#no matter what andrew will always give me peter parker vibes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 2 years

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Skaterboy

Fandom: The Amazing Spider-Man (Andrew Garfield TASM)

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x Afab/Fem identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: E - 18+ NO MINORS! If you’re under 18 piss off and wait for your 18th birthday, thanks!

Warnings: Smut/sex, no minors thank you., technically public sex but like no one is around so it’s probably more outdoor sex, Peter is a soft dom, you have a thing for skaters, Peter has a thing for you, established relationship, this is post NWH Peter so we’re all in our 20s. Peter has a thing for your hips? Mentions the pill, but no use of a condom. You have a thing for Peter’s hand around your throat. Aftercare

Summary: Peter still skateboards, even though he’s in his 20s now, you’ve always wanted to learn but never tried. Peter decides to show you how it’s done. If it’s an excuse to touch you...well, that’s just a bonus.

Peter’s supposed to teach you how to skate, instead you end up fucking against a wall in a warehouse.

Notes: I’ve been very tempted today to buy a skateboard and learn how to skate...but I also not cool enough and clumsy sooo...this is me living out my dreams in fiction.

Also this started as fluff and...quickly changed to smut so...

Maybe you’re a little old to learn how to skateboard, but you’d always wanted to learn growing up and had always been too unsure to try it out, you never had someone to teach you. So, it’s natural in your twenties to be curious about it, especially when your boyfriend still skates around when he gets the chance. Especially when he looks fucking hot doing it. You don’t mention it to Peter, no matter how many times you go to the dockside with him to watch him skate. He long since stopped going to the skatepark, it’s easier to get away with his more ‘superhuman’ tricks this way and you don’t mind the quiet either. It allows you the freedom to ogle him without feeling embarrassed, no one to catch you this way.

You enjoy watching him, he’s good at it and he still manages to give off that cute, skater boy vibe that you would have fallen hook, line and sinker for in school. The only difference is neither of you are teenagers anymore and he’s definitely not just some cute skater boy, but your hot superhero boyfriend and you’ve already fallen hook, line and sinker for him and what he has going on.

You can’t really help it, watching him skate around, do some kickflips and some more extreme jumps and tricks, it makes you want to learn again, to get on that skateboard and try it out. It also makes you rub your thighs together discreetly, there’s something about the confidence, the competence with which he skates, the way he pushes and twists his body that turns you on and you hope he never notices. God, if Peter knew he'd be insufferable. He was a massive tease when he wanted to be.

The desire you feel for him is only compounded by the fact he’s stripped off his t-shirt and jacket, he’s been skating in that black tank top he wears to bed sometimes, the one that highlights his fucking arms and shows how goddamn strong he really is. He always looks so lean in his big t-shirts and jackets, but underneath, Jesus, his arms. Your eyes are always drawn to them, to the bulge of his bicep, the veins that crisscross his forearm, his hands, large, so huge compared to your own, the way they could just wrap around your throat and press into your hips. It’s downright lewd and you’re glad spiders don’t have telepathic abilities.

You have to physically shake yourself out of it, refocusing on his feet on the skateboard. It’s almost magical the way he can make it glide smoothly across the tarmac and concrete, there’s no hesitancy in his actions and it reminds you of how he swings from building to building. A surety in himself, a confidence that you adore, especially when he can be so awkward at times. You love the awkwardness too, though, the sweet disposition that has him stumbling over words sometimes.

Peter knows you want to learn how to skate, you’ve never said it, but he’s noticed it. You’re always so intent on watching him and there’s always a longing sort of curious look you watch him with that screams ‘let me have a go’. The sort of look Peter catches on your face as he cruises towards you on his board and stops just short with practiced ease, a teasing smirk on his face that brings out his dimples. You like his dimples, he knows you do. Maybe he’s using them against you, maybe it’s an accident, you’re not sure, but you want to kiss his dimples off of him.

Maybe it’s a little bit selfish, that he wants to teach you to skate. To get his hands on you and help you adjust your stance and position. He thinks it’d be kind of hot to see you skate around on his board, some sort of teenage dream, and any excuse to touch you is a good one in his book. Not that Peter really needs an excuse, he’s twenty five, he’s your boyfriend and you live together, there’s rarely a moment in your presence that he doesn’t reach for you, but the whole idea of it appeals to him more than he’d ever let anyone know. Probably because he can already imagine how flustered you’d get at his teasing.

Fuck, Peter wants to touch you all the time, especially when you’re wearing that skirt, the one that makes your hips look like he could just take a bite out them like a sweet candy apple. It stretches across your skin and conforms to your shape. With your beat up converse on and his jacket over your shoulders you look like a wet dream, it doesn’t help that you look so sweet either. All wide-eyed and adorable as he stops in front of you. Fuck, if you’d gone to school with him, if he’d seen you walk down the corridor looking like that? He’d have had no chance, you’d have been his teenage dream. He’d have been a smitten loser, you’d probably never have glanced his way or he’d have been too shy to make any sort of move.

“Hey, you, uh, you wanna…take it for a ride?” It’s not his smoothest but he’s still trying to get his brain off the image of your hips in that skirt, of hiking it up your thighs and pressing himself between them. He kicks his board up and holds it out to you. You’re watching him with a mixture of apprehension and longing, like you so desperately want to say yes, but you’re not quite sure you should. It’s the same face you made right before he kissed you for the first time, the same face you made right before you invited him into your apartment, before the two of you made love for the first time, he can’t help the way his eyes look you up and down at the memories, cataloguing you, reminding himself of each line of your body. The way your skirt sticks to your hips and your lip gives underneath your teeth, the look of your eyes from beneath your lashes and the sight of your bare legs curving underneath you as you sit there.

You don’t seem to notice the look he’s giving you, more concerned at the prospect of making a fool out of yourself…even though you want to. “I…I don’t know, Peter…I have pretty bad balance and I’d probably just look stupid doing it…” You can already see it in your mind’s eye, you falling on your arse repeatedly, pride bruised. But, then again…there was the promise of Peter’s hands on you, so tactile as he always is, you know your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to resist…it’s a tempting, teasing little thought.

“Okay, first of all, you could never look stupid, I one hundred percent guarantee that if you ride my skateboard you’ll be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You look away from him in embarrassment, warmth filling your cheeks, teeth biting into your bottom lip. It’s fucking adorable. “Second of all, I’m not gonna let you fall, baby. C’mon…I’ll take good care of you, my pretty lady. I always take good care of you, don’t I?” Peter holds his hand out, fingers curling to beckon you to take his hand. It definitely doesn’t help your thoughts that he’s said those exact words to you before in an entirely different context, one where there are far less clothes and many more walls and locked doors.

Fuck, you look so sweet, looking up at him like that from the curbside. He wants to ruin you, take you apart and put you back together again until your legs are too weak to walk home and he has to carry you back to your shared apartment. Shit. He wants to take care of you, sure he does, but his mind’s not exactly on skateboarding and it’s technique right now.

“Aren’t I a little too old to learn?” You stare at his hand torn between saying yes and saying no. Surely it was a bit weird for you to learn now, you were an adult…wasn’t skateboarding for kids? Your parents definitely would have told you it was…

“Old? Old? Did you, my beautiful, wonderful, sexy girlfriend, just call yourself too old to learn how to skateboard? Oh, no, no, no. You’re learning now, baby. C’mon.” He doesn’t give you the choice this time. Peter shoots out a web that wraps around your waist to pull you onto your feet and towards him, rather unnecessary if you do say so yourself. Especially as the force of it has you colliding into him hard, hand resting on his chest, his own wrapping around your hips. Pulling you tight against his body like he thinks he’s on the front cover of some sort of romance book. His chest is so firm underneath your hand and he’s alway so bloody warm…you’re not sure how you’re supposed to learn how to skate under these conditions.

“Peter!”

“C’mon, I know you want to…indulge me.” He shakes the skateboard at you like a treat. It’s that little smirk of his, the cheeky one he gets, the one that makes him look so stupidly sexy, that has you agreeing.

“Fine, but if I hurt myself, Peter Benjamin Parker…” Your threat is left unfinished and empty. Peter is all too eager to place the skateboard on the ground and get you onto it. Too eager to get started, to have an excuse to keep his hands on you, to guide you and move you.

He keeps a foot on the board to keep it still and steady for you, hand holding your own as he helps you get onto it like he’s helping you into a carriage. It feels weird beneath your feet.

The first thing you notice is how strange it feels to be taller and higher off the ground, it feels rocky and unstable, the next thing is how Peter’s hands instantly rest on your hips, fingers dipping into your flesh, holding you as close as he can with a skateboard in the way. You’re almost certain at this point that your boyfriend is using teaching you as a guise to touch you, but you’re not going to complain about his strong hands on your hips or any desire he has to touch you. Not when he’s been riling you up this whole time, probably without even realising it.

Peter’s not going to lie to himself, he revels in the feel of your hips underneath his hands, how his fingers dig gently into your skin, how your back straightens at his presence, pushing back slightly towards him. He licks his bottom lip and tries to focus on correcting your narrow stance, kicking a foot between your own. “You need to widen your stance, baby, otherwise you’ll lose your balance and fall off. I don’t want my pretty baby getting hurt.”

He’s always flirtatious with you, but usually in a joking way, this is a less common side of Peter. The sort of side you tend to only see in private. His eyes burn your skin and you’re certain skateboarding shouldn’t have this much tension or touching involved. He’s liberally applying every pet name he’s ever had for you in quick succession and it’s hard to concentrate. Still you try to follow his directions, planting your feet a bit wider under his guidance.

“Uh-uh, wider, spread your legs for me, baby...” This time his foot kicks yours apart roughly, hands pushing at your hips to urge you to move them apart, as his thigh presses between yours grazing over your centre too lightly to bring relief, but enough to tease. A flush of warmth fills your whole body and you’re certain at this point that Peter just wants to wreck you and your sanity because he only uses that low, gravely voice of his in bed and this is not your bed. There’s no way the press of his thigh at your cunt is an accident, there’s no need for it there other than to make a very clear statement that Peter wants you. Every single teenage fantasy you had about the skater boy down your street flits through your mind, this time with Peter taking the leading role. It’s like being eighteen again.

He can hear how fast your heart is beating, a staccato rhythm in your chest. He can feel the red hot warmth between your thighs on his leg, can see how your skirt starts to inch up because of his intrusion in your space. Can feel how you lean back towards him, how he has to press one of his hands between your shoulder blades to straighten your stance and he fucking loves it. He loves you all the time. He loves how you react when he’s sweet and soft, but fuck if he doesn’t love how quickly he can turn you on. There’s a tremble to your body, a shivery impatience, and he can't help but tease, to trail his fingers over your hip and down your leg, hitting bare skin as he grips your thigh firmly and twists your leg to the side. The strength of his hand on you does it and you know you're wet, the rubbing of your panties against you a reminder of how sensitive you’ve become, and he hasn’t even touched properly yet. You’re so done for. “You gotta face sideways, baby, push your hips to the side for me, honey…that’s a good girl.”

You haven’t even taken a single step, haven’t moved an inch on this goddamn skateboard and you’re ready to hold up your hands, to surrender, to drag him all the way home and let him fuck you in your shared bed in whatever way he wants. But, he keeps going under this pretense, pressing against your back and breathing across the shell of your ear.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby, you can kick off and get this party started, okay? You’ve got this, baby.”

His absence is felt so acutely when he steps back, leaving you on the skateboard alone and fuck, you were actually supposed to be learning how to skate weren’t you? This wasn’t supposed to be some sort of foreplay plucked from the mind of an eighteen year old you, the fantasies of a past time when your biggest concern was passing exams, getting your grades and whether your crush liked you.

It’s cute, how you seem to freeze once he steps back, coming back to reality. Fuck, you’re breathless and trembling, but he gives it to you cause you try to skate anyway, put your foot down and roll and roll and roll. He keeps pace with you, your slow crawl humorous. But, as tempting as you are he still wants to make sure you’re okay, that he’s there to catch you.

“C’mon, pretty baby, you can go faster and harder than that, can’t you?” The way your head drops back, exposing the length of your throat is delicious and he’s so close to just calling quits, to stopping the pretence right now, grabbing you and shoving you up against a wall, hiking your skirt up around your waist where it belongs.

But, there’s something about your neediness, the way you can’t rub your thighs together to give yourself any relief like this, the frustration as he watches your hips twist a little, yet your determination to act as if it’s fine. As if you’re not soaking through your panties, desperate to have his hands on you again.

Fuck, Peter. He’s doing it on purpose, you know he is, because when you look over his eyes are dark and half-lidded, that stupid smirk in place showing the tips of his teeth. He’s enjoying this too much. It shouldn’t make you want him more that he’s riling you up on purpose, but it does, he wants you badly and fuck, if that isn’t a turn on. To be so wanted, so needed, so desired that his eyes are practically black. With Peter it’s very hard to ever doubt his devotion to you.

You’re determined to keep the pretence up, the charade of being taught how to skate, even as you find no relief from the heat and wetness between your thighs. The stance required for skating does not allow for the slightest bit of friction between your legs, the most you get is the brush of your panties against your clit as your hips twist of their own accord. It’s torturous and evil and you know he knows it, can clock the way his eyes focus on your hips.

You find the strength to put your foot back to the ground and push off harder this time, too hard out of frustration, you can already feel the fear at the momentum, your desire briefly ignored in favour of fear. “Peter!” You’re scared screech has him running to catch up with you, grabbing you just as you begin to teeter off the skateboard and towards the ground, lifting you high up and into his arms.

Your legs wrap tight around his hips to catch yourself and, “Fuck…” He groans out at the warm touch of your cunt against the front of his jeans. Forehead dropping to your shoulder, lips brushing against the hot skin of your neck. “Fuck, baby…”

“Peter…” It’s a whimper as you tighten your legs around him and grind against his lap, hands twisting up into the brown strands of his hair, tugging at the relief you’re finally getting. For the first time this evening you’re finally getting some semblance of relief, his breath is hot against your skin and it sends an involuntary shiver through your body.

“Slow down, baby.” His hands grip your hips firm and tight and stop them from circling against his own and you can’t help but let out a frustrated sob, “Peteee, pleaseee…baby…” It’s frustrating that you can’t shift your hips against his grip, he’s too strong, and Peter doesn’t want this to end too soon, wants to see you absolutely wrecked because of him, not anyone else, him.

“I’ve got you, you know i’ve got you….Fuck, baby girl, I bet you had a thing for skater boys in school, huh? Bet you always wanted to be fucked behind the bleachers, huh, sweet girl? Would you have let me? Let nerdy little Peter Parker sneak you into his room?” He abandons his skateboard, walking the two of you towards an empty warehouse, one he knows has a sturdy wall out of sight of the non existent people. This dockyard was practically abandoned all day long, let alone in the evening, an opportunity to skate, and an opportunity to fucking ruin you without having to swing you home.

Your back is pressed against cold metal, some sort of wall, as Peter slides a hand between you to cup your thigh, hiking it up higher against him as he urges your hips to grind against his cock through the fabric of his jeans. “I think…I think you’d let me fuck you, right here, right now, against this wall, isn’t that right, baby?” God, Peter does things to you, the way he looks so sweet and gentle and then switches, tells you want to do and takes control.

“Yes…fuck, yes, Peter, anything, baby…anything…” You’re pretty incoherent, just mindlessly grinding your hips against him, seeking any sort of friction, relief, head thrown back and unsure how you’re still even breathing. He’s so tall, like this he feels big and looming, forehead pressing into your own as he nuzzles your noses together, still sweet, still tender even when you know he’s going to ruin you.

“I think I should help my pretty lady out, don’t you?” Peter’s hiking your skirt up around your hips like he's wanted to the entire time before you even answer him, groaning at the sight of the wet spot on your panties and the undulation of your hips that’s so much clearer without the fabric in the way.

“Please, please help, baby, you always take such good care of me.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I've got you, I've got you, baby.” His fingertips glide across your skin, shucking you of your panties in the shortest time imaginable, even as he has to drop you to do so. You’re not apart for long, though, he has you pressed back up against the wall, legs wrapped around him before you can even think, pocketing your panties in his back pocket like some sort of trophy.

You press kisses to the length of his neck, incessant and mindless as his fingers drop to graze back and forth across the skin of your inner thighs, “Stop teasing, baby…” You’re whining, whimpering because he’s such a tease.

“I’m just making sure I take care of my baby, m’not teasing, sweetheart” He's a liar and his grin says it all, all teeth and tongue as he pulls your head back so he can watch your face twist and change. A hand wrapping around your throat, firm, confident, but still soft enough, aware of his own strength as he squeezes the sides of your throat in a way that has your head dropping back with a moan.

His other hand finally stops teasing your thighs, finally starts to circle your clit in a way that has you writhing and twisting, almost too much after such a long stint of anticipation. “Shhh, shh, I've got you…” Hand still on your throat, Peter squeezes as he slips a finger inside you, your warm walls gripping and pulling him in. “Fuck, your so wet, is this all for me, baby?”

“Uh-huh, all for you. God, Peter…y-you drive me crazy…you..” You’re not sure what the English language even is anymore at this point, words failing you as his thumb circles your clit, finger pushing back and forth inside you till he finds that spongy little bit that makes your legs clamp tighter around his hips.

Once he’s found it, there’s no avoiding it, he manages to hit it each time he presses back into you like some sort of magic button. He was always really good at arcade games, you think those motor skills have probably come in handy right now, magic fingers pushing you towards an edge that you can't even see.

“There we go baby, I’ve got you…” He presses sweet little kisses across your cheeks, your nose, your brow, even as he presses another finger into you, stretching you deliciously and hitting that spot time and time again. Your hips grind and push forward, rutting to meet him, the familiar burning twisting sensation in your gut only building and building with each circle of his thumb and press of his fingers. Your skin is burning. “You look so pretty like this, sweetheart, wish I had my camera, you’d make such a pretty picture right now…” God, if he could capture this moment, the glaze of your eyes, the way your thighs seem to jiggle with each grind of your hips, how your skin is warm and soft, the way you press into the hand around your throat, so much goddamn trust in him. He’s rock hard and the most you’ve touched him is grinding against him, fully clothed. Shit, he wishes he had his camera, could stare at this sight forever, get lost in the memory even when one of you is away.

“Peteee…” Your noises he loves the best, how whiny and desperate you get, how he seems to make you forget words, other than his name and please. Fuck, he never thought he had that sort of power, but you make him feel so fucking hot, so in control.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay…” He says it even as he presses a third finger into you and you feel fit to burst, it’s too much, you’re too full, you babble at him incoherently and he just shushes you with sweet words, “You can take it, sweetheart, I know you can.” You’re not sure you can, you want to pull him closer and push him away all in the same instance, your body a livewire of nerves, synapses firing off in your brain at every press of his fingers and circle of his thumb.

“C’mon, cum for me, pretty lady, c’mon…” He tightens his grip on the sides of your throat, watches the way your eyes roll into the back of your head as the buzzing fills your ears, blood rushing through your veins.

That coil within your belly, the spring winding up to snap goes as you cum around his fingers, squeezing him so impossibly tightly between your walls, your arousal coating his fingers. He’s careful as he releases your neck, pressing sweet kisses across your skin, even though he was careful, even though you won’t have a single bruise, he braces his hand against the wall by your head.

You watch him as you catch your breath, heat already welling back into your stomach as his fingers, wet with you, leave your cunt and he presses them between his lips, groaning at the tangy taste of you on his tongue. Fuck, any other time he’d have his head between your thighs, lips on you, but now is not the time…any other time he’d dive into you and hope to die that way, thighs wrapped solidly around his head as he worships at the altar that is you and your love for him.

“You taste so good, baby, all for me, huh? You gonna be good for me? My good girl?”

“Always, always your good girl,” You’ve caught your breath and some of your sanity back, the warmth of your orgasm clearing your head enough to know that Peter is rock hard and aching for you, that he’s been so, so patient, so desperate to please you and you’ve neglected him. He doesn’t rush you still, just presses kisses against your skin as you breathe in and out. He’s beautiful like that, warm and flushed, red across his cheeks as he watches you, tongue gliding across his bottom lips. It has you shifting your hips against him again, that desire building itself back up as he groans at you, your bare cunt pressed against his jeans, applying pressure to his erection.

You drag his lips to yours, open mouthed and hungry as you kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue as your fingers tug and tangle in his hair. He moans when you pull just a tad harder and bites your lip with his teeth in retaliation. Your fingers make their way to his belt, eagerly undoing it before popping the button of his jeans open and unzipping his fly. You want him still, so badly, the weight of him, the warmth of him inside you as he tells you how good you are for him. God, you love his voice, it’s your favourite sound in the world, always so sweet, so tender even when he’s being devious and dirty.

It doesn’t take long for you to shove his jeans and boxers down his hips, enough for the length of him, hot, heavy and hard to spring against his stomach, the tip already leaking pre-cum from how desperate he is to be inside you.

“Fuck, Pete…” You can’t help it, you wrap a hand around him, twisting and pulling at his cock. The low groan that rumbles from his chest causes you to clench and you know you don’t have his patience for teasing, know you can’t sit here and wait it out, don’t have the patience to try to break him down into his constituent parts.

“Mm, I know, baby, I know…Just want to be inside you, you gonna let me? Mmm? Gonna let me take care of you again, baby?” A thumb presses against your chin, tilting your face up at him. He’s so intent like this, the way he watches you, eyes flicking between your hand on his cock and the pout on your lips.

You nod your head, words failing you again, for the millionth time today. His hand curves around your throat again, tilting your head to the side. “Use your words for me, beautiful, wanna hear you say it…”

“I…I need you in me, baby, need you in me, please?” You’ve never been able to understand it, how Peter can rile you up so fast time and time again, how no number of orgasms can stop the burning he can elicit in the pit of your stomach. He knows you, knows how to work you and you adore how deeply he knows you, in the bedroom and outside of it.

You’ve never been more thankful in your life for the pill. For the ability to just take him inside you, right here without needing to hunt around for a condom. You love Peter, but you’re not quite sure either of you are ready for a surprise baby just yet.

“Good girl, I've got you…” Both hands fall to your hips, squeezing, pressing, digging as he lifts you up higher against the wall and carefully begins lowering you down onto his cock. Your cunt swallows him like he’s made for you, like always it feels like you were destined for his cock. You’re so fucking warm, so wet, so tight as you slide down him and take him to the hilt, legs tensing behind his back to pull yourself as close to him as you can. You always forget how it feels, it surprises you every time, how full you feel of him.

“You feel so good, baby, like you were made for me, fuck…” His lips brush across the shell of your ear, hot breath warming your skin, before he trails kisses down your skin and across your jaw. Any patch of skin he can find receives its own kiss as you adjust to the size of him pressing against your walls.

He only moves when you do, your circling, pushing hips, telling him all he needs to know as he begins a steady pace. Peter pulls out of you and pushes back in, again and again and finds that spongy spot within you that makes your brows furrow and your voice catch in your throat until you can't even moan. Just breathe.

You rock with him, meet his thrusts and push against him, but it’s not enough and he can tell as he presses his forehead against yours and slides his hand between the two of you. Those long, dexterous fingers of his finding your clit and playing you like a guitar, circling just to the left and up, in a way that has your hands tugging at his hair and lips sucking on the skin of his collarbone, definitely determined to leave a mark. He doesn’t mind though, doesn’t mind walking around with evidence of you on his skin, he’s so proud you’re his girlfriend, could care less if every inch of him was covered in hickeys and scratch marks, so long as they’re from you.

“So close, Pete…”

“C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good girl for me…” It’s mindless words, repeated phrases, barely legible or literate, but he always knows what names to throw at you to have you clenching down on him and grinding closer.

He knows you're close by the shake in your legs, the way your feet seem to curl and if he could see your toes he knows they’d be curling too. He’s so close, so hard, he knows the moment you cum he will to, the force of you around him will be the last straw, but he’s determined to make you cum first.

Peter wraps his hand around your throat, gentle, thumb pressing into the underside of your jaw and kisses you, it’s the tightening of his hand combined with his fingers against your clit that have your toes curl and back arching as you cum for the second time that day. Your walls squeeze him so tightly, your moan so deep in your chest it vibrates against his own, the way you shudder against him has him following after you, cumming into you as he kisses you, soft and sweet as the two of you relax.

His weight presses heavily against you, as you both catch your breath. You cup his cheeks tilting his face this way and that as you press breathless kisses along the bridge of his nose, the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his chin. “I love you, Peter Parker, you absolute tease…”

He pulls back laughing, loud and bright with his head thrown back, the length of his neck on display. There’s a nice purpling bruise by his collarbone, your own handy work and you can’t help but smirk at the sight of it.

“I love you too.” He lets you down on unsteady legs, but holds your hips to steady you. He helps you pull your skirt back down and you hold your hand out for your panties which you know are still in his back pocket.

“Peter. I’m not going home commando.” You can already imagine how badly that could go, especially if he chose to swing you home….you didn’t want Spider-Man’s girlfriend to flash the population of New York. Especially given the fact he’d cum inside you. While sex in strange places was certainly adventurous, at least in your apartment you could clean yourself up afterwards. For now a pair of panties would have to do when it came to keep things from getting embarrassing.

“But, baby…”

“Panties. Now.” He relinquishes them with a pout as if he doesn’t have access to your underwear drawer, and helps you get them back on, before tucking himself back into his own clothes and doing up his belt. You’re both sweaty messes, your hair a mess and your skin warm and flushed.

You look so good like this though, post-sex, blissfully happy and glowing and Peter can’t help but puff out his chest a little in pride, knowing he’s more than satisfied his girl, his lady, his beautiful partner. Your thoughts are similar. The tanktop still does wonders for him, still makes your eyes catch on his arms and now his chest is heaving to catch his breath, his skin has a rosy glow to it, his hair messy and unkempt from your hands. He looks so delicious and it’s ridiculous how insatiable he makes you, how even after two orgasms he still warms the pit of your stomach, how even the uncomfortable sensation of his cum against your panties can’t stop the desire you feel for him.

Peter grabs your hand, fingers locking with your own as he walks backwards out of the warehouse to find his skateboard and backpack. “Rain check?”

“Huh?”

“Skateboarding. Next time I’ll actually teach you…I just…fuck, baby, you’re so pretty and I couldn’t help it. You can’t wear that skirt next time.” You feel warm in the face all over again, it’s funny how he can fuck you silly and still him calling you pretty makes you feel shy. You hope it never changes, hope he always makes you giggly and giddy even when you’re eighty-nine and using a zimmer frame to get around.

“What’s wrong with my skirt?” You look down at it, you were sure it was fine this morning, but maybe you missed something?

“What’s wrong with your skirt is it makes me want to fuck you over whatever surface is nearest, and…” He pulls you close by the hand, wrapping his arms around you as his nose nuzzles against your own, “I don’t think that’s very conducive to a good learning environment, do you?” You don’t know how he didn’t have every girl falling over him in high school, either he developed his talent for talking after high school or people were blind and stupid to pass over him.

“I didn’t know you loved my skirt so much?” You raise an eyebrow, pulling back to look up at those big brown doe eyes of his, the ones you love so much. Gosh, he has pretty eyes, you swear they sparkle. Not helped by how the corners crinkle up and soften them either.

“Mmm, more like what your skirt shows off, baby.”

“What my skirt shows off? I think it’s quite modest.” It comes just above your knee, it’s not a mini-shirt by any stretch of the imagination. You’re certain he’s seen more of your skin in your pajamas…

He laughs at you, you’re adorably clueless and he loves you for it, “It’s not that it’s too short, baby, it’s that your hips look delicious in it…it’s like that red dress you have, the velvet one that hugs you? Ooph, I love your hips…” You know the dress. Whenever you wear it for a party or date you end up leaving early. You didn’t realise it was your hips that caused the commotion though, hmmm, you file that information away for later. At some point you’re certain you can use that against him.

Peter swings his backpack over his shoulder and grabs his board, never once letting go of your hand in the process. You’re ready to go home and get cleaned up, the mess between your legs is starting to get a little uncomfortable and you know Peter’s clocked that too, you know he’s noticed how you’re holding yourself a little awkwardly now.

“Take me home, Spider-Boy.”

“Oh, after all that, I'm a boy now?” It’s all fun and games, the little smile on his face tells you he’s teasing you again, a different sort this time. How playful he can be, one of the many perks of your relationship.

“Mmm, only because you're so boyishly charming.”

“I thought I was ruggedly handsome,” His pout does little for his claims, while he’s certainly handsome, the rugged bit only comes into play when he’s all gritty and covered in blood and dirt. Or that time he didn’t shave for a month, his beard growing in and changing the shape of his face.

“When you don’t shave…” You love him either way. He’s always handsome, always desirable to you, and no amount of facial hair or youthful vigour was going to change that. He’s smiling when shakes his head at you and you know he’ll probably stop shaving briefly, see if he can get you to call him rugged and you know you’ll oblige until he decides it itches when he wears the mask.

Peter doesn’t even bother putting the full suit on, just grabs his mask and pulls it over his face to hide who is. He doesn’t have the energy to get undressed and put the suit on just to go back to your apartment where he’ll have to take it off again to get cleaned up. Plus, sweaty skin and spandex? Not the best combination.

“C’mon, baby.” Peter helps you wrap yourself around him so that he can swing you both back to your apartment. It’s quicker than the subway and he knows you’re not the most comfortable right now.

You lean your head into the crook of his neck and relax into him as he swings, he always marvels at that, the trust you place in him. The first time he ever took you out and about you screamed, clung to him tight, terrified of being dropped. After the fifth time you realised he’d never drop you, no matter what, since then you’ve even managed to fall asleep against him, so commonplace is it now to be swung about the city by Spider-Man. You always hide your face in his shoulder or chest in the busier parts of the city, the possibility of your face being photographed too serious to ignore, especially when you’re openly dating Peter Parker.

Your apartment isn’t far, not when you swing through the streets, that is, maybe ten or fifteen minutes of gliding through the air before Peter lands on your fire escape. You untangle yourself from him and pull open the window, the two of you returning to the warmth of your apartment. Shoes are kicked off, skateboard put down in its corner, backpack and mask flung aside.

“I’ll go run a bath,” Peter presses a kiss to your temple before leaving for the bathroom, you grab something to drink, throat parched and tongue dry.

He’s always particular about running a bath for you. There’s a way to do it, a temperature that it needs to be at, a certain bubble bath that needs to go in, the right sort of candles to be lit. Peter considers looking after you a science of sorts, and you’ve already waited long enough, uncomfortable in your clothes all because he was too impatient to teach you how to skateboard.

You trail in before it’s done, sitting on the top of the toilet seat and enjoying the cosy, romantic atmosphere that Peter’s made. He always does that, lowers the blinds, sets some candles to burn, makes sure it feels sweet and tender and soft. It’s funny how one minute he can have his hand wrapped around your throat and the next he’s running you a hot bath with your favourite scents wafting around the room.

Peter turns the taps off before it gets too full, knowing by sight now what height of water works for both your bodies in the tub without overflowing and pissing off your landlord. The first time you’d flooded the bathroom floor she hadn’t been happy and he’d been careful ever since.

“C’mere, beautiful.” He draws you up to your feet and carefully peels away each layer of clothing. It’s different from earlier, while Peter’s eyes still watch you like a hawk, still retain some heat, this is soft and careful, it’s about helping you get clean and comfortable. There’s no intention to touch you like before.

“Your turn, baby…” You help him disrobe, fingers pausing on the tank top, “I love this top…” There’s a wistful little hum in your voice and he’s surprised by it, you’ve never mentioned it to him before and he wears it to bed all the time, it’s unusual for him to wear it out and about. More of an undershirt than anything else.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm, you should wear it more often.” You humm, pressing a kiss to the round area of skin at the top of his bicep where it meets his shoulder, there’s a scar there, old and fading but you always seem to find it.

“If I wear it more often, are we going to need baths more often?” There’s a little smirk that crosses his lips, dimple more prominent as he considers that you don’t just like this top, you like how he looks in it. Just like he loves your skirt that now sits in a pile on the floor.

“Uh, on second thought, maybe keep it for special occasions.” He laughs and helps you pull it over his head, muscles in his arms and shoulders pulling and stretching as he does so. Your eyes light up, and he enjoys your admiration before you help him out of the rest of his attire.

“My lady,” He helps you in the bath first, hand held out like Mr Darcy at a ball and you stand in the water until he steps in behind you and the two of you sink in together. You rest your back against his chest and close your eyes.

You don’t lift a finger, not really, this is always about Peter cleaning you up, Peter looking after you…especially when he’s a bit rougher, a bit wilder, a bit more dominant, even if he never leaves a single bruise on you. Your hands come first, lifted from the water and each finger washed with your favourite soap, Peter’s lathered hands gliding over your wrists, your forearms, your elbow and bicep. He’s careful with every inch of you and while his touch is always reverent and intimate, it’s different from how he touches you when you make love.

He’s careful between your thighs, helping to get you clean but aware of your sensitivity. The glide of his hands over every inch of you brings you a sense of peace and you know how lucky you are to find a man like him. So caring, so dedicated, so gentle. He likes to be needed by you and you like to be doted on by him, because in many ways you do need him. Maybe not literally. You’d be fine to do this all on your own, but the peace, the contentment in your chest wouldn’t be there. Peter makes everything go quiet.

Peter kisses your temple and you lie back together until the water runs cold.

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