold back a groan as your body adjusts to him. The sting hurts in a good way, and the aching of your core continues to build as Peter’s pelvis touches yours.

“Is this good?” He leans over, one hand on the bed while the other holds the back of your head. You moan in approval. “Can I move? Is that okay?”

“Y-Yes, thank you.” You hold his waist, mouth falling ajar as he pulls his cock back and thrusts in again. “Holy fuck, Peter.”

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“No, it feels good.” You bite his shoulder. “It feels so good.”

His strokes quicken, and Peter can’t take his eyes off of you when you moan wanton into his mouth. He does the same, teeth clashing against yours as your body jolts at his thrusts. He pushes your knees to your chest, pounding deeper inside you.

“Y/N, god.” He huffs, head hurting at the overwhelming feeling of you clenching around him. “You’re so tight.”

“It’s yours.” You smile at him.

“Say it, Y/N. All of it.”

“My pussy is yours.”

“Oh. Oh, baby.” His skin slaps against the back of your thighs. In the darkness, you see the sweat trail down his forehead and the need for release is written all over his face. “Fuck, Y/N, feels so good when it’s you.”

Peter’s eyes remind you that you can trust him.

“Hey, I love you.” You kiss the corner of his lips. “Look at me.”

He glances up at you to reassure himself that your words are real. “Again. Do that again.”

“I love you.”

“Say my name.”

“Peter, I love you.” He moans blissfully. It’s loud and gruff, but the sound reminds you of all the nights from before. The pit in your stomach finally drops when Peter grips you by the throat, thrusting into you rougher than before. “I’m gonna… baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“C-Can I cum inside you?” He pleads as you grip onto his wrists.

“Please.”

The choked statement of desire sends him over the edge, and the bedroom is filled with a song of your moans and grunts as you cum around his cock. Peter follows quickly, unable to fathom the sensation of you squeezing around him like you wouldn’t ever let him go. A whimper escapes him as he finishes and lets his body collapse on top of yours.

“Holy shit.” He laughs against your neck, peeling his fingers away from the stickiness of your skin. “Are you okay?” You nod with a satisfied expression, motioning for him to pull out.

The ache in your core is replaced with emptiness from the lack of Peter, and he hums apologies as his cum begins to leak onto your bedsheets. “S’okay.” You assure him, arms reaching for his tall frame as he finally lays beside you.

“Y/N...” He turns to you.

You wave him off sleepily. “Peter, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Promise when I wake up you’ll be here, yeah?”

“As long as we don’t end up yelling at each other.”

You laugh at his comment, but part of you is fearful. “Peter, I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be here.” He kisses your cheek without second thought, inhaling the scent of himself on your skin. “Promise.”

-

The chirping of birds draws you out of your sleep. The sunlight is bright, yet the bed feels oddly cold. Your throat feels sore, and there’s an unmistakable smattering of familiar fingerprints on your body as you open your eyes.

Peter.

Your hand instinctively reaches for the space beside you.

“Peter?”

The side of his bed is empty. The duvet is pulled away messily, but the indent of his body is still clear as day in the mattress. Your pillowcases smell of him and sex, and you frown at the lack of his presence. Reluctantly, you get up, ignoring the soreness between your thighs when your feet touch the hardwood floor. You slip on the nearest shirt, shivering from the cool air with a frown on your lips.

He promised. He fucking promised.

You feel the build-up of tears in your eyes as you step into the hallway.

Disappointment. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal?

There’s a humming that comes from the kitchen.

“Peter?”

Silence. Then, a loud clatter.

“In here!”

The raspiness of his voice puts you at ease. Your shoulders relax at the familiar sound, and you level the pace of your breathing as you head into the other room. Peter stands by the stove, an apron around his sculpted chest as he focuses on the pan in front of him.

“You found it.”

“Found what? Also, you’re welcome for — for the cooking by the way.” He gestures at you with a spatula, wagging it at you jokingly.

“You found my apron.” You approach him with short strides, wrapping your arms around yourself as you snap out of your trance. “And thanks. Sorry. I thought…”

“You thought I left?” He glances at you with raised brows. “Have at least a little faith in me.”

“Sorry. I just — you know me, overthinker.”

You notice then that the apartment looks different. There’s stringy cobweb garlands on the ceiling, connected to the little hanging lamp above your dining table.

A long banner made of web that reads ‘Happy Birthday!’ sits above your front door.

Oh.

Peter takes advantage of your silence, coming to hold you by your waist as you stare dumbfounded at the decorations.

The room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He kisses your shoulders, cradling your face in his hands as he bumps his nose against yours.

“Peter…”

“I know, I didn’t have to.”

“But why…” You puff your cheeks.

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your girls’ night.” He clears his throat. “And for having sex with you.” He looks away in embarrassment, gazing at the ceiling as if he was talking to himself. “When clearly we’re exes.”

You squeeze his side as you blurt out, “I wanna try again with you.”

“You know, it’s completely fine if you wanted a one time thing like…” Peter still doesn’t meet your stare, clearly unaware that you’re even talking to him. “I mean, I had fun and — and I know I said some stuff and — like I was pretty sober for most of it so you know if I rehashed things…”

“Pete.”

“And I’m sorry for being such a shitty ex like…” You press a hand over his chest, hoping to catch his attention. “I didn’t show up just to have sex or — or hookup.”

“Peter.”

“I’m serious that I want you back—“

You shake his shoulders. “Peter Parker, will you just listen to me?”

He finds your eyes in the chaos of his words. “Sorry.”

“I want you, too.” You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you how I felt instead of running away. I was just scared.”

“If anything, I’m the one who should be running away.” Peter rests his chin on top of your head, embracing you against his chest. “Every second I spend with you…”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You smile sadly. “I know what I got myself into.”

He ignores the pang in his heart at the thought of losing you again, but in worse conditions. “I meant it when I said I love you. With you, it’s — it’s different.” He takes your jaw, pulling your face up to look at him. “I like it here with you.”

You grin against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Is it just me or is something burning?”

“Fuck, sorry!”

Peter supposed that maybe your chapter together did end at one point. He supposed that maybe it was time for those old pages to be tucked away, for the whole novel of poetry and conversations to turn over into memories and merely live in the cracks of his heart where it could never be opened again. But Peter realizes that there was a reason your relationship ended — to make room for another book, another chapter, a sequel.

Maybe you were always the right person and it was always the right timing. Maybe the two of you just needed to rewrite your story.

Peter knows to finish a book before starting another one.

He can’t wait to see what this new novel holds.

-

Harry for Rolling Stone, photographed by Amanda Fordyce. 

ridiculous

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut, not much plot, nsfw brainrot, blonde and fratboy peter parker, unprotected sex, kinda public sex, bathroom sex, mentions of smoking and party drugs, swearing as always

summary: peter parker was ridiculous, especially with that new hair of his. but deep down, you wanted nothing more than to experience one night with the douchebag of a blonde.

notes: blonde andrew garfield has awoken something in me. enjoy, indulge, sin!!!! (not my gif) title based on ariana grande’s song “ridiculous” ;))

update: read part two here!

missing out? ➤ my masterlist - MINISERIES MASTERLIST

Peter Parker wasn’t known to make appearances at parties, especially ones thrown by fraternities that weren’t of his own. But ever since that first-class asshole dyed his hair blonde, he made the effort to grace every single party on campus with his well-awaited presence.

No one seemed to complain.

Not even when he reeked of entitlement that labelled him as resident douchebag. Not even when he dripped of sex appeal each time he walked into a room, owning his new look as girls pined over him and whispered about their dirty fantasies behind closed doors.

Closed doors.

Maybe it’s all the cigarettes that were passed to you or maybe you actually had more than one edible tonight than you could recall. But either way, it’s a bit hazy when you try to remember the details of how you got into this situation.

Willingly stuck inside a bathroom with none other than Peter.

Key word: willingly. Meaning you’ve done this to yourself, knowing fully of the consequences that could happen between you and the boy.

There’s a comfortable and somehow respectable distance between the two of you despite the exaggerated size of the bathroom. The marbled floors are covered in golden swirls from the awful yellow tinged light of the vanity-like mirrors. The open window lets in a cool draft to soothe the warm air of the inside.

Peter takes a heavy drag of his blunt in the bathtub, long limbs outstretched in front of him as he peers over at you curiously.

“What?” You huff out, foot dangling over the sink counter while your knee remains propped up on the surface. A lopsided smile tugs at his lips. He shakes his head at you. “Seriously, what?”

Forty minutes ago, you had originally walked in to dry off after being thrown into the pool by your friends, not realizing that Peter was occupying the clawfoot tub until he piped up about you getting undressed in front of him.

He wanted time away from the noise.

You shared that same sentiment with him.

But, god, the tension was awfully, awfully sexual.

“You’re just cool, Y/N. That’s all.” His voice is muffled, a lisp forming as a result of the burnt joint hanging from his mouth. His ankles cross over one another, battered Chucks scuffing the expensive porcelain with black marks.

“And you’re saying that because?”

“Because I wanna fuck you, yet you won’t even give me the time of day.”

You laugh at his desperation, watching him lean over the side of the tub to look at you. His eyes wander over your bare legs, ingraining the visual of your thighs into his mind and how your underwear hugs your hips graciously beneath your oversized shirt.

There’s no subtlety with him.

“You’re an asshole, what else can I say?” You shrug casually, tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip when he blinks expectantly at you.

His half-lidded gaze is tempting, but you don’t want to give him that satisfaction he always gets to receive.

You didn’t have anything to prove. But honestly, you just wanted to test his self-control.

Maybe a little bit of yours, too.

“Then,” He taps a finger against one end of the blunt. “Why are you still here? Am I entertaining to you? Or are you looking for something more?”

You sigh. “Peter, if you wanted to have sex, you could literally go fuck anyone else.”

“Jeez, can’t you accept I’m just horny and I don’t wanna get up?” He whines, motioning with grabby hands at you. “Can’t you accept that, maybe, I just wanna fuck you?”

You gape at him, nose scrunching up in confusion despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “We barely know each other and you’re suddenly dying to get into my pants.”

“Do you wanna get in mine?” He sits up, dark eyebrows raised as his dilated pupils lock onto yours. You scoff dryly, acting appalled that he would even suggest such a thing. The issue is he isn’t wrong. He isn’t, not in the slightest. You take a swig out of your beer bottle before you hop off the counter and avoid any of his further questions by turning your back to him. “Is it the blonde?”

“It’s just you.”

“Does the blonde make me seem more of an asshole?” He drawls, studying the way you mindlessly nod in agreement.

You stand in front of the mirror, dabbing at your flaky mascara with a paper towel. “Sure.” The messy streaks on your face leave little to his imagination, a faded red gloss stained upon your lips.

“And how fuckable does it make me? Scale of one to ten?”

“Negative.”

He hums shortly. “Mmm, I don’t believe that.”

“Are you always this annoying?” You jeer at him, voice dripping with snarkiness and distaste. “Does the cocky attitude make up for whatever inches are missing down there?”

Peter can’t take his eyes off you, especially when your reflection stills to meet his clouded stare.

“Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”

He challengingly runs his tongue across his teeth. Your jaw clenches at the dilemma. The air is thick, too thick for you to inhale. The mirror feels like it could crack at any time beneath the weight of your glares, while the floor thumps beneath your feet to the beat of the fast music downstairs.

Even from across the room, Peter looks enticing.

His left arm has him propped up, tucked behind his head while the other waves the lit joint between his pointer and middle finger around.

His green sweatshirt rides up his belly, revealing the happy trail along his lower abdomen. His strong jaw advertises itself as kissable and soft, even with the dark stubble on his face that makes him look older than he actually is. His chest rises and falls steadily, a small cough escaping from him.

He watches you like a vulture ready to devour a meal.

You slowly turn on your heels, bare feet making their way toward Peter until your leg hits the side of the tub. You kneel, leaning your head on perched forearms as you gaze at him from the lowered angle.

His blinks are slower. The moons of his eyes grow foggy when you suddenly reach up to take the blunt between his lips. It leaves him easily, then his next breath hitches in his throat when you place it in your own mouth.

You suck your cheeks in, inhaling quickly before puffing out the smoke off to the side.

“I don’t wanna fuck you, Peter.”

The gesture is a telltale sign that you thought otherwise.

He grabs it back from you, taking a drag before he stalls and leans forward. His hand finds the underside of your chin, gently pulling your mouth open as his eyes bounce from the upper half of your face to the lower half.

You feel lightheaded when he shotguns the smoke into you.

Not from the drugs. Not from the drinks.

But from how close his swollen lips are to yours.

“Then what’s stopping you from leaving this room?” Your lungs are hot with Peter’s breath, skin slick with sweat and bones trembling with anticipation as he moves to hold you by the nape of your neck.

You swallow. “I’m gonna leave.”

His thumb runs across your earlobe.

“Okay, go.” His voice drops to a raspy hush.

You can smell him from here, the odd combination of musk and weed. The scent shouldn’t be this desirable, but you’re breathing him in and out like some kind of flavored cigarette.

And somehow, you can’t get enough.

“I’m g-going.”

You close your eyes when his forehead pressed against yours. His body is warm, fingers antsy as they trail down the side of your strained neck. Your hands rest in your lap, thighs squeezing together when you feel the soft button of his nose nudge against yours.

“I’m gonna try you again.” He sighs into your mouth, lips barely touching as he leans over the bathtub. “How fuckable does it make me?”

All self-control (on both ends) goes out the window when Peter forms a fist at the back of your head, pulling on your hair with enough force to have you looking up at the ceiling.

You gasp, not in surprise, but at how good it feels.

Peter likes the way you bite your lip.

“This is ridiculous.” You fight back a moan when his grip tightens, covering it up with shaky laughter that didn’t at all convince the blonde.

“Yet you still haven’t left, Y/N.”

“Maybe I just need you to make me.”

He inhales deeply, thumb running across your cupid’s bow as you survey him deliberately. He lets go of his hold on your hair, but you don’t distance yourself from him. In fact, you subconsciously shift closer, knees growing sore against the marble tile.

“Make you, huh?” He whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” His nose prods against your cheek. “If I kiss you, will that make you leave?”

You smile devilishly, using his own words against him.

“Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”

All at once, his hand flicks the blunt aside.

Peter’s mouth is heavily on yours, a combination of his saliva and the taste of marjiuana intermixing on his warm tongue. The kiss is noisy and wet — the stunning interaction of two horny people at a party desperately trying to fuck one another. You pull at the string of his sweatshirt when he nibbles at your bottom lip, making it tender to the touch before he attacks yet again.

His head is pounding. The bulge in his pants is aching.

But he can only think about how kissing you turns him on even further.

“Get in here.” He groans into you, eyes never leaving your body as he guides you into the empty bathtub with him. Your knees hit the bottom roughly while you straddle his lap, feeling his erection grow beneath your clothed mound.

The friction of his denim pants against your soft skin already has you grinding against him, stifled whimpers leaving you as Peter frames your face with both of his hands to better the angle of kissing you. His tongue is in your mouth, savoring you and nothing else as your chest presses against his.

“So far, do you think a kiss is enough to make you leave?” He pipes up in between pecks, running his lips down your throat.

He nips at your flesh when it bobs beneath his touch, suckling a darkened mark by your carotid. He wraps his arms around your waist, trapping your body on top of his.

“Dunno. How about we just keep doing this and see where it takes us?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna fuck me.” Peter laughs, the sound vibrating against his own sternum.

“Things change,” You hastily pull your shirt over your head. Peter tenses when you reveal your breasts to him, his grasp stilling at your side as if he’d never seen tits before. “I was trying to be dignified.”

He curses under his breath.

“So for my peace of my mind, you do wanna have sex?”

“Is this an attachment style thing? Why do you keep asking that?” You moan when his mouth latches onto your nipple, leaving your skin moist from the wetness of his tongue.

“It’s about consent.” He gazes up at you, adorably nestling his head in the valley between your breasts. “And the fact I wanna hear it coming from that pretty mouth of yours, Y/N.”

You lean back, resting your hands on his calves as he runs a large palm up your stomach. It settles around your throat, stroking the soft flesh until your words leave you with certainty.

“I want you to fuck me.” He inhales deeply beneath you, nostrils flaring while your jaw flexes at him in the dim light. “However you want it, Peter.”

“However I want it, huh?” He repeats, sitting up to rid himself of his sweatshirt. A whimper slips out of you when his bare chest is on display, his abs toned and stomach soft when you tantalizingly trail your nails down his lean torso. “I want it so many fucking ways, Y/N. Hard.” He leaves a hickey on your ribs. “Rough.” Another one just beneath your jaw. “Slow, so I can feel every part of you.” Again in the dip of your collarbones. “Fast, till you’re squirming on top of me. Begging me to make you cum. Would you like that?”

“So many choices,” You shift to settle between his generous thighs, fingers flying from the belt buckle to the button of his jeans. “Oh, how will I ever pick?”

“Just means you gotta try them all to know what you like.”

“And if I already know?” You tug the denim down his hips and past his bottom, letting it pool around his knees as you skim your lips over the crotch of his boxers. He leans his head back when you free his hardened cock from the material, your fist wrapping around the base of his dick.

“Fuck. Then use me all you want, beautiful.”

You pump him once, maybe twice, putting off the idea of actually how big he is in your grasp. He can tell you’re a bit surprised, judging from how your eyes widened when you first saw him and now, with how your breaths become shallow with each slow jerk.

You lock gazes, lips pressing together to grace a kiss to the throbbing tip of his cock. It twitches at your touch, then your mouth envelops him quickly. Too thick to fit, you use your hand to stroke whatever length remains.

“So pretty, Peter.”

“Mm… god, Y/N. Just like that, use your tongue — shit, there you go, princess.” He chuckles heartily, guiding his hips towards you as your head bobs up and down his shaft. “Suck me off. Wish you could see yourself right now.”

“You’re such a whore.” You whisper at him, batting your lashes.

“Me? You’re the one with my dick in your mouth.” Peter tenderly courses his fingers through your hair. “And frankly, I prefer the word slut when it comes to pretty girls having me down their throat.”

You lick the underside of his cock, nose following the visible vein that stops just below his tip. A bubbly giggle erupts from you when a string of saliva connects your chin to him, and Peter shares the laugh when he sits up to wipe at your jaw.

He uses the back of his hand, then playfully taps his thumbs against the corners of your lips. He pauses — even though he’s still obviously hard — to properly look at you: the redness in your eyes, the lust in your dark pupils, the sly smile you sport.

“I want you to eat me out.” You mumble, his calloused digits rubbing circles into your skin.

He kisses you short and fast, tasting himself. The act almost comes off as innocent, except for how he stares at you hungrily and hums thoughtfully at your declaration.

“Lay back.” Peter tosses you his sweatshirt, gesturing for you to put it behind your head as he crawls on top of you. He lifts your legs, placing each one on either side of the tub. You clear your throat nervously beneath him, the way his gaze trails down your inner thighs, following the curve of your calves, flickering back to the damp patch on your cotton panties. He kisses up your chest, whispering against your jawline. He smells your neck, moaning at your sweet fragrance. “You let me between your legs now and I won’t be able to stop.”

You meet his fiery eyes in the chaos of your moving bodies.

“Then don’t.”

Peter scoffs in amusement, pulling the blue fabric of your underwear off of you. “Atta girl.” He flings it behind him, landing on the windowsill. You laugh when he blows raspberries around your belly button, placing open-mouthed kisses on the suppleness. You writhe against him, hips circling to draw his attention to where you want him most. “Oh? Needy, are we?”

“Not needy. Just think you’re taking too long.”

“Slut.” He mutters playfully, looking down at you with a wide grin.

“Whore.” You fire back instantly, yelping when he hooks his arms behind your knees and bends down to spit on your cunt.

“My god, Y/N. You look fuckin’ delicious.” He uses his fingers to spread the drop of saliva around your folds, purposefully brushing over your clit to study your reaction. The visual of your lips parted in a pleasurable ‘O’ stays in his mind, almost on loop till he nestles a long digit at your entrance. “You’re practically drenched, princess.”

“Peter…” You sigh, knee jolting in desperation when he pushes it inside you. You cover your face, earning a soft click from Peter’s mouth that makes you rethink your previous actions.

“If you want me to eat you out, then I have to see your face.” He cooes. “After all, how will I know I’m doing it right if I can’t watch you moan?”

You nod feverishly, your façade falling apart in his grasp when he cranes his head to the side and swirls his hot tongue around you. His motions are slow, his eye contact unwavering as you guide his hands all over your body — up your hips, squeezing your breasts, your throat.

But the reality of being eaten out by Peter is cut short when a series of knocks echo at the bathroom door. You jump, nearly kneeing the blonde in the face through the process, but he immediately spreads his palm over your front and pushes you back down.

Quickly, he pulls the curtain around the clawfoot tub, keeping your heaving bodies hidden inside. He pinches his lips together, holding up his pointer finger in an effort of telling you to stay quiet.

Your long silence only allows the person inside, and you nearly squeal aloud when Peter abruptly suckles at your swollen clit.

Roughly, you pull on his blonde locks with an instinctive nature, squirming when he pries your legs further apart.

Your mind is caught in a twist, ears listening in on the walking interruption and at the same time, how Peter messily laps at your cunt with the filthiest look you’ve ever seen.

“You make a sound and we’re done.” He remarks. “Got it?” The toilet seat lifts up, the loud noise ringing through what should’ve been an empty bathroom. Never would’ve you imagined Peter hiding between your thighs in a bathtub while some stranger took a piss during a party. “You taste so good.” He whispers in your ear, replacing his mouth with his hand.

“Peter, someone is in here. I can’t — we cannot get caught.”

“I told you I won’t be able to stop.” He sticks his knuckle between your teeth, smiling in satisfaction when you bite down to stifle a cry of pleasure. “I may be an asshole, but I’m a man of my word, Y/N.”

“Peter.” His name falls from you as a warning, but your body clenches around him and tells a completely different narrative.

“Oh, Y/N. Your cunt is just so fucking loud, we might get caught.” His fingers are buried inside of you, curling against your spongy walls as he spreads you open. He fixates on the way you flutter around him, wondering how good it would feel if he shoved his dick inside of you right here and right now. “Once they’re gone, you can make all the noise you want.”

“I’m gonna cum.”

He shakes his head at you, eyes wide. “No, you aren’t.”

“Please.”

The toilet flushes, and Peter takes advantage of it to muffle your string of moans when he roughly pounds his fingers into you.

You’re squeezing around him, and he knows you can’t handle much longer of this.

“Shit, cum now. Cum right now.”

“Fuck, it’s so good. You fill me up s-so well.” Your voice quivers, bringing Peter’s face down into a kiss to stop yourself from making any more unnecessary sounds that’ll draw the stranger’s attention.

“Cumming all over my hand, that’s a good girl. Yeah, princess? Feel better?”

His tongue slips into your mouth, shutting you up. Your stomach tightens, and when the blonde pulls out to massage at your clit, you release all over him before the sink can even turn on.

Then, the bathroom door clicks shut, leaving the both of you all alone once more.

You let out a long groan, head resting back against the edge of the tub as you come down from your adrenaline-filled high.

You gulp aloud, breaths stuck in your throat as you touch your sweaty forehead to catch your bearings.

Your stomach feels wet.

“S-Shit, I’m sorry.”

You glance down at your body, then at Peter, whose face is flushed red. There’s a blush creeping up his neck, his ears tinted with embarrassment as he looks at the stringy white mess between his fingers and your belly.

Peter Parker just fucking came from eating you out.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You smile warmly, cupping his face. Suddenly, he looks shy, as if what he did wasn’t the hottest thing a boy has ever done to you. You make the effort to assure him, looking him right in the eye. “It’s cool. It happens. Just shows me that you enjoyed yourself a lot more than I thought.” He hisses when your leg brushes against his leaking cock. Shrugging dramatically, you teasingly run a nail up his shaft despite already knowing the answer. “Do you still wanna fuck?”

He smirks boyishly at the crude question. “Of course I do.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He restates, rolling your nipple between his fingers with a sincere chuckle. “M’gonna fuck you standing up, is that okay? Can’t really feel my legs right now.”

“Like I said,” You tug at his earlobe with your teeth, pupils darkening again. “However you want it.”

He helps you to your feet, careful that you don’t trip one another. You shove the curtain aside when he bends you over the tub. You grip at the porcelain, knuckles turning white when he spits into his hand and slaps it against your sensitive folds. A moan falls from you when he kneads at the flesh of your ass, pushing your thighs apart to get a better view of your cunt.

His cock pokes at your entrance, and you gaze over your shoulder at Peter to watch him guide his length into you.

Slowly, he pushes his tip in. He’s thick, pulsating from his unforeseen orgasm from earlier. Peter gauges your facial expression, taking your rapid nod as a step to go further.

“It’s so big.” You whimper, smiling in deep satisfaction when your folds grip around him. He studies the sight, gawking at how your skin erupts with goosebumps beneath his warm touch.

“Tell me you want this cock, pretty slut.”

“I want all of your cock.”

You inhale deeply when he buries himself entirely inside you, his pelvis pressing against the curve of your ass.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He whispers, gently kissing your cheek before a cruel laugh wrestles through him. “For now.”

He pins your arms behind your back, just above your tailbone where he can hold your wrists in place. He uses one hand to grab onto your shoulder for leverage, hips snapping into you vigorously as he utters a number of curse words into the room.

“Peter! Fuck, yes!”

“Your cunt is just milking my cock, princess. Look at this shit. Christ… Y/N, feels fucking amazing.” He trails his nose along your neck, biting your soft arms as he continues fucking into you. “I could destroy you. Destroy this cunt, make it all mine. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-Yes, please. Please.”

“Earlier, you fucking despised me.” Peter growls, his grip making red marks on your skin. “Now, you want every piece of me. Needy. So needy for me.”

“Oh, god. Fuck. I want you.”

“Want my cum? Want me to fill you up with this dick?”

“Yes, Peter. Fill me up — fill me up till I can’t walk, till I can’t think, till my insides are full with nothing but you.”

“Such a dirty fucking mouth, Y/N. Always knew you spoke like a slut.” Your thighs tremble around him, his handprints marking your ass from a harsh spank driven across your backside.

“Harder.”

He buzzes in enlightenment at that. “Like this?” You lurch forward, turning into putty in Peter’s arms. He holds you near to his chest, skin slapping against skin as he drills into you. “You’re close, aren’t you?” You nod, whimpering his name over and over again. “Aw, my little Y/N. Seems that I’ve already fucked you out.”

“I’m — I’m… fuck, baby. I’m cumming.”

“I know.” He smirks cockily when you turn your face up at him, pleading for his lips on yours. “I can feel you.” You force your mouth onto his, whimpering against his teeth when he pulls away. “No, I wanna see your face again when you cum. You look so gorgeous when you do. But you don’t know that, don’t you, Y/N? Has anyone told you how fucking hot it is when you fall apart?”

“You’re making a mess.” You gasp when you glance back at him, watching how his spill coats his own cock and your wet folds.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” His hand wanders up your throat, fingers squeezing your pulse points.

You croak. “Cum inside me.”

“Fuck. Tell me again.”

He fills you up instantly once the phrase leaves your lips, his blonde hair falling in curls in front of his face. “Want you to cum inside me.” You kiss his face, features scrunching up in pleasure as he needily releases his load into you.

“God, Y/N.” He sighs breathily, mouth connecting to the crook of your shoulder as he suckles lazily at the flesh. “I think I need to lay down.”

You chuckle loudly, shuddering when he slips out of you.

“Yup, me too. Absolutely.”

The two of you settle back into the bathtub, sticky and disheveled as you tiredly lay your head on Peter’s chest.

His head hits the porcelain abruptly, a grunt vibrating through him when he rubs the painful spot. “Ow.”

You cover your mouth with a hand, laughing behind fingers that smelled of Peter. “Are you okay?”

“Dumb blonde things, you know.”

“Mhm, sure. That’s a thing for natural blondes.” You scratch his scalp.

He closes his eyes at the relaxing sensation. “You never answered my question, by the way.”

You smile softly. It’s genuine, judging by how the lines on your face deepen with pure fondness. “The blonde looks good on you, Peter.”

“You think so?”

You playfully ruffle the messy strands.

“You looked fuckable even when you were a brunette. But now, I think you look incredibly attractive.” You plant a kiss on his nose, touching your forehead against his before you pull away with a wink. “The douchebag look is kinda sexy.”

His eyes crinkle at the statement. You step out of the tub, collecting your underwear and your shirt off the floor.

“See you at the next party?”

You glance at him, pretending to tap your chin in thought.

“Hopefully we can fuck somewhere else. Maybe not a bathroom this time.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Y/N.” He watches you slip your shirt on, already missing the glow of your soft skin.

“And don’t be an asshole, Parker.”