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jrob64 · 7 months

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I Loved You First - a Daddy Charming birthday fic for @kmomof4

As many of us in the CS fandom know, Krystal is the best cheerleader, encourager and flailer for our Captain Swan stories. However, she also loves the relationship between Emma and Charming, so I've written a Daddy Charming birthday story for her. l wish you the happiest of birthdays (a day early), my dear friend! Love you!

Special thanks to @cs-rylie and @snowbellewells for checking this story over and leaving lots of lovely comments and suggestions!

STORY SUMMARY: Emma and her father share some special sentiments with each other before he walks her down the aisle to marry her True Love. A canon compliant missing moment for 6X20, just prior to Emma and Killian's wedding.

RATING: G

WORDS: 1083

ALSO POSTED TO A03 and ffn

*********

David Nolan paced in the hallway outside the room where Mary Margaret was helping Emma get ready for her wedding. He could hardly believe he would be giving his daughter away in just a few minutes, and to a pirate, no less.

He remembered in Neverland when he said he would see to it that Hook would never get Emma. David wasn’t too prideful to admit he’d been wrong. Nobody can stand in the way of True Love, after all - he and Snow were proof of that.

And now that pirate, whom he’d tried so hard to hate, was his soon-to-be son-in-law…and his best friend. While Killian was earning Emma’s heart, he was also earning her father’s trust and friendship. So much so that Emma and Mary Margaret teasingly accused them of having a ‘bromance’.

The door opened and Mary Margaret emerged, brushing joyful tears from her cheeks. “She’s ready, David, and she looks absolutely beautiful!”

David pulled his wife into his arms, murmuring, “So do you, Sweetheart.”

She hiccuped a laugh. “You’re only supposed to notice the bride on her wedding day, not her mother.”

He leaned back, giving her one of his trademark smiles. “There will never be a day when I don’t admire your beauty.”

“I knew I called you ‘Charming’ for a reason,” she beamed. After kissing him soundly, she wiped his lips clean of the lipstick she’d left behind and said, “Now, go see your daughter before it’s time for us to walk her down the aisle.”

David straightened his tie and buttoned his jacket, then gently rapped his knuckles on the door. “Emma? May I come in?”

“Sure, Dad,” came her reply.

He turned the knob and slowly opened the door, peeking around the edge of it. His breath hitched when he caught a glimpse of his daughter. She was truly a vision in her wedding gown and veil, causing him to blink back tears of his own. “Oh, Emma,” he breathed.

“How do I look?” she asked nervously, twirling in a circle.

“You look…perfect,” he managed to choke past the lump in his throat.

Her cheeks flushed at his praise and she looked down at herself, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in her gown. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” he assured her.

“Hey, I think that’s my line today,” she giggled.

David laughed and stepped forward to take both of her hands in his. “Any second thoughts?”

“None,” she said confidently. “Besides, if I don’t marry Killian, you might just snap him up.”

“Very funny,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. Then his expression sobered. “I know you’ve had a lot on your mind the last few weeks, but I want you to put everything aside today and just enjoy your wedding.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ve thought about this day ever since we found out we were having a daughter. I was sure no one would ever be good enough for you, but Hoo-, um, Killian has proven himself time and time again. I suppose if I have to give your hand in marriage, it couldn’t be to a more worthy man.”

“You didn’t always think that.”

“I know, but I was, well…I was wrong.”

“I’m sure Killian would be very satisfied to hear you say that,” she quipped.

“Of course he would,” David sighed. “But enough about Hook. What about you? How are you feeling?”

Emma’s face took on a serene look. “I’m happy, Dad. Really, really happy.” She swung their still-clasped hands back and forth.

“Happiness looks good on you,” he replied, letting go with one hand and using the other to spin her around. Then he pulled her back toward him, putting his free hand on her waist as hers moved to his shoulder.

They slowly danced in a small circle around the room to music only they could hear. “We missed out on so much of your life, Emma. I’m very glad we didn’t miss out on watching you fall in love and marry the man who won your heart.”

“I know we lost a lot of time with each other, but let’s not talk about regrets today, Dad. We’re together now, along with Henry and everyone else in town. I have more family and friends here than I ever dreamed was possible. And I’m marrying a man who has been at my side without fail, even when I didn’t really want him to be.”

David chuckled. “He has proven himself to be persistent, that’s for sure.”

Their swaying came to a stop as Emma looked up into her father’s face. “You and Killian are such good examples for Henry. He’s lucky to have both of you in his life, and so am I.”

They heard the wedding music beginning to play, and David checked his watch. “I guess it’s about that time. Will you allow me to get a little sentimental before we leave this room?”

“Just don’t cause me to smudge my makeup.”

“I’ll try not to,” he promised, then took a deep breath. “Emma, from the moment your mother and I found out we would be having a baby, I wondered what our child - what you - might grow up to be like. Nothing I imagined even came close to the person you are - strong, smart, determined, brave, and so very, very beautiful. You’ve defeated dragons, ice monsters, witches, the darkness and Hades himself; yet you’re one of the most loving, generous, and kind-hearted people I’ve ever known. To say I’m proud of you doesn’t do justice to my true feelings. I love you, Emma, and I’m blessed beyond measure to be your father.”

A tear spilled over her lower lashes, and David dug into his pants pocket to retrieve a white handkerchief. After dabbing the wetness away, he tucked it back in his pocket, kissed her forehead, then pulled her into a hug, cupping the back of her head, as usual.

“I love you, too, Dad,” she whispered in his ear.

They stayed that way for several moments, until they heard a tap on the door. Mary Margaret stuck her head in, whispering reverently, “It’s time.”

David nodded and stepped back, gripping Emma’s upper arms as he looked into her eyes. “Ready, Princess?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly.

“Alright, then,” he said, “but just remember this - Killian loves you now, but I loved you first. You’ll always be your daddy’s little girl.”

“I’ll remember,” she said, a soft smile on her lips.

“Good. Now, let’s go get you married.”

*********

Please join me in wishing Krystal a very, very happy birthday!

Tagging: @hookedmom @kmomof4 @cs-rylie @qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @wyntereyez @the-darkdragonfly @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @julesep3026 @courtorderedcake @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @captainswan4life85 @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @huntressandlioness1 @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @laschatzi @zaharadessert @jennjenn615 @yasbio2015 @lyssapup27 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @singersdd @mie779 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @bdevereaux-blanche @soniccat @searchingwardrobes @jarienn972 @apiratewhopines @softkilly @goforlaunchcee @kymbersmith-90 @captainswan217-blog

#ouat fanfiction #a birthday story for kmomof4 #happy birthday Krystal!#daddy charming #I loved you first #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #canon compliant #missing moment for 6x20 #the cs wedding episode

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spicysagittarius · 2 years

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i loved you first

part one: tell me what you see in him

In which Peter desperately wants MJ, his best friend, but she’s taken. When he finds out that Harry’s never made her cum, he takes matters into his own hands… literally.

Rated E

For a senior in college, Peter sure does have a lot in common with Nicholas Sparks heroines. And boy, would his storyline make any romance author absolutely foam at the mouth.

He knows it’s a cliché, but it’s not even his fault. MJ is the best person in his life and what’s he supposed to do with that? Not want her to himself? Preposterous.

He’d met Michelle Jones-Watson during their freshman year at ESU, and they’d instantly become close friends. Peter had admired her dry humour especially when directed at a particularly lame professor they’d had that semester. She’s probably been cool since birth and he loves spending time with her.

Apart from being a wonderful person, she’s also incredibly hot. Always has been. And on top of adoring the person that she is, he’s always been immensely attracted to her, even before he’d developed an actual crush on her.

Romantic feelings didn’t occur for him until last December, when adoration had struck him in the face like it was calling him an idiot for not realising it sooner. She’d been helping May cook their annual Christmas Eve dinner and he’d been watching subtly from the living room, trying desperately to understand why the sight of her giggling with his aunt over boiled potatoes was making his stomach do a round of backflips.

Ever since, he’s been enthralled by his best friend, cursing himself out every day for not figuring it out earlier.

Because if he had, they might’ve had a chance. They could’ve been together before developing too close of a friendship – one that he’s terrified to jeopardise.

And then finally, when he’d decided to risk it all and was this close to telling her how he felt, she’d started dating his roommate. At first, he’d had hope that it was one of those dumb college flings, and c’mon, they’d only met a month before making it official. Michelle seemed happy and infatuated and astonishingly, so did her macho, fratboy boyfriend.

It was the sign Peter had needed to hang up his feelings for her and try to move on. He’s still convinced of that, especially now that MJ and Harry have been together for six months.

It’s a rainy afternoon in April and he’s almost finished with the bibliography that’s due in a week. God, I can’t wait to graduate , he sighs to himself.

His best friend has perfect timing, honestly, because a few seconds after he closes his laptop, she’s barging into his flat with a smile.

“Peter!” MJ wraps her arms around him from behind his seat on the living room chair. “Missed you.”

He hugs her back best he can from the weird angle, chuckling. “I missed you loads, but I was only gone for three days.”

“Too long,” she mumbles, the sound muffled from her face buried in his shoulder. When she pulls back, she meets his eyes, and he prays she doesn’t notice the conflict and struggle in them. “Let’s go to Moe’s this week.”

“We haven’t been there in months,” he adds. “So I’m obviously up for it. I’ve missed those martinis.”

“That’s right, shit, when did we go there last?”

Of course he knows when it was. But that would sound weird. “Um, like, the beginning of the school year, I think?”

That sounded casual, right?

“Oh yeah , we stopped right after I started dating–"

The douchebag you’re way too good for?

“—Hey, baby.” The smooth interruption surprises them both, and they turn to see Harry Osborn in sweats and open arms. Peter watches as MJ folds herself in them, giving him a peck.

Yeah, it sucks, but it’s not anything he’s not used to.

“How was work today?” She asks, still holding onto him.

“Long.”

Peter stops stealing bitter glances at the pair and finally averts his eyes towards his phone.

“Yeah? Are you hungry?”

“Actually, you know what? Remember that pesto pasta you made last week? I’ve been craving it since Wednesday.”

“Duh. Best pasta ever. You want some, Pete?” Shit, she’s talking to him.

“Uh, I’m good, actually. Got a lot of, you know, deadlines coming up. Next time, ‘Chelle.”

He grips his laptop and heads straight for his room, trying not to look avoidant.

An hour later, he’s on his phone with the bedroom door shut and unintentionally rolling his eyes every time he hears Harry and MJ in the kitchen. It’s punishment for two reasons: one, Harry’s not funny enough for her to be cracking up after each dim-witted line, and two, the smell of the pesto pasta – which he knows is amazing because Michelle’s the best chef in the world – is making his mouth water. But he doesn’t really feel like going back in the kitchen until they disappear into Harry’s room, like they do every weekend.

He doesn’t understand why she’s dating him. Harry’s nice enough, he supposes, but when he first introduced him to MJ, he’d figured that MJ wouldn’t even want to associate with him. Harry’s the type of kid she used to complain about all the time. Rich, spoiled, cocky as shit: a real frat-type. He’s her perfect opposite.

To be fair, though, Peter and MJ are extremely different as well. But, like, c’mon. That’s different, right? They’ve been best friends for years and get on like a house on fire. Except not, you know, in a sexual way. A strictly platonic house fire. Yes.

Peter’s relieved when he hears Harry’s door close and their voices muffle from distance. He jumps up to go grab food, and it’s a shame that he had to miss out on her brilliant pasta, because –

God .

Of course Michelle’s left a bowl out for him; a mouth-watering serving with a piece of paper next to it that he focuses on first. Her loopy scribbles make him smile involuntarily.

EAT >:(

She’s his favourite person. Sue him.

Later, after he’s eaten the pasta and headed back to his room to finish a few assignments, he hears Harry raise his voice across the flat.

“I don’t care , Michelle! I don’t fucking like it.”

They’re trying to keep their voices down, he can tell, but he still hears every word. He’s not eavesdropping if they’re making it impossible to tune them out, right?

“But I’ve told you over and over again that it’s literally nothing!” MJ hisses. “You’re always so dramatic about this.”

“Dramatic?” Harry seethes. There’s a beat before he speaks again, as if he waits for her to nod in confirmation. “You’d feel the exact same way if I spent more time with Gwen than with you. Right?”

“Gwen’s your best friend and I’ve never, ever said anything about it. Because I know it’s not a big deal! It’s the same fucking situation!”

“My point,” Harry snaps, “is that for you, he’s the priority. Not me. I’m the boyfriend. What’s that about?”

Fuck. They’re talking about him. They’re fighting about him.

“He’s been my best friend for more than three years, Harry. You and I met in September.”

“So it’s fine that he’s more of a boyfriend to you than I am.”

“What the fuck are you even on about?”

“Actually, you know what? I can’t do this right now.” The bickering gets louder when Harry’s door opens. It’s obvious that he’s on his way out, but Peter doesn’t hear Michelle try to stop him.

What the fuck?

What is he supposed to do now? Does he go and comfort MJ after overhearing an argument she just had with her boyfriend about their friendship? That feels weird, but he wants to make sure she’s okay.

Does he pretend to not know anything? Or would that seem ridiculous since there’s no way he wouldn’t have heard them? Is she embarrassed about it? Would him approaching her make things worse?

After about fifteen minutes without any noise from the other side of the flat, he decides that he has to make sure she’s okay. His nerves shouldn’t matter when someone he cares about this much is upset.

A few taps on Harry’s door go unanswered. “Em?” He calls softly.

There’s a sniff and finally he hears a quiet “I’m fine, Peter.”

He slowly opens the door, spotting MJ with her back to him on the bed. She’s sitting with her knees tucked into her chest, staring out the shitty window that doesn’t even have a view because it’s yards away from another dorm hall.

“Em,” he repeats, shuffling toward her. “I’m, uh, I’m not gonna pretend that I didn’t hear that, but I just had to check up on you.” He sits next to her, finally glancing at her face. His heart breaks at the redness of her eyes.

She doesn’t look at him yet but rolls her eyes and says, “I’m so sorry about that. I’m…honestly, I’m embarrassed.”

“It’s fine, I promise.” He really wants to hug her, because that’s what he always does when she’s upset. Sometimes he holds her for ages, and on a few occasions, he’s held her against him in bed as she falls asleep.

Right now, though, doing that feels like the opposite of helpful. Especially after her boyfriend had just criticised their friendship.

He keeps his hands to himself (it’s really difficult), only adding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter’s relieved when she chuckles through her tears. “I’m not sure you’re the person to talk to about this.”

“Come on. You know I don’t care about that.”

She sighs, brushing a few tears away that he’d had the urge to take care of himself. “He doesn’t like that you and I are so close.”

“I got that from the…” he trails off; point already made. They share a brief chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s brought it up a few times, but I didn’t know how upset he really was until today.”

“What even happened?”

“We came in here to, um…” She hesitates.

“Got it. Yep.”

“Yeah, so he goes to take off my socks and mentions that he hasn’t seen them before.” MJ points to her wool-covered feet, and Peter’s heart stutters when he sees the socks that she’d stolen from his dresser a week ago when they’d had a Jordan Peele movie night. They’re his best pair.

“And I tell him that they’re yours, but I made sure to tell him that it was just because they’re comfy , you know? But he brought up the time that I was wearing your shirt—”

“What, when we were all painting your kitchen?”

“Yeah, and I didn’t have a shirt I could ruin. But I guess he’s convinced we, like, secretly share wardrobes or some shit. And he feels like I’ve been dating you and not him.”

Peter swallows. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. And I’ve tried so hard to make him happy – given up so much – and it’s never fucking enough for him.”

They sit in silence for a few seconds. Then, with caution, he asks: “Is that why we haven’t been to Moe’s since you met him?”

He watches her gulp and stare at her (his) socks. The silence is an answer in itself and she scrubs at her tears, frustrated and angry but most of all, he bets, she’s exhausted. Relationships shouldn’t feel exhausting, or burdening, and Peter has to physically stop himself from telling her that.

“I meant what I said, earlier,” MJ offers. “Let’s go back this week. I miss it and I miss you . Not just for the past few days.”

He nods. It goes without saying that he’s missed her just as much, if not more.

“Can we go to your room?” Her question surprises him.

“I- yeah , but isn’t that—”

“I don’t care.”

He meets her eyes and can tell that she means it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

When they reach Peter’s bedroom, MJ sinks onto the bed. There’s a shyness to her now that he rarely sees when she murmurs, “Hold me.”

There’s a small part of Peter that wants to protest. The logical part of him. It’s the opposite of a solution but he’s never ever gonna turn down the chance to feel her against him. So he just nods.

After a moment, they’re positioned comfortably on his bed. He’s on his back with his eyes trained on the ceiling, albeit the glances he steals at her when he can. MJ’s on her side, tucked into his body with her head resting on his chest. It’s peaceful and he’s stupid for thinking it but it feels right to hold her this close. Yet she’s not his and she never will be.

Later that week, just as planned, Peter’s on his way to Moe’s to meet up with MJ. Moe’s has been their favourite bar in the city for years, meaning that what was once a twice-weekly visit has brought them a friendship with the managers.

When he enters the rundown bar, he immediately spots MJ at their usual table in the far corner. She sees him at the same time and waves him over.

Two hours later, they’re both drunk. Empty glasses in front of them had once consisted of his usual gin and lemonade and her usual old-fashioned. God, he’d missed this.

“ God, I missed this.” MJ sighs, gazing at him with something he can’t read from across the old table.

He finds himself matching her expression. “Me too.”

She grins and scoots over clumsily from the opposite side of the circular booth until she’s sat next to him, swinging her legs to rest over his knees. They’re both drunk and he swallows hard as her dress slips up her thighs at the movement.

Fuck, he wants her. MJ is – objectively – sexy as hell. Anyone with eyes fucking knows that.

So sue him.

With how they’re sitting now, MJ’s legs resting on his and her head dropping to his shoulder every time she laughs, an outsider would assume that he was the one dating her. They look like lovers, and it doesn’t help that his arm has somehow found its way around her and his entire form is turned into hers.

Of course, with this closeness, his pants are tight and through the haziness of the alcohol, he’s internally screaming at his semi to, well, remain a semi. Anything more and she’ll definitely notice. Which would be a disaster.

His cock is stubborn though and refuses to heed his wishes. After a few seconds, he gives up, moving to untangle their limbs and make some lame excuse.

MJ grabs his bicep with a giggle. “No, stay!”

“Em, I have to—”

“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head adamantly. “I’m comfy.”

He gives her a pointed look, not wanting to tell her the truth about why he has to get arms’ length away from her right now . She returns his expression with pleading eyes and fuck now he has a prominent fucking boner and there’s no way she doesn’t feel it. He sees the second she realises what the issue is. Her cheeks flush even further than they already were from the alcohol, but she doesn’t move away in the slightest.

Actually, she does the opposite. There’s a hesitant pause from the both of them before she moves impossible closer to him, one hand reaching to tangle a few fingers in his hair. His hand was already near her curls too so he subconsciously does the same, tugging them in some kind of desperate warning. He’s not sure if he wants her to continue or stop. Probably both.

He's shocked when the tug pulls a breathy moan from the back of her throat. “Em,” he grunts in response.

If he was shocked by that, her next movement – lifting one leg so she can straddle him in the corner of their favourite bar – makes him absolutely speechless. She’s on his lap and her panties are warm against the crotch of his jeans and it takes everything in him not to grip her hips and rut against her like an animal.

“Em, we can’t—” he tries. Sober Peter would be better at this. “Harry.”

She doesn’t move off his lap, but her smile fades as she watches him hesitate. “ Harry , for the record, hasn’t once made me cum.”

Huh?

“But you’ve been dating for, like…”

“Six months,” she finishes, sighing. “Six months . He’s had dozens of fucking chances and still doesn’t even ask if I got there after he’s done. He just goes to sleep.”

“Has he not…gone down on you?”

“No, he does sometimes, but it’s only to get me…”

“Got it.”

They just look at each other for a minute, saying everything they can’t out loud with their eyes alone. MJ’s the first to speak after a minute as he finally reaches to hold onto her hips.

It’s a needy whisper, barely audible, but her lips are inches away from his and he can hear every word.

"Please, I need to cum.”

He supposes that Harry being a selfish douchebag in bed is what makes him feel okay with touching someone else’s girlfriend. Someone who isn’t his but should be. It feels wrong but it doesn’t feel wrong enough to stop him from giving in. Because truly, who is he to deny her when she’s against him and practically begging? Harry?

Absolutely not .

His hands move from her hips to just below the hem of her dress, teasing her unintentionally by fiddling with the fabric as he tries to comprehend his surroundings.

MJ just watches him, and he guesses she’s in disbelief just as he is.

Slowly, his hands slip under her dress and move upwards. He holds her eye contact and finds that he really doesn’t ever want to look away. He’d be perfectly content staring into the hazel abyss for eternity.

It’s a cringe worthy thought to have whilst touching her like this but he’s too drunk to care.

Her legs go on forever so he’s genuinely surprised when his fingers hit the fabric of her panties on her hips, earning a small gasp from her. Two of his fingers eagerly shift towards her core and boldly stroke her covered cunt from her entrance to her clit. What he finds makes his cock throb almost painfully.

The cotton is soaked completely through.

She gasps again, whimpering as her eyes finally leave his and scan the bar behind them frantically, as if she’s making sure that no one’s looking at them.

His eyes automatically move to where her dress covers the explicitness underneath. He strokes her again, and then again once more with greed. His thumb finds the swollen of her clit and flicks it. She gasps then and buries her face in his neck, moaning when he keeps doing it. “ Peter .” Her tone is panicked and desperate.

He shakes his head, moving the hand that isn’t occupied up to the side of her neck to pull her back up. “Nope. I’m gonna watch you.”

One of the straps of her dress falls off her shoulder and that paired with her dazed, needy expression as he rubs her through her underwear is so erotic it makes his dick physically ache. He wants to push the fabric to the side and undo his jeans so that he can slide inside her and watch her struggle to stretch around him. He wants so badly to fuck up into her as he holds onto her hips, not giving a fuck if they’re making a scene and giving a free show to the good number of patrons in the bar. Why would he give a fuck about them when she’d finally be taking his cock like he’s been dreaming about since they were 18?

But he’s not gonna fuck her for the first time in a bar, even if that bar is Moe’s and they’re as comfortable here as they are in their own homes.

He’s not gonna fuck her here, not the first time, but hell if he’s not gonna make her cum with his fingers alone like her boyfriend hasn’t been able at all.

This is why he finally slips his fingers underneath her panties and swipes through the wetness there with ease. They both groan at the action, and Peter quickly turns his head to make sure the booth is discreet enough before groping her tits with his other hand through the dress.

He tweaks one of her nipples mercilessly, finally slipping two fingers inside her. She drops her head down and moans helplessly. “Fuck, Peter,”

“You’re so pretty like this,” he can’t help but mutter privately. “Wet and wanting and wrecked on my lap. And nobody,” he cocks his head towards the rest of the bar, “nobody but me knows that you’re dripping down your legs.”

“ God , how am I so close already?” She’s breathless and the image of her right now – her long curls falling prettily past her shoulders and both straps having fallen with them as he feels up her chest and hears her gasp and moan – is one he wants to remember perfectly for as long as he lives.

He’s not being gentle anymore, instead fucking her with his fingers animalistically and curling them to torture the spot that he’s convinced Harry doesn’t even know about. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks gutturally. “Gonna sob my name and not his? Right here in our booth?” His words, he can tell, drive her mad. “You’ve done so well, baby. Such a good girl for me. You hear that? Just for me.”

“For you,” she stutters over her panting breaths and sighs and moans. “Jus’ you.”

He knows they’re both absolutely wasted so he can’t help the primal satisfaction he feels at her words.

“That’s my girl.”

She’s right on the edge and he can literally feel it, feel her clenching tightly around his fingers as he adds a third.

“Peter,” her tone is pleading and frantic. “Peter, Peter , I’m gonna cum,”

“Do it. All over my fingers. Look at me,” he waits, stilled, until she does as he says. His fingers resume at a faster pace, and they watch each other as her inner muscles clench in final warning.

He quickly pulls his fingers out and a panicked “ What— ” is ripped from MJ, only interrupted by his fingers attacking her pussy by moving side to side quickly across her clit.

She’s fast to bury her face next to his ear, gripping his curls and then she’s there , sobbing his name just like he said she would as she cums on top of him. Her hips twitch involuntarily and if her panties were wet before, they’re absolutely drenched now. “So fucking good,” he mutters into her ear. “Took it so well. You’re so pretty when you cum.” It earns another whimper from her as she starts to slowly recover.

An onlooker would assume they were a couple of drunk kids making out in a bar, and whilst the former few details are definitely true, the discreet action is their secret to keep.

It takes a minute to collect themselves enough to go to different restrooms to freshen up. Peter can’t help but relieve the tension that’s been building for the last hour but also the last three years. He drunkenly enters a stall and pulls his cock out, pumping it carelessly and it takes literally thirty seconds before he’s spilling into a handful of tissue he’d grabbed at the last second. All that it takes is the very recent recollection of how insanely fucking hot she was when she came for him.

He quickly cleans up, washing his hands in a daze. He knows that tomorrow, the guilt will set in, but at the moment he’s still riding the high of making her cum whilst her boyfriend couldn’t. Peter knows it’s a gross caveman feeling but he can’t help it: he feels on top of the fucking world.

He exits the bathroom and isn’t surprised to see that he beat MJ to it, so he sits back down at their booth to wait for her.

And that’s when he sees him .

Harry Osborn stands at the entrance of the bar, glaringly scanning the room for what Peter knows is his girlfriend. The one Peter just fingered in a booth.

Suddenly, with the worst timing, the door to the women’s restroom swings open and MJ walks out. Harry spots her at the same time she spots him and Peter watches her whisper exactly what he’s thinking.

Oh, fuck.

#petermj #spideychelle #peter parker x michelle jones #petermj fic #petermj smut #i loved you first #mwahaha

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