#and freaking salty that i missed tom holland at the colosseum

[3rdgymbros]

I’m Sorry (I Fell In Love Tonight)

( PROMPT: We’re making out on the couch when a member of your family - who doesn’t know we’re friends with benefits - walks in and what do you mean I have to be your pretend girlfriend? )

A/N: I’M BACK!! FIRST STORY SINCE MY ARRIVAL IN ROME!! I’ll be posting sneak peeks of my stories, as well as edits and graphics on my Instagram (3rdgymbros), so do follow me there!! Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love you guys!!

WARNINGS: Sin. But slight sin this time. 

Taglist (temporary, for this series only): @mashed-fandom-imagines | @gryffindoggo | @ardenthly | @hawkiye

Taglist (permanent): @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter |@tomsleftbrow |@tryn25|@tanglefire | @midnight-memorial | @tiny-friggin-human |@tacklemyackles|@fangeekkk |@beamagtuto | @captainaudreystark | @hellosuperewczi | @dasia-aye

Hands, warm and strong, grip your hips. Peter’s lips, so firm yet soft, press against yours. His mouth slants against yours, seeking and ravenous, sucking on your lips and tongue. Moaning, you arch into him, your fingers tangled in his silky hair.

Your thighs hit the mattress and you land on your butt, falling to your back with Peter leaning over you. He hitches you up with an arm banded around your back, centring you on the bed before he settles atop you. His hands cup your breasts, kneading and tugging gently.

“Look at you, (Y/n),” You think you hear Peter say. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Figment of your imagination or not, warmth still spreads through you at his words. “Peter . . .”

Peter’s warm brown gaze slides over you, followed by his hand, which slips between your legs, gliding gently though your cleft. A soft sound escapes you, your eyes fluttering shut when his erection, so stiff and warm, rests heavily on your belly. Circling your hips shamelessly, you stroke your clit with the wide crest of his length, making him slick with your arousal.

“(Y/n),” Peter moans, sending shivers of delight through you.

A breathless laugh escapes you, only to turn into a low, keening cry as Peter seizes your hips and angles you, knowing just how to position you to make you fit him. The stretching is intense. Delicious.

Your core trembles, clenching desperately around Peter. He makes a rough sound of pleasure, pulling out just a little before sliding back slowly. Again, then again. You moan, welcoming the familiar soreness of having him so deep.

Undulating your hips, you take your pleasure, moaning Peter’s name over and over again. Your core clenches rhythmically, heated pleasure tearing through you. Shuddering, peter follows you over, his arms, tightening until you can barely breathe. His harsh exhalations are the air filling your burning lungs. You’re utterly possessed, completely defenceless.

You have no idea how long the two of you lie like that, tangled together on his double-bed, mouths sliding over shoulders and throats to soothe and calm. Your entire body tingles and pulses.

“Wow,” You manage finally.

Peter huffs a laugh, still peppering the crook of your neck with kisses. “Aunt May wants to see you again.”

“I saw her just now,” You say on a smile, recalling how Aunt May had immediately clasped you in a tight hug the moment you’d walked through the door. “I even said hi and everything.”

His brows lift. “For dinner this weekend.”

Oh. Oh.

“You still haven’t told her?”

“No,” His face changes, takes on a slightly anxious look. “It’s fine if you don’t want to do it, I’ll –”

“I’ll do it,” You say, cutting him off. “I like Aunt May. It’ll be nice to see her again.”

“Would you really?” Peter looks relieved and hopeful, all at once, and you smile as you drag yourself over to kiss him on the lips, softly and sweetly.

“Yep.”

His answering smile is glorious. “Thank you, (Y/n).”

“You’re welcome,” You say.

 What am I doing here, again? Oh, right. Peter asked me to pretend to be in a relationship with him, and I agreed.

You clutch a batch of freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookies in your hands, lingering outside the apartment for a few minutes to compose yourself.

You aren’t sure why you’re so anxious. It’s just May and Peter. You shift nervously from foot to foot, running a hand down your hip to smooth your gauzy dress. You’ve painstakingly pulled your hair away from your face, applying smoky eye shadow and smudge proof pale pink lipstick. Your maxi dress is pale yellow, bright and cheery, fluttering against your ankles with every movement.

The door opens, and you sway a little on your feet, stricken by the gorgeous, sexy-as-sin boy who greets you with a devastatingly handsome smile. He’s wearing a snug white T-shirt, a pair of comfortably worn denim jeans, and his feet are bare. Peter looks amazing – a mix of casual sexiness that has you licking your lips with pure, white-hot desire.

For a moment, Peter sees you and his smile freezes in place. For a second, your anxiety skyrockets – do you look hideous? Are you overdressed – but then he relaxes, and moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look beautiful,” Peter says, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Thanks for coming.”

You have to suck in a deep breath, remind yourself that this is an act for Aunt May’s benefit. You smile, “Hey, Peter.”

“Is that (Y/n)?” Aunt May yells from the kitchen. “Invite her in, Peter!”

“Hi, May!” You call back on a laugh, moving further into the apartment so that Peter can close the door, effectively locking the world out.

Peter holds your hand ( it’s an act, just an act – ), and leads you into the kitchen. May’s just taking dinner – a pork roast and new potatoes with asparagus – out of the oven when you and Peter walk into the room.

“That smells delicious,” You say politely, setting your bundle on the kitchen counter. “Would you like some help?”

“It’s alright dear, I’m just about done,” May says cheerfully, placing the steaming pan on the dining table. “Peter, you can go ahead and set the table. (Y/n), why don’t you go ahead and take a seat? I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“No, no, I’d like to help,” You say, looking around uncertainly for the cutlery. “Just as soon as I find out where the plates are.”

Peter surprises you with a throaty laugh. Still keeping his fingers intertwined with yours, he points out a drawer. “Plates are in there. I’ll get the cutlery.”

“What did you bring, (Y/n)?” May asks, bustling over to a pot on the stove. After turning the heat down to low, she peers into your basket, wrapped neatly in floral cloth. “Cookies! Oh, (Y/n), you shouldn’t have!”

You smile shyly, busying yourself with getting out a white and blue set of ceramic plates. “It’s nothing, really. I love baking.”

“I didn’t know that,” Peter pipes up, yanking his hand away before May can smack his hand away for trying to sneak cookies. When May raises an eyebrow, probably wondering why the caring boyfriend doesn’t know about his girlfriend’s hobbies, he hastily elaborates, “You’ve never baked for me before.”

“I didn’t want to poison you,” You deadpan, and both him and Aunt May laugh.

You, Peter, and Aunt May eat a candlelit dinner for three at the dining table, decorated with a lace tablecloth and tea lights. The conversation is kept light and general, with questions like, “How long have you and Peter been dating?”, “How’s school going?”, and “Did Peter tell you about his internship with Stark Industries?” All your worries melt away, a sugar cube in a cup of warm tea; it’s nice to have some quiet downtime with Peter and Aunt May.

“I should really get going,” You say apologetically, after you’d downed two cookies and a glass of milk. You’d tried to help load the dishes into the dishwasher, but May had quickly done it before you could so much as get out from your seat. “My mother wants me home in an hour.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Peter says, right as Aunt May prods Peter in the ribs, “Walk (Y/n) home!”

May surprises you when she wraps you in a tight hug before you can leave. “Don’t be a stranger, (Y/n). I’ll see you at the party next week.”

“Um, what party?” Your gaze flits over nervously to Peter, who shakes his head ever so slightly. “Oh, right. That party. Okay, sure. See you then.”

“Later, May!” Peter calls over his shoulder.

You make your way back into the hectic streets of New York, your hand clasped firmly in Peter’s. You’re uncomfortably aware of how warm and calloused his hand is, how perfectly right his hand fits in yours.

It’s dark out now, the city taking on a whole new life and energy from what it has during the business day. Steaming food carts dot the sidewalks, along with a vendor selling framed artwork, another hawking novelty T-shirts, and yet another who has two folding tables covered in movie and television episode scripts.

“So,” You say, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “What party was May talking about?”

Peter at least has the grace to look sheepish. “Oh, well. Aunt May might have accidentally told Mr. Stark you and I were . . . Well. And now they want to meet you.”

You know who they are, of course. How could you not?

You take a deep breath, hoping that the crisp air burning your lungs will calm the vibrating anxiety so that you can think properly. Meeting the Avengers. How did you get yourself into this mess?

“I have one condition,” You say. “Can we try being friends? Outside of . . .”

Peter sounds thrilled, and oddly nervous when he answers. “Yeah, sure.” You don’t dwell on that, chalking the happiness in his voice up to your own wishful thinking. 

It’s a start, at least.