𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

That Damn Tank*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → smut, explicit sexual content, riding, fingering, grinding, heavy make-out, college AU

Summary → You show up unannounced at Peter’s apartment and catch him in a shrunken tank top he forgot to take off.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

The knock comes fast. Too fast.

Peter barely has time to process it, still half asleep, hair a complete mess, eyes squinting against the light leaking through his curtains.

“Coming—” his voice is rough, unused.

He scratches the back of his neck as he shuffles to the door, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of low-sitting sweatpants and that old, worn tank he slept in.

The one that definitely used to be longer.

He doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t even glance down.

He just opens the door.

And there you are.

Bright-eyed. Awake. Fully dressed. And then—

You freeze. Your gaze drops. Slowly. Very slowly.

“…holy shit.”

Peter frowns, confused. “What?”

You don’t answer immediately. You just step inside, pushing the door shut behind you, your eyes still dragging over him like you’re trying to process what you’re seeing.

“Peter,” you say, a little breathless, “what are you wearing?”

He looks down.

The tank clings to him, soft and stretched, but shorter now—just enough that when he moves, when he breathes, a strip of his lower stomach shows. The fabric rides up slightly as he shifts, like it has no intention of behaving.

He blinks. “It’s just—my shirt?”

Your laugh is quiet. Dangerous.

“That is not just a shirt.”

He huffs, still waking up, running a hand through his already messy hair. “It shrank, okay? I just sleep in it now.”

“Yeah?” You step closer. “You just… forgot to take it off?”

“…yeah?”

There’s a beat.

And then you reach out.

Your fingers hook lightly into the hem.

Peter stills.

You tug it up just a little.

His breath catches.

“Wow,” you murmur, like you’ve just discovered something new. “You’ve been hiding this?”

“I’m not—hiding anything,” he says, but his voice drops, quieter now, eyes locked on yours.

“You are,” you counter softly, stepping even closer, until your bodies almost touch. “Walking around like this and not warning me? That’s cruel.”

“Cruel?” His lips twitch.

“Very.”

Your hand slides from the hem to his waist, fingers pressing lightly into warm skin. He inhales sharply at the contact, his hands instinctively finding your hips.

“Why are you here so early?” He asks, but it comes out distracted.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Missed you.”