#andrew!peter fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

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PREACHERS DAUGHTER- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Best Friend! Peter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: you and peter were complete opposites, you the goodie two shoes preachers daughter, him the bad boy next door. yet fate has pulled the two of you together, and you can’t help but feel a certain lust for him.

Warnings: ORAL (fem), teasing, kissing, marking, pet names, best friends falling in luvvv, swearing, weed involved, booze mentioned, praise kink, masturabtion mentioned, lotsss of dirty talk, peter blowing smoke into reader mouth

based of the album- preachers daughter, by ethel cain

It was mesmerizing- the way his fingers moved.

You felt as if you were under a trance, the watch on the chain swinging back in forth in front of your eyes, hypnotizing you.

His rings, silver and shining in the pale moonlight the clock hands, the veins that ran up his wrists acted as the numbers that blurred together after some time.

Each component drew you in as his fingers strummed each string, moving up and down the fingerboard to play each chord, a sweet melody emerging from the instrument.

Your mind was far, far off from the homework you swore to yourself you would be doing tonight, despite having your best friend over. You knew you couldn't focus on anything but him, yet you let him slip through your window, with the cracked and peeling paint you refused to paint over- because you and Peter were the reason for its damage.

You refused to change anything he had touched or wrecked, whether that be the broken dresser handle that was hanging on for dear life, or the jumble of photos the two of you had pasted on your walls while drunk out of your minds.

They looked awful, all crooked and cluttered to fuck, but you didn’t touch them.

Refused to. If Peter placed them there, that's where they stayed.

You looked up at them now, gaze focusing on the smiling faces that stared back at you, that watched over your every move- in a comforting sense. Their presence lingered, as you peered back over to Peter, following the sound of strum from the strings, the sound coming to a screeching halt as he suddenly fished for something in his ripped jean pocket.

He was so beautiful when he was concentrated.

The subtlety bite of his lip, pearly whites tugging on the flesh with a sense of urgency as his jaw would clench. The way his messy, slightly ruffled russet hair would fall in front of his eyes, rings glimmering as he slid his hand through the locks to push it back into place.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, wanted to tug on them to make him hiss in pleasure, the way he did the one night he had decided to use your thighs as a pillow. Peter's reaction was tenuous, a slight growl escaping from the cage of his clenched teeth.

You noticed, though. You always noticed, when it came to him.

“Bunny? You want one?” he asked softly, pre-rolled in blunt twirling between his large fingers, making you stare in awe.

“Bun?”

Oh shit, you were staring.

“N-no Pete it’s okay. I’m good for now.” you smiled, a heat rising to your cheeks as you forced yourself to stare back down at your tattered notebook filled with scribbles and numbers you had no clue what to do with.

It was better than looking at his fingers and getting caught again.

Anything was.

“Alright pretty but you let me know if you want one okay? Your asshole of a father won't find out, if that's what you're worried about.” he chuckled softly, throwing you a wink as he toyed with the drug, a cat with its dinner.

Of course that's what you were worried about. You were the minister's daughter, a holy saint if there ever was one. The good girl, your father's little angel.

We have a reputation to uphold Y/L/N. Don't mess it up, or there'll be consequences. Big ones.

You had followed his words as he did with passages in that dog-eared bible of his, the rosemary beads sprawled out as a bookmark for his pages.

So, how in the world did Peter Parker- the boy wrapped in sin your father warned you about, end up as your best friend, the man you trusted with your life? You didn't know, but you were thankful for it.

It made you laugh every time Peter offered you a smoke, he knew your answer had never changed, yet he always offered anyways. He was sweet that way. It was different with weed, you supposed.

You were always terrified your father would be able to see right through you, be able to sniff the drugs on you like a hound dog. You made excuses for booze.

Your father provided red wine during Sunday services, the blood of the lord for all to taste, cannibalism in its cleanest, purest form. Counting on two hands the number of times you and Peter had snuck into the old, gothic church your father managed, getting drunk off the wine in the wooden pews under the stained glass windows was impossible.

You watched as Peter leaned his guitar against the windowsill, grabbing a lighter from his other pocket, the snake tattoos curled and wrapped along his finger seeming to hiss at you in the dim light of your room.

“Peter?” you called, making his head snap up, the fire from his light diminishing as fast as it came. “C-can I light it for you?” you asked shyly, watching as that boyish grin that you loved so much came to his face, dimples appearing as he took you in, realizing you were serious.

“You wanna be an angel and help me out eh?” he teased, making you nod frantically.

Angel.

The words alone had your toes curling in your thigh-high socks you knew Peter adored, his fingers always seeming to toy with the little black bows whenever he got the chance. He towered over you even more than he already did as he stood, making his way over to where your body was lounging on the ruffled white sheets.

“Dad’s not home ya know. I forgot about that.” you tugged on your inner cheek, watching as Peter dropped to his knees before you, like a devil about to spread its wings.

Begging for mercy before you.

“Does that mean you do wanna hit then?” he asked, blunt between his teeth as your thumb flicked the flame to life, watching the blues and oranges crackle as you lit his joint.

“Don’t know how.” you shrugged, watching as he exhaled, the sweet sickly smell of weed filling your senses as he exhaled.

“We can try something if you want bunny. D’trust me?” You nodded, eager to obey his commands. He smiled, rings cold against your chin as he grabbed it lightly, the pads of his fingers slightly calloused from the strings.

“Say ahh bunny.” You opened your mouth widely, the smoke he had inhaled floating into your mouth as he exhaled, fogging up your lungs. He was so close you could hear the thud of his heartbeat, could feel the soft heat rolling off him in waves to soothe you in a gentle embrace.

“Atta girl!” he laughed as you felt the sticky taste coat the back of your throat, mouth turning dry as the Saraha.

“Peter this tastes like shit.” you groaned, coughing and sputtering as he gently slapped your arm. “No swearing. Or else I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” he teased, making you burst out in laughter as he rolled onto the bed, smooshing your lower half with his bodyweight- making you groan as his head lolled.

You felt your skin warm to the touch with how close he was to you, your legs parted slightly so he could wedge his way between them and rest on you.

“I gotta do my homework silly.” you smiled as he took another puff, his eyes turning a fair shade of red as he watched the smoke slither upwards.

“I can be your study buddy if ya want.”

“I’d get no work done if you were my study buddy. You distract me too much.” you teased, giggling as his hand reached over to tickle your thigh gently. “We’d make such a great team. We could be on the mathletes together bunny.”

You rolled your eyes at his sly commentary, a hand slipping through the soft, messy tumbles of his hair as he sighed in happiness. Nails began to scratch his scalp soothingly, and his chest began to rumble- purring like a cat as you tended to him.

Just as you wanted.

The curtains rustled in the breeze that snaked through the cracked window goosebumps appearing on your bare skin as the papes blew. You looked out through the glass, scoping out the graves that surrounded your house.

You could map out the entire cemetery as you had lived in this old, creaking house your entire life- could picture every little twisted path and old rusting benches that were scattered. It was peaceful here, the only real company consisted of the ghosts and Peter when he came over to visit.

Your father was never really present, too busy with the works of the church than his own flesh and blood.

It was an easy silence between the two of you, one you enjoyed immensely. It was different than the other silences you had dealt with in your lifetime- long and uncomfortable. With Peter, they were pleasant and easy, a place where you could be in your own thoughts and not feel bad about it.

You were lost in them now, as you looked down at him.

He’s never looked so beautiful. How did I get so lucky- to score him as my best friend?

Continuing your head scratches, you let your head lull against the headboard, closing your eyes to tune out the world. He continued to smoke, hand resting on your thigh with each inhale.

“You got somewhere I can put this angel?” he asked, hand waving as he gestured to the stump of the blunt, the weed diminishing. You hadn't realized how much time had passed, the hands on the clock hoping forward since the last time you had looked over at them.

“Over there is fine.” you pointed to the little dish on the dresser you had left for him whenever he was over, degrading it whenever your father returned home.

You didn't comment on how much Peter had smoked, just as you didn't comment on how much whisky your father drank whenever he got mad.

You didn't care enough.

He shuffled up, puffing the remainder towards you, the smoke cascading around your cheeks, tickling your eyelashes as the old bed creaked.

“You’re such a doll, you know that?” You smiled.

“Maybe. It's not like you tell me allll the time or anything.” you teased, poking fun at how sweet he was to you. No one was as ever kind to you as Peter was. It made your insides tingle, made your skin all sensitive to the touch.

He smiled that cheeky grin that drove you wild, tapping the ash into the dish before he crushed it with his fingers, rings glittering in the soft candlelight. Your homework was long forgotten at this point, your attention solely focused on the beautiful angel of a man that stood before you at the foot of your bed.

“Hi.” you waved to him, his hand raising to wave back from across the room.

“Hi bunny.”

“Cmere.” you insisted, and he smirked as he crawled onto the bed, the look in his eye hungry as he took you in. You looked at him now, really looked at him as his strong arms slid to each side of you, caging you in his hold.

He was black and blue, the beautiful melancholy shades in between. The way he loved was different than anything you had experienced before. It was scary, a freefall into the depths of the icy water you were scared to tread. But it was numbing- the way he cared.

A soft and sweet energy, that pricked you gently like pins and needles. His breath was warm as he refused to break eye contact and you wanted to shrink into the depths of the mattress as you felt yourself cave.

“I bet you taste so good.” he confessed softly, his words making you shudder with delight.

You knew where this was going. It was heading down the old beaten path the two of you had stumbled down so many times, when you were both drunk off sin in the walls of the church.

You liked it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah angel. Mmm god I think about tasting you all the time, your skin, your lips, your fingertips..” he trailed off, head dropping down to your chest, rubbing his nose against the skin of your collarbone.

You felt your hips wriggle, wetness seeping into your panties. “What do you think they taste like?” you sighed as his teeth gently grazed you, biting into your flesh to mark it as his own.

“Like cinnamon n sugar. So. Fuckin. Sweet.” he kissed your neck between each word as you gigged softly, his plump lips making you squirm.

“You’re so addicting baby. The things I wanna do to you…” he smirked, licking a stipe where your silky nightgown dipped, revealing the slight curve of your breasts.

Heels were dug into the ruffled sheets, the sound of your books falling to the hardwood below echoed as the strong breeze brushed you again. No amount of wind could chill the fire that was burning in your veins right now.

“But we can’t do them. Cause we’re best friends.” you pouted, running your fingers along the back of his neck, curving them around to trace each vein that pulsed as he shivered.

“Who says?” he whispered, like he was in a trance, and you felt your dress being pushed up, up, up to pool around your waist, your stomach exposed as his head dipped down towards it.

“Best friends do everything together bunny. Don't you think about me like I think about you?” he asked mischievously and you nodded frantically.

“Mmm sometimes.”

“Cause I think about you alll the time. Think about how good you’d be for me when I’m strokin my dick.” he confessed, shuffling down to trail kisses across your stomach, your legs spreading wider as he found his home between them.

“Y-yeah?” you whimpered, heart beating so fast you heard the blood racing in your ears, his voice sounding distant. It was hard to focus, but at the same time it was hard to focus on anything but him.

The human body was a funny thing, sometimes. How yours could bend and contract to his will at the whisper of his voice, at the touch of his skin.

“Mmm yeah. You make me wanna do such bad bad things. But you’re too sweet for that.”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Peter-”

“Can I tase you? Please? Just a lil lick, I swear.”

You moaned at his words alone. How did they sound so sweet, so innocent when there was so much filth behind them? You could never say no to him.

Never.

“Please.” you urged, the chill breeze making you tremble as he removed your thong, your knees bent slightly over his shoulders. It happened in a blur, time seeming to jump and snap back again as he had you under his thumb, hanging onto every word he said.

The first lick sent you into overdrive, body shifting up gears as you crude out his name- hands tugging at his strands of hair as if they were reins. The faint scent of weed trickled through your nose, blemishing your skin and sweat as it trickled.

You couldn't think. Couldn't move, couldn't speak.

You and Peter had fooled around before but this…this was new territory. And it felt good. A lick turned into a taste as you heard him growl, tongue stroking through your sensitive folds again.

“You- you said just a taste-” you panted out, hips thrusting against him as he chuckled.

“I lied. You should've known.” he teased, eyes meeting yours again- stare so intense you had to look away.

It was frightening- the eye contact. It was an endless void, a freefall you weren't sure if you'd have a hand to catch you. It was filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a haziness that made you feel sluggish, like you had drank too much cheap booze, and smoked too many cigarettes.

You were as breathless as the summer's night outside as he dived back in, malnourished and needy as he devoured you. His lips suctioned around your clit, sucking it sweetly as you wethered and moaned.

“So so sweet…” he murmured. You felt yourself snap under him as his tongue pushed you over the edge, releasing onto his face as you cried out. His hands tightened their grip around the barricade of your thighs, chin gleaming with your juices as your body shuddered from the aftershocks.

“That's a girl. My sweet sweet angel.” he sang out, shuffling up to kiss your lips gently, the taste of yourself staining your mouth. You savored his affections, wrapping your arms around his neck, desperate for something to cling to.

You were scared to let him go, scared he would leave you vulnerable and open like all the others. He sensed your hesitation, rolling over to the side of you, nuzzling his head into your neck as you continued to hold him close.

“Was I good?” you asked meekly, your biggest fear not being enough for him.

He just smiled.

“More than good. The best.” he whispered, kissing your skin. You exhaled a sigh of relief, tension seeping from your bones as you cradled him.

You heard an owl coo out from the branches of the old oak tree that scratched your house, the wind howling against the old siding. You basked in the emptiness of the room, no one here but the two of you and the peeling posters that peered down at you from the walls.

He wasn't leaving you. He wasn't embarrassed or ashamed and he was staying with you. He wanted to do this.

It was hard to think about, hard to wrap your head around it as you had been so shameful of your desires towards him for so long. The old wooden cross that was hung above your bed seemed almost mocking as it reflected in your vanity mirror, a symbol of overcoming sin now with a meaning diminished.

“You awake?” you asked Peter softly, ripping your eyes from the wood, knowing your father's words would haunt you the longer you were left to your own avail.

There were so many responses you wanted to spew out to him.

God loves you- but not enough to save you.

But you didn’t, to save yourself the abuse of his wrath.

“Mmm.” he mumbled sleepy, the weed putting him a place of serenity and calm as he synced his breathing with yours. “Did you want me to return the favor?” you mumbled, feeling bad he didn't get the same opportunity you did.

He just shook his head. “Another time angel. Let me just… lie with you. I like when I just get to be with you like this.” he yawned, bed creaking as he slung his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

Silence.

You sighed, flexing your feet, then pointing your toes. The red polish glimmered as the shadows of the wax dripping off the candles bounced off the walls, the smell of the incessant to “hide” the weed smelling of sandalwood.

A truck rumbled in the distance, its tires rolling against the gravel. Peter sat up, eyes flickering to the headlights that beamed towards the house, making you feel anxious as you clung to the bedsheet.

Was your father home early? He wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow night, and you knew if he walked in on you and Peter- you’d never hear the end of it.

“Is he home?” Peter shook his head as he moved towards the window, and you readjusted your nightgown. His hair was messy and rumpled as he stood, hands resting on the windowsill as he peered down.

A grin was on his face as he turned back to face you, your heartbeat slowing its dangerous pace with an exhale.

He wasn't home. Or else Peter wouldn't be smiling.

“Well? Who the hell is at my house at-” Your eyes flickered back to the clock. “Eleven at night?”

Peter just shrugged, a cheeky look on his face as he walked towards the bedroom door, grip on the brass handle tightening as he swung it wide open.

You heard the front door open, two familiar voices echoing from down the hallway.

Bucky and Steve.

“Look who decided to pay us a visit!” Peter laughed, making you shake your head with a smile.

Look who decided to visit indeed.

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withahappyrefrain · 1 year

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Summary: In which after a long night, you and Peter find comfort in each other.

Warnings: unprotected sex, praise, oral sex (f receiving), language, fingering, dirty talk, if you think butterfly hair clips are a new trend, you're too young to read this

It was a soft sound, always was. He always tried to be as quiet as possible when he opened the window, in case you were asleep.

Not that you ever were.

Truth was, you couldn’t fall asleep. Your eyes may close for a bit, drift off, but then you’d turn and feel how empty his side of the bed was, alerting you that Peter still wasn’t home yet.

The creak of your shared apartment window opening was your favorite sound.

It meant he had made it back to you.

Your feet quickly hit the wooden floor, the sheets on your bed becoming a tangled mess as you threw them away from your body.

Peter's arms quickly found you, wrapping themselves around your waist. As the faint smell of cinnamon began to engulf you, your lips found its way to his neck.

"Hey bug, it's like ya missed me or somethin'." In Peter's head, it sounded way smoother. But the truth was, no matter how many years you two had been dating, once your lips had found that spot where his neck and jawline connected, words were tough to get out.

"Missed you. Rough night?" Your fingers traced over Peter's suit, looking for tears. The fact there were hardly any was a good sign.

"Tonight wasn't too bad. Not the best, but not the worst." You simply nodded as you inspected the cut on his right shoulder.

"You hungry? I have leftover pasta in the fridge." Peter smiled at your suggestion. Whether it was inspecting him for injuries or cooking, you always tried to take care of him.

You always made him feel loved.

Peter didn't think that feeling would ever return. You wish you had met him earlier.

"Just wanna be with you," His voice was soft, his lips against your forehead. You melted into him as he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head.

"Just wanna be with you too," you murmured.

The two of you made your way back to the bed, sitting up as you helped him strip down to his boxers.

"Come'ere," Peter's hands find their way back to your hips, gently gripping the soft flesh as he pulls you into his lap.

You don't complain. How could you, when it allowed you to be closer to him, allowed you to be wrapped in him?

So instead of complaining, instead of cracking a joke, your lips find his, closing the space in-between.

Friends joke that you and Peter could set a world record for how often you two kiss one another. Surely at least several thousands kisses have occurred since your first. At least.

And yet, no matter how many times, warmth spreads through your body when his lips capture yours. No matter how many times, your stomach always flutters, your knees weaken, when you feel his hands cup your face, keeping you in place.

His tongue only has to swipe across your bottom lip once before you grant him access, parting your mouth. Your breath hitches as he uses one hand to tilt your head up, deepening the kiss that was becoming more desperate and frantic by the second.

Peter's other hand trails down your shirt, until it reaches the hem. Long fingers ghost the barrier between fabric and bare skin several times. A small whine leaves your lips.

He chuckles, "Something you want bug?"

Two can play that game. His chuckles quickly die, a strangled groan replacing it when your hips rock against his, your clothed core brushing against him.

"Fucking hell, bug," His hands move to your hips once more, gripping as he stands on his knees.

The way Peter is able to lay you down on the bed in one fluid motion has your head spinning. Out of instinct, your arms stretch up, assisting him in removing your Tshirt.

His mouth is back on yours, his hands quickly pulling down the thin pair of panties you had on. Why you felt the need to wear them, knowing Peter would be back later and it had been several days since you two had fucked, was beyond him.

His lips leave yours, now making contact with your bare chest. Your fingers tangle themselves into his dark hair as his mouth finds one of your nipples, sucking on the hardening bud.

All you can do is whine and cant your hips towards him, desperate for any kind of friction.

"Peter," the desperation in your voice goes straight to his cock, which was currently straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Peter moves his body down, down to where he personally believes is pure heaven.

In between your thighs.

Prior to meeting Peter, you were used to your partners going down on you with the mindset of it being an obligatory act, simply a step that they could get over with quickly before pulling down their pants.

But then you met Peter, who could spend all day between your thighs if you allowed it. Peter, who takes his time with his tongue, tasting every inch of your wet cunt.

Your back arches in pleasure upon his tongue thrusting past your slicked folds. His nose brushes against your clit, sending electricity through your body. One of your hands finds its way back to his now ruffled hair, tugging on the thick, dark locks to guide him to where you need his mouth the most.

Peter enjoys teasing you. He loves to see how far he can push you. But when it comes to tasting you, when it comes to making you fall apart on his tongue, he can't find it in himself to do it.

He enjoys it too damn much.

The words leaving your mouth are barely coherent, your urge to hold onto a sense of control disappearing as soon as he thrusts a finger into your core.

Peter loses himself in the all too familiar taste of you. A second finger joins the first, the delicious stretch causing you to throw your head back. The moan he lets out against your cunt sends vibrations throughout your body.

"Feel s'good, s'tight," his voice is muffled, his words only pushing you closer and closer to that pleasurable peak.

Your body withers against the sheets, his fingers zeroing in on the spot that made your vision blurry. All you can say is his name, over and over again. All you can focus on is him.

"P-Peter. I-Peter!"

He nods frantically, able to understand what you need. His laps wrap around your clit, mouth sucking ever so slightly as his fingers continue their ministrations.

Your whole body seizes up and goes rigid as the first wave of pleasure washes over you. The grip on his hair tightens, as if it's your anchor.

When you open your eyes, Peter's face is hovering over yours. His pupils are so overblown with lust, you can barely see that beautiful amber hue.

A finger gently traces your cheeks as he studies your face.

"You wanna keep going? We can stop tonight."

"N-no," you weakly shake your head, "W-want-need you."

His lips brush against yours, the gesture grounding you.

"I got you. We can stop anytime, okay?"

"Okay," your voice is weak, but that didn't stop your hands from reaching towards the boxers he still had on.

"Someone's impatient."

An adorable pout forms on your face, "Says the guy who lasted not even five minutes before eating me out."

Peter laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing as a smile overtakes his face.

It's a beautiful sight. It's your favorite sight.

"Look, it's been several days since we last had sex. Can ya blame me, bug?" He leaned his forehead against yours, moving his head ever so slightly back and forth to make your noses brush.

"No, I can't," you say with the giggle that Peter absolutely adores. The one that he would do anything to be able to hear for the rest of his life.

His hands brush yours away, making quick work of removing his boxers. Your thighs clench at the sight of his hardened cock that was now lying against his toned stomach.

You reach out, desperate to feel him in your hand.

"Later," you raise an eyebrow at his abruptness, "I-sorry, I just really wanna be inside ya."

The sheepish look on his face made your heart flutter. Had he not rub his cock between your soaked folds, you would have reached out to ruffle his hair, maybe even sit up to kiss him on the cheek.

But you can't, not when the head of his cock brushes against your swollen clit. All you can do is grip his broad shoulders and bury your head into his kiss-bitten neck.

Peter eases into you, knowing you need time to adjust to the stretch.

"How the hell do you do that?" He grits through his teeth.

"D-do what?"

"Be s'tight." Without even thinking, you clench around his cock, which is only halfway inside of you.

"Fuck bug." Peter's mouth finds itself on your jawline, nipping at your warm skin. His hips move away from yours, his cock nearly leaving you.

A whine falls from your lips, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist, desperate for him to stay.

"Hey," he says softly, "Hey."

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, his lips captured in a soft smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," He assures you before capturing your lips once more.

Peter's hips rock forwards, finally filling you to the hilt. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, sure to leave crescent shaped marks. Not that he would complain.

Peter never did. It wasn't because the marks would fade away by dawn, but rather that he loved the physical reminders of your love, that it was you who had marked his body, leaving evidence of your affection towards him.

"Doing s'good. Feel fuckin' amazing," His Queens accent always came out during times like these; when he was trying to keep it together, trying to keep himself from increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Your ankles lock around one another, keep his hips flushed against yours.

"More," you whined, "Please."

"Ya sure?" You simply nodded, desperate to be consumed by him.

The sound of skin slapping against skin increased, as did his pace. You were still reeling with sensitivity from your first orgasm, jolts of pleasure sparking throughout your body with each thrust.

Peter knew you were close from your thighs shaking, your cunt clenching around his cock.

"One more. Be an angel and gimme one more," His voice was shaking, his mind trying to focus on making you cum again. Which Peter personally thought he deserved some kind of medal for being able to focus on anything other than being engulfed in your warm, soaked cunt.

His fingers trailed down to where your bodies connected, quickly finding your clit. A near scream erupted from your lungs as he drew circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

Your body shakes with pleasure as you fall over the edge, so lost in pure rapture that you don't even notice his thrusts becoming erratic.

A deep, guttural moan falls from Peter's lips, his hips stuttering as he begins to come inside of you. The sensation prolongs your high, your hips desperately trying to meet his.

The sounds he's making are heavenly to your ears. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, nipping and sucking a purple bruise into his pale skin.

His hips stutter one last time before stilling, the only sounds in the bedroom now the ceiling fan and your heavy breathing.

"Fuck," was all you could get out after several minutes had passed.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "That was….yeah. Fuck."

"Alright," you chuckled, "Where's the towel?"

"The towel?" Peter lifts his head from your chest, a confused expression taking over his face.

"Did….did you not grab a towel?"

"No, I….I was focused on other things," He said sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

"Peter!"

"What? We pay extra in rent to have our own washer and dryer for a reason, bug."

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@liz-allyn @wicked-remarks @moonyslove78 @letmeplaytheliontoo @blooming-violets @squiddtheekidd @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @letmeplaytheliontoo @ouralcohol @mortwig @renaroo123 @rae-gar-targaryen @reidslovely

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3vergr3en · 1 year

Text

Earn it.

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Author’s Note: I have the biggest, most fattest crush on Andrew Garfield. LIKE LOOK AT HIM. Also, if there are any mistakes, I did not proofread this 💀

Summary: Harry is hosting a birthday party for his best friend, Peter. Everything runs smoothly until Y/N’s best friend back in high school shows up and start flirting with the female. Oblivious Y/N doesn’t think much of it, being used to such playful manner. But Peter can see through the man’s facade, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Paring: Fem!Reader x TASM!Peter Parker

Genre: Smut with little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

Additional Info: Public sex, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT), nipple play, orgasm control, Peter has an obvious breeding kink, cream pie, choking, teasing, profanity, name-calling, humiliation, dirty talk, jealousy, established marriage.

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“Thank you for coming! Please grab some champagne and the appetizers are over towards the left.” You inform with a smile, using your hands to help direct the couple towards the section. You continued on saying the same phrase for the majority, apart from times where you had thrown in a couple different sentences such as, ‘You guys look amazing tonight”, ‘Oh my, I haven’t seen you in so long!’, and ‘Oh thank you, Peter helped me pick out this dress.’

But one familiar fellow caught your attention, “Oh my god, Mark is that you?” You question as your jaw hung low in shock, your eyes widening twice in size. “I’m surprised you still remember me.” The black-haired man laughs as he walks up to you, extending his arms out as an indication for a hug, “How could I not? We spent our entire high school years together!” You exclaim, embracing the latter into your arms. You received a nice, firm hug from the male in return. “God, I missed you.” Mark chuckles, using one of his hands to caress the bare skin on your back through your long, velvet black backless dress. “I missed you as well. I tried contacting you after graduation, but—“ You pulled away.

“I got a new phone, and all of my contacts didn’t save unfortunately.” Mark explains as he held your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing in circular motions on the back of your hands. “You look gorgeous, by the way. You’ve always have been, since high school to now.” Mark compliments, leaning down to kiss your hand. “Oh stop it, Mark. You’re too much. What happened to the Mark that would tease me 24/7?” You laugh, using one of your hands to playfully slap at the man’s shoulder.

You fail to notice a presence coming up behind you, growing concerned when there was an abrupt change in Marks demeanor. “Mark? What’s wrong?” You furrowed your eyebrows as your frowned before looking over your shoulder only to see Peter glaring at Mark with a tightly-clenched jaw. “Oh hon’! Have you seen what Harry has done for your birthday? The ballroom is absolutely stunning! Also, I want you to meet Mark, he was my best friend throughout high school,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around your husband’s arm, oblivious to the tension between the two men. “And Mark, meet my husband, Peter.” You inform, feeling one of Peter’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Husband?” Mark questions, raising one of his eyebrows. “Yeah. Dated for 4 years, been married for 5.” Peter stated, holding the hand out that the wedding band around your ring finger. “Oh, well, congratulations. I’m really happy for you, Y/N. But I’m just saying, I would’ve gotten a better ring for a beautiful woman like you.” Mark examines the ring, then to look at Peter with a smug look.

“Pfft, I forgot how much of a jokester you are, Mark.” You grin. “Hey, love? Can you go grab me some water?“ Peter asks with a nonchalant tone, not breaking eye contact with the man that stood in front of him. “Hm? Oh yeah, of course.” You nod, excusing yourself before walking off.

“The fuck is your problem?” Peter mutters, stepping closer towards Mark. “Nothing. It’s just sad to hear that my girl’s married off to some other dude. She looks ravishing tonight. The way the dress perfectly hugs her waist and extenuate her curves. How is she? Is she tight? Does her tits feel soft?” Mark whispers, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. Peter balled up his fists, clenching tightly to the point where his knuckles were turning white. As he opened up his mouth to say something, a pair of heels clicking against the smooth, tiled floor pulled him out of his frenzy.

“Unfortunately, they didn’t have water at the moment. They only had champagne, if that’s okay, love?” You explained, each hand holding two glasses. “I got one for you, Peter, and one for Mark.” You smiled. “That won’t be necessary, hon’.” Peter chuckles, grabbing both glasses. Before you could get a word in to ask why, your hands flew to cover your mouth as you watched Peter pour the beverages straight onto Marks head. Peter then handed you the empty glasses, pecking your cheek before turning around to face Mark once more, only to land a hard blow right across the males face. “Oh my god, Peter!” You gawked, immediately placing the glasses on a nearby table prior to rushing over to pull the brunette away from the half insensible Mark. “What is wrong with you?” You question with wide eyes, you look around to see people judgmentally staring at you three.

“You didn’t hear the vile things he said about you.” Peter mutters, shaking the hand that is now starting to bruise up. “Security!” You call out, “Please escort this gentleman out.” As two able-bodied men in black suits walked over, you pointed your hand at Mark who could barely stand. “Thank you.” You say to the two men, smiling.

You then felt a hand gripping at your wrist, dragging you through the crowd of people and up the carpet staircase. “Peter, where are you taking me?” You whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “Shut up.” You heard Peter respond back in a churlishly manner. You were bewildered. You don’t even know what Mark could’ve said to have Peter all riled up. You didn’t know where Peter was taking you in all honestly, there was a lot of turns and all you knew was that your feet were starting to hurt. It’s not easy to walk relatively fast in 5 inch heels.

“Peter, can you please slow down? My feet are starting to hurt—“ You gasped as you were suddenly grabbed at your shoulders, turned around to have your back pushed up against a large glass window. “Peter-!” You slightly yelp, looking around frantically. You saw you two were in a short hallway, the lights were fairly dimmed. You look over your shoulder to look through the glass windows and see you were approximately 15 stories high. “Peter, what are you doing?” You whisper, looking up at the male with furrowed eyebrows.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, huh?” Peter spats out. He grabs both of your wrists with one of his hands, pinning it above your head. The other hand now clenched around your jaw. “I don’t understand—“ You whimper when you felt Peter’s thigh force your legs apart. “He was flirting with you. Maybe you’re just too fucking dumb to even notice.” Peter says through gritted teeth. “Touching you.. putting his lips on you,” He scoffs, his hand that held your jaw now making its way down to your neck. “He had the fucking nerve to ask such vulgar questions about my lovely wife,” Peter laughs, tightening his grip around your throat, “But he wont ever know. He’ll live out the rest of his life wondering how tight you feel.. how soft these wonderful tits are.. and how much of a slut you sound like when you’re getting fucked.” Peter whispers into your ear, his thigh inching closer to your aching cunt.

You felt your body becoming hotter. But you also felt yourself becoming wetter with each passing second. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please..” You gasp out, bucking your hips up, trying to grind against Peter’s thigh for some sort of friction. “Look at my pathetic little whore, trying to rub herself on me. Tell me, love, what do you want?” Peter asks, loosening his grip around your throat. “Please fuck me..” You whine, shortly gasping afterwards when Peter finally pressed his thigh up against your clothed pussy. “More. Beg for it.” Peter orders. You began moving your hips forward and backwards, grinding against the soft material of the suit. Small whimpers slipping out of your mouth as you finally gained the friction you’ve been wanting. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. You itched for more.

“Need more..” You breathed out, shaking your head when Peter had pulled his thigh away, “I want you inside of me.” You moaned when you felt Peter’s hand cupping your sex. “Do you deserve to be fucked, love?” Peter asks as he grabbed a handful of the lace material before ripping it off of you. You gasped at the sudden chill waving at your soaked cunt. He balled it up in his fists before stuffing it into his pant pocket. “Did you fucking hear me?” Peter asks, using the hand that bonded your wrists together, to now wrap around your throat once again, pinning you against the clear, cold glass surface. You nod frantically, mouth a gape, “Yes! Yes! I deserved to be fucked, oh please.. please fuck me.” You pleaded desperately when Peter’s fingers glided a long stripe in between your folds, stopping when the pad of his fingers landed perfectly on top of the clit. “Gotta quiet down, hon’.“ Peter huffs out, rubbing the small bundle of nerves in a slow, agonizing pace. “Please! Peter, faster!” You cried out, unable to take any more teasing. “What the fuck did I just say?” Peter muttered, momentarily pinching the airways on your throat. His fingers now starting to pick up the pace, rubbing in circular motions against the small knob. You moan, your hips bucking up into Peter’s hand. “Oh shit, yes!” You whimper, biting down on your bottom lip in attempt to try to lower your voice.

You whine in protest when Peter pulls his hands away from your body. He then pinched at the straps of your dress, pulling it down your arms, allowing the upper part of the dress to slip off your chest. Your breasts now full out on display, your nipples hard. “Another thing Mark will never know..” Peter breathes out as he turns you around. The front of your body now exposed to the outside world. His hands snaking around your torso till it reached your tits. He cupped them into his hands, kneading the soft, warm flesh. You hold onto Peter’s wrists, tilting your head backwards to rest onto the male’s broad shoulder. He slightly grazed his index fingers against the tip of your erected nipples, chuckling when you twitched against him. “I love how sensitive they are,” Peter whispers into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. He placed his finger pads onto your nipples, beginning to rub them circular motions. You moan out in delight, squeezing your thighs together. “P-peter,” You whimpered. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” He hums, pinching the buds in between his thumb and index fingers. Twisting it and tugging it very slightly. “Peter!” You moaned out, rubbing your ass against Peter lower half, giggling when you felt his bulge poking through his pants.

“I need to see your pretty face when I fuck my cock into you.” Peter groaned, “Would you like that, baby? Hm? You want my thick cock ramming inside of this pathetic little pussy of yours?” He smirks as he undoes his belt, pulling the pants down enough for him to pull out his erected cock, finding it entertaining watching you fold under him. “Yes! Oh god, yes please! Fuck me, Peter..” You trailed off at the end. Suddenly a wave of boldness came over you, “Unless if I just call Mark right now and have him fuck me instead—“

You cut yourself off with a cry of pure bliss when you felt Peter force himself into you with the help of your wetness as a lubricant. Your hands flew onto the glass, palms spread flat out on the surface as Peter gripped at your hips, pulling out till the tip was barely left in, only to slam himself into you with full force. “Fuck! Peter!” You moaned, your breasts pushed up against the glass window, your chest twitching due to the friction of your nipples rubbing against the surface. “Who can fuck you like this, hm? Who can fuck this pussy?” Peter grunts into your ear, repeatedly slamming his hips against your ass. “You, Peter! Oh fuck, it’s you!” You cry out, already feeling your legs buckling.

You couldn’t think of anything besides the feeling of Peter’s cock ramming into you. Filling you up perfectly. You were already on edge due to the teasing from earlier. You felt like a bucket being filled up, on the brim of tipping over. “Peter, slow down. I’m getting close.” You beg, using one of your hands to reach back and push against Peter’s pelvis. But rather than slowing down, Peter ignored the pleas from his wife and instead thrusted faster, his balls slapping against your cunt. “Oh god! P-please! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out loud, shaking your head frantically.

Peter abruptly pulls out, catching you in his arms when you’re legs collapsed on themselves. “N-no..” You whined out pathetically when you felt your orgasm was ripped away from you. Peter picks you up in his arms, carrying you to a nearby table that was placed against the wall along the hallway. He sets you down on the marble table, placing himself in between your legs. “Look at me, beautiful. Who makes you this stupid when fucking you?” Peter asks, his tone sweet ironically compared to what he’s asking. “You, Peter.” You smile, wrapping your arms around the male’s neck. “Good girl.” He praises, pecking your mascara stained cheek.

He lines himself up to your gaping hole, pushing in once more, groaning. “Fuck, my baby’s pussy is so warm and tight. Look at it pulling my cock in.” He laughs. Once he fully bottomed out, his hip began snapping against yours. Squelching sounds fills the hallway along with the obscene noises that left your mouth. “I’m going to cum soon, baby.” Peter moaned out. You tightly wrapped your legs around Peter’s hips, locking him in a tight space. “I’m gonna cum in this little pussy of yours. Gon’ fill you up to the brim, fuck!‘M gonna fuck my babies into you.” Peter groans, laughing when he felt you clench tightly around him. “Oh yeah? You like the thought of me fucking my cum so deep inside of you? Getting you pregnant, hm? Your belly round and full of my kids?” He says, “Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!” You plead, breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust Peter makes. “I’m.. gonna get you pregnant.” Peter breathes out, his thrusts beginning to get sloppy.

“I-I’m cumming!” You cried out, “Lets come together, love.” Peter moans, his thrusts quickening just for a few moments until it came to a full stop. “Fuck, Y/N!” He says as he came, his cock pulsating inside of you. Thick spurts of white, warm cum shot inside of you. Coating your insides with his seed.

“Peter!” You came straight after. Your eyes rolling back as one last moan that sounded like it came straight from a porno emitted from you. Your legs fully tightening around Peter hips, making sure to squeeze out every single drop of cum from the male. You felt yourself tipping over inside, a wave of pleasure coursing throughout your body, leaving you twitching.

Peter slowly pulls out once he felt himself go limp inside of you. He leaned over to embrace you into his arms, holding you close to him. “Happy birthday, Peter.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Thank you, love. Let’s get you fixed up before we go back downstairs, okay?” He suggests, moving a strand of hair away from your face. “But I’m pretty sure they’ve heard you. ‘Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!’” Peter playfully mocks. You gasp and punched him in the arm, “Oh shut up!” You whine, hiding your face in Peter’s shoulder. “I hate you.” You mumble, “No you don’t. You love me.” Peter laughs, helping you wear your dress correctly.

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literaila · 2 years

Text

it’s really nothing

tasm!peter x fem!reader (office au)

summary: with peter parker as your coworker, work is something to look forward to.

warnings: idiots to lovers, pining, reader has a panic attack, peter gets sick, spider-man stuff, fluff, actual idiots, they both “hate” m&ms

a/n: this is the longest oneshot i’ve ever written. and also, i really like calling people criminals. let me know what you think!

peter parker has pretty eyes.

this is what you're thinking about while he stands in front of you, smiling politely, waiting for you to say something.

to shake his hand and establish a growing work relationship.

they're brown. soft and warm and a bit too bright for so early in the morning--he probably hasn't been up all night and probably doesn't suffer from a severe coffee dependency.

not that you do, either. it's just...

"y/n," you say, smiling even though it feels more like a wince. like trying not to scare away the newbie. you shake his hand.

the newbie who you were supposed to be director of today.

the newbie who you definitely did not forget about.

and who is absolutely not almost devilishly handsome.

his eyes are crinkled at the edges and you can't tell if it's because he's amused or concerned.

or if he is just pleasantly waiting for you to say something.

"sorry," you clear your throat. look away from him, to the person in the cubicle beside you--who is not judging you in the slightest. "busy morning."

"it's okay. i like... awkward silences."

he's got dimples. a little quirk on his cheek as he waits for you to tell him where to go. what to do. how not to get fired on the first day.

"i'm a little distracted," you concede, almost regretful. almost like he definitely thinks you're crazy.

he turns to look at whatever you were staring at. "yeah," he turns back, smiling. "that's a nice wall."

"okay," you take a deep breath in, feel the shame smother you with your shirt. "let's try this again."

peter, who looks like a tiny little beam of light in this room full of half-asleep people, nods. he holds his hand out again. "hi, i'm peter. i'm supposed to ask you where my desk is."

you almost laugh. "y/n," you say again, to clarify. "i'm supposed to show you where your desk is."

"hopefully it's facing that wall."

and so ensues the battle of trying not to stare at him for thirty seconds every time he makes eye contact with you.

fraternization is forbidden from the office.

you lead him to his desk, show him all of the drawers, completely with a jar full of pens--courtesy of the company--and a little welcome gift.

a little bag of m&ms that you may or may not have rushed to get from the vending machine down the hall.

"what's this?"

you swallow. again. maybe for the fiftieth time. "just a 'welcome to the office' sort of thing."

peter raises a brow. "from who?"

"me. i'm, uh, supposed to be your 'office buddy' while you settle in."

more specifically, you're supposed to be the person he goes to. the person with all the answers. the person who does not get distracted when looking into the eyes of their coworkers.

third time's a charm.

peter nods. "oh, well, i don't like m&ms."

there is a tiny fraction of you that would like to beg him not to make this even harder than it already is.

"you don't like m&ms," you repeat.

he shakes his head. his hair is messy. and soft. you'd like to reach out to touch it.

and burn your hand off immediately after.

"i didn't realize we were hiring criminals," you shrug. take the candy from his hands.

peter's jaw drops, minimally. "um, sorry?"

"not like m&ms is a federal crime."

his eyes widen. he looks a bit relieved. and then his face switches, smooth and chill, and almost evil eyes. "guess i must've missed that one."

"if you don't take my candy i'll have to eat it myself."

he raises a brow. "i'm assuming you like m&ms."

"nope. hate 'em."

he laughs. "then why would you give them to me?"

"it was the last thing in the vending machine. and i assumed you weren't also on probation. "

"neither of us is very good with assumptions," he leans back, looking a little bit more comfortable than he did a minute ago.

like maybe he doesn't think that you're absolutely insane.

you smile at him, try and keep the energy up even though you would really like to lay down on his desk and take a nap.

"so," you say, clasping your hands together. "my desk is right there."

across from his, of course, because you're already the office leader in procrastination.

"if you have any questions i won't be too far away."

"questions?"

"yeah. like, about what email to use for an article. or where to find files in the overly complicated filing system. or why it smells like pickles every couple of days."

his brow furrows. "pickles?"

"don't ask."

he picks up a pen. clicks it. puts it back down.

you watch because how are you supposed to do anything else?

especially when he's got a voice like that and a face like that and eyes that could probably remove your heart from your chest and take a bite out of it.

he clears his throat. "does everybody get an office buddy?"

"only the pretty ones."

immediately you turn around, run directly into the wall.

you fall directly onto the floor.

you don't dare to look at his face.

you laugh, awkwardly, scratching your neck. "sorry. i, um. i'm not very good at this."

at talking to people who are insanely attractive, or showing anyone around. or breathing, really.

"being an office buddy?" peter tilts his head, but he's smiling at you.

you're pretty sure the crinkle is amused.

"talking to people. especially when i'm sleep-deprived. or, trying to make a good impression."

peter laughs, seemingly appreciative of your self-depreciation. "you're doing fine," he assures. "you know, after the whole wall thing. and then the m&m thing."

you cross your arms. "it was an example of your everyday employee."

"oh okay, then." he nods. "it worked."

"and that was a welcome gift."

"you called me a criminal."

"i also called myself a criminal. and if you turn out to be anything like me, then you'll last at least a year."

he bites his lip, looking a little bit confused.

you laugh.

"c'mon, i'll show you where we keep the snacks."

his eyes light up even more. you have to take a deep breath in before you start walking.

peter tries not to bother you.

he took this job with the money in mind.

because selling pictures and running around all night and falling asleep in a bed made out of more cardboard than cushion, well, it was time for a change.

time to become an actual adult--in aunt mays words--and get an adult job.

when peter took this job--mostly because it was the first acceptance he'd gotten and the rejection letters were killing his ego, piece by piece--he figured that it would almost bore him to death.

but pay the bills.

but make it possible to keep up with his extracurriculars and avoid getting his water turned off when he was covered in a slime-like substance that he would really rather not think about.

he figured that it would be horrible; because having a job was, inevitably, horrible.

but he was good at suffering. he was good at balancing the scales and doing what needed to be done.

and may had threatened him with not letting him do his laundry at her house anymore, so, he didn't really have any other choice.

when he took the job, peter hadn't thought that he would be spending almost every night rushing to submit his forms and edit a million different articles.

he really hadn't thought that most of his hours spent in the office would be spent staring at you.

at watching your lips move as you talked to someone on the phone; or straining to hear you whispering to yourself--because not even with his senses could he make everything out completely.

or at staring at your hands as you typed. your eyes as you laughed. or when he said something--how he managed to, peter wasn't sure because his brain all but stopped whenever you were within five feet of him--to make you smile.

because your smile, god. it was the worst of all.

it was soft and beautiful and so mesmerizing that peter was worried you had already killed him every time he saw it.

there was just something about you.

something funny. something intriguing. a tiny little thing he wasn't sure how to describe.

and so, it really wasn't his fault that he didn't get any work done.

it's not as if he'd chosen to sit right across from you and be forced to watch you work all day.

he made a conscious effort not to.

to only stare when you were staring back.

to type random things onto his document and swear that he was actually going to get something done.

today.

but, of course, today he was having a problem.

the problem being that he didn't want to bother you but he also hadn't talked to you all morning.

three weeks after he'd officially met you.

you were his office buddy. his friendly coworker who he was just a little bit infatuated with.

and he didn't want to bother you.

he tried not to.

to keep his staring down to a minimum and avoid planning what he was going to say to you the night before.

he smiled at you during lunch, asked how everything was going.

and that was that.

until now, because peter was having a problem.

"hey," peter whispered, trying to keep his voice down.

you looked up from your computer, a quick smile making its way to your face.

peter pretended not to notice the three cups of coffee on your desk.

or that your shirt was inside out.

"hi, peter."

"hi. i'm--i'm having a little bit of trouble with a document..."

you raised a brow, making one of your eyes quirk up. just so peter could memorize the color a little bit more. "trouble?"

"i don't know how to change the font."

it wasn't a complete lie. it also was a poor, poor excuse to talk to you.

to not bother you.

"the font?" you ask as if he was lying.

which he would never do. especially not to get your attention.

"i've never used this program before."

"microsoft word?"

he nods. he watches the edge of your mouth quirk up.

he watches your fingers tap against the desk.

"okay," you say, so easily. "i'll show you."

you stand up, close enough to peter for him to smell your perfume and practically taste your amusement.

"thanks," he says, quickly, taking a couple of steps back.

and then a couple of steps more.

he allows you to lead him back to your desk. to sit in his chair and spin around, just so that he's looking at your face again.

"i like what you've done with the place," you say, gesturing to his almost empty desk.

"thanks. i try."

you laugh. "very cozy."

and then you spin around again, and peter leans a bit closer to you, watching your eyes as they flick over the computer screen.

"see the little 't'?" you patronize him, using the cursor to point.

he avoids laughing and giving himself away. he feels like a child.

which, in hindsight, he pretty much is.

peter nods. he's sure you can feel it.

because he can almost feel it when you swallow.

"you click that," you do so, "and then choose whatever font you want. except for comic sans. because that is against office policy."

"what if i like comic sans?" he whispers, closer than he wants to be to your ear.

"then we can't be friends and i'll be switching departments."

he chuckles. "where would you go?"

and he leans up, just so you can turn around again. and maybe because he feels little bit lightheaded.

it's really nothing.

"probably legal. they have a ping-pong table down there."

"and a dungeon with all of their lost souls."

you shrug. "reasonable price to pay."

you're smiling at him, so small that he might not notice if he hadn't been watching you do it for three weeks.

"i'd personally go with janitorial. get the whole place to yourself."

"they also have to clean up your desk, so."

he crosses his arms. "what is that supposed to mean?"

"you think i haven't seen the old wrappers and cans of soda? did you clean up just for me?" you touch your chest, mock appreciation.

"nope. it is 10 am, and the janitors love me."

"i highly doubt that."

you stand up, wiping your hands on your pants. "okay. you got it now?"

"yup. thanks for your help."

peter can see you trying not to laugh. he watches very closely.

"sure thing, peter. let me know if you have trouble finding the space bar."

and if peter's got a little bit of a crush, so what?

he likes his new job.

you poke him on the shoulder. "peter."

he doesn't budge. his eyes barely even move. his chest just barely inflates.

so you resort to almost pushing him out of his chair. "hey," you say, just a little bit louder. "peter."

and then, as soon as you've begun to push him again, his hand darts out to grab onto yours.

you let out a little yelp.

it scares you more than it scares him. you try to flinch back but his grip is hard, his eyes are stern and confused as he looks at you.

as he looks down at the hand that's on you; creating bruises on your wrists.

and then he lets go, as if your hand was burning hot, and jumps away from you.

"i'm sorry--"

"are you okay?"

peter blinks. looks like he's forgotten where he is or what he's doing here. he blinks again. "what?"

"you were asleep. i woke you up."

"oh."

you nod. take a breath in and readjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "you okay?"

"i'm fine."

you stare at him. his eyes are a little bit wild. a little bit all over the place.

he's staring at his keyboard like he's lost the ability to think clearly.

"peter," you say, softly. "it's five."

"five?"

"yes. time to go."

"oh."

you frown. "how long were you asleep?"

"not long. like, an hour."

some part of you wonders how you didn't notice that. considering how much you're looking at him on any average day.

"i didn't realize. i would've woken you up sooner."

you rub your hand, taking a step back as he gets up from his desk. as he grabs a bunch of spare things and doesn't really look you in the eyes.

"it's fine. i wasn't getting a lot done anyway."

his voice is quiet. soft. a bit rough--like he's been using it too much. sore.

"having a hard time sleeping?" you ask, trying not to step over the boundaries of your office buddy relationship.

peter snorts. "you could say that."

you nod. stand there uncomfortably.

not sure if you should just leave or wait for him. which one will cause you more pain.

peter looks up. he sighs. "your hand," he gestures to the red mark you've got on your wrists--which really don't hurt that bad but are a bit startling. "i'm sorry."

"oh," you look with him. shrugging. "it's fine. it's what i get for waking you up."

"no, i just--" he pauses. shakes his head like he's being stupid. "sorry. i don't know what's wrong with me."

"i'm sure there's a multitude of answers, peter parker."

you say it with a smile on your face, trying to avoid the seriousness of this situation. in which, you should probably be concerned for him.

in which you would really like to hug him because he looks sort of sad. sort of crumbled as he picks up his bag. sort of small.

he chuckles. "good guess."

"ready?" you ask him, straightening up.

"i'll walk you to your car."

you hold a finger up, brow raised. "i think i'll walk you to your car. 'cause you're looking a little... green."

peter blinks.

"and also because i'm a gentleman."

"of course," peter snorts a little bit, beginning to walk. "thanks for waking me up," he says, "i would've just slept there all night."

"and then what would the janitors think of you?"

he waves a hand. "they'd just clean around me."

"or call the police."

"yes. or that."

you smile at him.

appreciate the way he smiles back. even if it's just for show.

when peter runs into you just as he's leaving the bathroom, it's a completely normal reaction to be a little bit shocked.

to crave the warmth of your body, even if it's slamming into him and causing him to trip.

causing you to trip, which, peter does not take advantage of.

he does, of course, steady you with his hands, looking down at you as you blink.

"woah," you say. "i didn't think i was going that fast."

"practicing for a marathon?"

you glare at him, just a little. "just going to lunch."

your eyes are delightfully smooth. your mouth is quirked up in peter's favorite way.

he laughs. "i would run too."

"sorry. didn't mean to crash into you."

"it's fine."

he stares at you for a moment. waiting for you to say something.

you don't because you're not a strange coworker trying to preserve any minute with him you can get.

"where are you going?" he asks, rocking on his heels.

"forced to go to the sandwich shop on the corner. i forgot my lunch."

"charlie's?"

peter watches you lick your lips. he watches you breathe in and out and pretends that he's not being weird.

he's not.

"yeah. have you been there?"

he nods. smiles a little bit. "it's good."

you smile back.

he breathes in; trying to match his heart to yours.

you look a little bit disheveled; a little bit eager as you stare at him.

and he's got no clue how he looks because he's got no control over his body.

you breathe out. "well..."

"oh," peter steps aside, running a hand through his hair. "enjoy your lunch."

"thanks, you too."

and then you walk away from him.

peter tries not to feel a bit begrudged by his lack of conversation skills--particularly when it comes to you--and he tries not to think about how warm and soft your skin is, or how cute you look when your hair is a little bit messed up.

but then you turn around, clearing your throat. "you, um, wanna come?"

it barely takes peter a second to say "let me grab my bag."

"where'd you work before this?" you ask peter, sipping on some coffee.

nursing the fact that you're going out to lunch with him and that he offered to pay.

not that it means anything. it doesn't.

it'd be nice to have a friend around the office, though.

and it's nice to know that he doesn't completely hate you. yet.

peter swallows some of his sandwich, face contorting strangely. "i did some pictures for a couple of newspapers... but um, just a lot of odd jobs," he shakes his head. nonchalant.

"you like photography?"

"just a hobby."

you raise a brow. "that's not what i asked."

"yeah," peter answers, slowly. "i like it."

"you must be pretty good at it, you know, since you got paid for it."

he shrugs again. "i'm alright."

you let out a confused breath, trying to take his short answers as a good sign.

as any sort of sign.

"how long have you been working here?" peter asks you, quickly changing the subject.

you pretend not to notice.

"oh, a year and some odd months."

peter leans a little bit closer to you. "and you've lasted this long?" he whispers.

you laugh. "it's not that bad. good holiday pay. free vending machine snacks. and clive, the elevator guy, brings me coffee sometimes. can't let him down."

"clive?"

you frown. "you haven't met clive?"

peter shakes his head.

"that is a problem. i'll introduce you to him. it'll change your life."

peter laughs.

"no, i'm serious. after i met clive i was a completely different person."

"i guess we'll see."

"no, peter. i wouldn't joke about clive."

peter raises a brow. "you joke about getting fired all the time."

you wave a hand. "pfft. have you ever even met the boss?"

you say the words like they're formidable.

kind of like how peter is looking at you right now.

his eyes are absolutely insane.

"um..." peter thinks for a moment. "no, i don't think i have."

"me either."

"really? you've been there a year."

you point at him. "exactly. who's going to fire me?"

peter smiles. "fair point."

you nod at him, content.

happy, for some strange, incomprehensible reason. you can feel his eyes on you.

you look up at the clock.

"you better finish your sandwich," you tell him, meeting his eyes. "we've got fifteen minutes."

and so it begins.

"hey," peter says, sticking his head in front of your face, and interrupting your typing.

you scoff and push him away, moving so you can see the screen again.

resume typing.

"y/n," peter sings.

"i'm working."

"why?"

you turn towards him, sighing. "what do you need?"

he gestures towards your coffee cup, smiling. "want some more coffee?"

"no. i've had two cups already."

peter raises a brow. "that's low for you."

"rude."

he grabs your cup. "don't worry. i know how you like it."

"stalking me, peter parker?"

"you're in there all of the time," he deadpans. "it would be hard not to know."

"rude," you repeat.

peter turns around, whistling as he carries both of your coffee cups.

you shake your head, somewhat amused, somewhat confused.

you blink until the image of his face and stupid smile is gone.

continue writing.

and then peter sticks his head around the corner again.

"by the way, you're missing a comma in line three."

and you hate him, just a little bit.

you barely even smile as you add the comma in.

peter has been looking for you for the last ten minutes.

it's become sort of a thing to walk out together; to make fun of the building as you go, swearing that you're never ever going to come back.

peter, well, he likes the opportunity to stare openly at you while you laugh.

and when you weren't at your desk, peter took the time to explore a little bit.

and maybe go through some of your drawers looking for snacks--not that he'll admit to it when you ask.

he finds you in the basement, going through a filing cabinet.

"what're you doing?" he asks, attempting to scare you as he turns on a light.

you've got a flashlight in your mouth and a glare in your eyes.

"that's too bright," you say, around the flashlight.

"woah. what's going on?"

peter gestures to the mess on the floor. to the papers you're practically buried in.

"i couldn't find a file, and nancy in information technology said that it 'wasn't in the database' so i'd have to come and look for it down here. and none of these are alphabetized."

"ah. and did nancy use that snarky tone of voice?"

you glare even harder at him. "yes. she was very unpleasant."

peter groans as he sits down right next to you, messing with a file you've left on the floor. "sure you're not projecting?"

"peter, you should go home."

he laughs. "c'mon, you can't stay here all night. why don't you look for it tomorrow?"

"i need it tonight."

he puts a hand over yours, urging you to look at him. "you're gonna be looking forever. who knows the last time these were organized?"

you sigh, head drooping. "i know. i was trying to do it myself but..."

"there's thousands of these," peter finishes for you.

"yeah."

he laughs. "yeah."

you rub your eyes, and peter watches you as you try not to yawn.

"when was the last time you ate?" he asks.

"had lunch at my desk."

"you know that's not enough," he chides. "that was six hours ago."

"my deadline is today. i didn't realize i needed the file until today."

you sound just a little bit angry. and absolutely tired.

peter can see the circles under your eyes, and the furrow between your brows that hasn't gone away since he walked in.

"okay," peter sighs, taking the stack of files from your lap.

"peter," you sigh. "i really need--"

"i'm gonna help you."

you look up at him, frowning. "what?"

"it should only take an hour or two with both of us. and then we'll go get something to eat. and then you'll go home and sleep."

"it's--peter. that's sweet, but you don't have to. it's already late and--"

"c'mon," he says, handing you a couple. "who am i going to annoy if you're at home sleeping tomorrow?"

there's just a quirk of your lips. and then it stills, and you're staring at him very seriously. "are you sure? i know you don't get a lot of sleep anyway."

he smiles, nudging you with his shoulder. "we'll work fast. and then have fries."

and the smile it earns him is worth the exhaustion the next morning.

"hey," you frown, tilting your head to get a better look at his jaw.

peter looks over, eyebrows raised. "hmm?"

you point to the side of his face, brows furrowed. "you've got a bruise."

peter touches the spot you're pointing to--as if you've just reminded him of this--and winces. "oh. yeah."

"does it hurt?"

he shrugs. "a little."

"what'd you do?"

he smiles. "how do you know that i did anything? some of us wake up looking this good."

"peter."

he rolls his eyes. looks away from you and sighs. "i was helping may hang some pictures. dropped one."

"on your face?"

"no, actually," he says, smiling at you. "i dropped it on my foot. the bruise just happened to show up on my face."

if it wasn't for his smile you might push him off of the bench.

"you're stupid," you respond. "and reckless. and stupid. did may yell at you?"

he snorts. "told me that just because i 'act like a child' doesn't mean i'm not 'a responsible adult' and that i shouldn't be so 'stupid.'"

you nod, pleased. "good. now i don't have to."

peter is not staring.

he does not stare at you, he swears.

he watches the wall instead.

the wall with its lips and eyes and nose and cute little crinkle in its brows.

he watches the walls and he doesn't get any work done.

and when you look back at him--because you always do--he'll make a face at you. gesture towards the clock with a frown.

it might get him a laugh. or a pout.

and peter finds both of those things equally gratifying.

so it anyone asks, peter does not stare at you. he has no reason to. no need to look at something that he already knows very well.

and still, he can't quite look away.

"where are you?" you say, immediately, without any greeting.

because it's ten in the morning and you're actually staring at a wall. a wall that might've been interesting about five months ago before brown brown eyes took its place.

now it seems boring, blatant, and annoying.

"hello?" peter says, sounding as if he's attempting an old man.

"hi, peter. where are you?"

"at home."

"really?" you say, rolling your eyes into the receiver so that he can feel it. "i thought you were sitting right across from me. what i really meant was, where the hell are you?"

there's a pause. a quick shuffling. and then: "i'm sick."

you frown. "sick?"

"you know the thing where your body begins to ache, and then you--"

"i don't need to hear about your bodily feelings."

peter laughs. "well, that's where i am."

you almost whine. you almost swear to god that you're going to drag him in here so that you don't want to nap all day.

or go over to his apartment and have him cough in your face.

"what am i supposed to do?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, allowing the cord to wrap around your chest.

it's not like anyone is looking at you.

"i don't know," peter answers, voice muffled. "your job?"

"that's boring."

"so is reality tv. where did all the good stuff go?"

"you're at home watching tv and i have to work."

you hear peter sigh. "i'm at home sick and you're perfectly healthy at your desk. you get to talk to clive today."

he sounds a bit desperate; a bit peeved.

"clive misses you."

"he tell you that?"

"no. he actually told me that he wants his money."

you spin back around. pretend to type something into your keyboard.

"not this again."

"you lost the bet."

"i did not, you both knew that i--no, you know what?" peter pauses, breathing against the microphone. you almost have to tilt the phone away from your ear. "i'm too sick to argue."

your brows furrow. "that's not good."

he laughs. "i'm going to take a nap. get an article done. ask clive about cacti. steal all of the m&ms from the vending machine."

"it's not like anyone eats them."

"goodbye, y/n."

"but, peter..." you whine.

and that's how you end up at his door, shivering on his welcome mat.

peter frowns as he opens the door. "what're you doing here?"

you, immediately, walk right past him, feet pounding on his floor.

"i brought soup," you say, instead of answering. "and good company. and crackers."

"i don't like soup."

peter follows you into his kitchen--because somehow you know where everything is and are completely comfortable in his house already--leaning against the counter.

he tries not to wince as his leg strains to keep up.

you stare at him a moment, frowning. "you don't look sick. do you have a fever?" you reach out to touch his forehead but peter leans back.

"i don't like soup," he repeats.

"ah," you wave a hand. "yeah you do."

"no."

you sigh. "peter. soup is good for you. and so is getting out of bed."

peter stares at you for a moment.

any other day he might've appreciated the faux oblivious smile on your face. or the humming you're doing as you look for a bowl.

"y/n," he says, flat.

"hmm?"

"how did you get my apartment number?"

you turn back to look at him, eyes wide. "you know," you say, calm. "google."

he stares at you.

"i looked it up."

he raises a brow. takes the weight off of his left leg.

"you have a file, peter. which is very useful when your favorite coworker wants to bring you soup because you're sick."

"clive is my favorite, so--"

"you're sick," you emphasize. "which means you should go lay down. i'll bring you the soup when it's warm."

peter bends down so he can look you directly in the eye.

so he can stare at you a little bit closer and laugh when your eyes begin to disappear.

so he can watch your skin curve and fall and all of the indentations that he can't see from more than a foot away.

you stare back at him, eyes wide.

"you're not sick," he mocks, "which means you should be at work."

you cross your arms. "it's my lunch break."

your stubbornness would usually excite peter, but it's getting hard to stand.

"did you eat?"

"coffee in the car. and i stole some candy from the candy jar."

peter frowns. "that's not lunch."

he teases a small strand of hair out of your eye, pokes you in the forehead gently.

you pretend to fall backward.

"i'll have some soup," you say, pleasantly, stepping past him. "there's enough for two."

"you could've come after work," peter says, mostly just so that you'll look at him again.

so he can catch an inch of your smile and hide it in his pocket forever.

it's a crime that his camera is in the other room.

"i was worried," you admit, a little bit softer than usual. "i didn't think you could get sick."

"i am human," and even peter doesn't really believe it.

"yeah, but you're, like, naturally gifted. immune system of steel."

"i wash my hands."

you laugh, the small sound is a beacon in the room.

an earthquake shaking peter's core, again and again.

"you don't have to be worried about me," he says.

but what he really means is thank you for coming, and i wish you'd stay all day.

he means absolutely nothing at all.

"it's not just that," you turn around, gentle light in your eyes, face morphing into something peter can't describe. "i missed you," you tell him. "it's boring."

he tilts his head. tries not to let the words fall too far to the ground. "you done it before," he protests, just so you'll smile again.

"well, i didn't have any friends at work before."

peter takes the words. he grabs them from the air with his hands and throws them into a corner somewhere very far away.

he waits a moment, for you to laugh at him, to smile, to tell him what the hell to do about any of this.

and, because you know him, you do.

"go lay down," you tell him, pointing towards his door. "it'll be just another second."

and peter tries not to limp as he walks away.

he tries not to look back at you; fails.

it really means nothing.

it means nothing as you push away from your desk, legs feeling surprisingly limp, hands shaking as you use them to stand up.

as you run them over your face, making sure that you're still here.

you look towards peter's desk and see nothing. he's sick today, you remember.

he's been sick for three days.

that this is all normal, and perfectly fine, and just your average workday, really.

except for the overwhelming feeling pulling at your chest, making it just minimally harder to breathe.

harder to think. to see. to wonder where you are and why you're supposed to be here.

work, you rationalize. you think it through again and again.

and it still doesn't help.

you take a step, moving away from the cubicle, from the phone that you've left stranded on your desk and the tears that--as you'll find out later--have ruined a document.

you take another step, swearing to yourself that if you're going to throw up--which isn't even a possibility really--it won't be here.

it won't be in front of these people, and it will not be over something so small. so trivial.

still, that sort of fluctuating anger crawls further up your throat.

if you tried to speak, you would find only air in the place of words. you would find a dry and broken throat.

you would find that you've lost the ability.

you walk down the hall, nervous tears dribbling down your cheeks.

you wipe them away with an errant hand that you can't feel.

the next goal is the bathroom. the next goal is to calm the hell down and try and pull yourself together.

it's only nine in the morning.

it is too early for any of this.

too early for the sun to be up and too early for these feels to have collapsed your chest in whole.

you were fine when you woke up, you swear.

you had breakfast, got to work, had coffee, got to work.

there's no disorganization in a routine that you've been developing for years. in the same job that you've been used to since you got there.

panic attacks aren't acceptable when everything is fine.

you're fine, you tell yourself, a meek repetition in your brain, but whoever is controlling this doesn't seem to care.

you're fine.

the bathroom is two hallways away. on normal days, you have to plan out when you need to pee.

you clench your fists so tight that they lose blood circulation.

you wipe another tear away, angry at the movement it takes to do so.

ashamed to be walking down this hallway and avoiding the eyes of coworkers you would usually smile at.

but they don't deserve this sight.

you walk a little bit faster, unsure how far you've gotten.

it could be inches. it could be miles.

and it's at this point--when you've made it so far from your desk that you can no longer feel the indention of your chair on your legs--that you realize that this isn't going to get any better.

that compartmentalization has failed you, once again.

your eyes burn as you look down at the floor, trying to note all of the coffee stains you can see as you walk along.

you fill your lungs with air, basking in the bit of relief, the cool feeling in your chest before the anger comes back swinging.

it mocks you with a laugh. with a funny little remark about how deep breathing won't get you through this.

and it's fine.

you walk faster, swearing to yourself that you just need a moment alone.

and then you hear a quick little "hey," before you run directly into someone. quickly looking up while your eyes fill with tears again. mistake mistake mistake.

running into your coworker--especially this one--is definitely a mistake.

especially with his eyes and his face and every single thing that he just seems to know.

"hey," he says, softer, trying to keep you steady with one open hand, the other holding a coffee mug.

you're pretty sure that he just spilled some of it on the floor but you don't dare let yourself look.

this is fine, you think, as his fingertips burn your skin.

"peter,” you whisper, voice cracking. "what're you doing here?"

you try not to wince.

immediately, he's frowning. "what's wrong?"

you laugh. you chuckle. you practically cackle at the words.

what's wrong, do you think? nothing.

absolutely nothing.

you stand up even straighter. "nothing. i'm fine. how are you? feeling better?"

you're very confident that he can't hear the hesitation in your voice. after all, you're completely fine.

you smile at him.

you know that there's something else you should be saying, something funny, something to make him smile.

this might be normal if you could just figure out what that something was.

"c'mon," he whispers, little concerned brow. little evil eyes. "you're crying."

you clear your throat. "am i?" pretend to wipe away any remains. "i get really bad allergies this time of year."

"you don't have allergies."

you laugh again, little bit smaller. there is no evidence of a lie on your face.

the feeling is still there, laughing with you.

"i think i would know, peter," you say, taking a step back from him. "just heading to the bathroom so--"

"y/n," he's even softer, like whatever you're saying is causing him physical pain. "you don't have to lie."

"i'm not lying," you swear.

you swear again and again that you're not going to start crying in front of him.

because if there's one thing that could make this any worse--besides an actual heart attack--it would be peter parker watching you cry.

"did something happen?"

"no. i have to go to the bathroom."

"did someone do something?" he's leaning down a little bit, trying to get a clearer view of your eyes.

there's really no better view than this, you think, staring into his brown eyes. waiting.

"nothing happened, peter."

"then why are you crying?"

"i already told you--"

he tilts his head. he's breathing almost normally. he's standing close to you. his eyes are so gentle, warm. "i just want to make sure that you're alright. you don't look alright."

"i'm fine," you say, out loud, through clenched teeth.

and another tear falls down your face, mocks you as it hits the ground.

and then another, because where else are they supposed to go?"

"okay," peter says, leaning down just a little bit so he can grab your hand. taking a step closer, and using a hand to get you to look at him.

to rub your skin with the tip of his thumb.

to drive you even more insane than you already feel.

any other time, this might be a dream.

he takes a moment to look at you. and you look back, a bit perturbed. a bit annoyed. a bit anything but fine.

and then he nods. "okay," he repeats. looks up from you to around the office--you don't want to know how many eyes are on the two of you.

peter uses his grip on your hand to pull you, clearly not hearing your protests, as he drags you into a room.

into a maintenance closet that you didn't even realize existed.

"there," he says. "no more people."

the room is big enough for you to take a step away from him. breathe out. "thanks."

but it doesn't help.

the tears continue because the floodgates are open and the universe would like to continue to make a fool of you, thanks.

"it's okay," peter says, and he takes the step forward. his hands wipe away your tears, but they aren't fast enough. "it's okay. you don't have to tell me."

and then, in a quick gentle motion, he wraps you in his arms.

he holds you so close. so tight.

fingertips trailing on the skin of your neck. chest smelling exactly like his house.

breaths and heartbeats in your ear.

"why are you here?" you whisper, against his chest. just to break the silence and no longer feel overwhelmed by his very proximity.

"i missed you," peter answers, quickly. "i feel better."

"that's good."

he nods against your head. breathes in even deeper.

you're not sure if it's for you or him.

"peter," you whisper, and your voice shakes.

you topple over the side of the building.

but he catches you.

"i've got you," he whispers. "whatever happened, i'm here."

"thank you."

"shh," he says, and "don't be ridiculous." and "you look pretty even when you're crying." and "i would offer you some m&ms right now, but i think that would be counterproductive."

and you breathe against him, allowing yourself to laugh.

allowing the feeling to envelop you whole.

you almost don't mind, because however much panic is stuffed down your throat, peter is holding you.

peter is hugging you and whispering in your ear.

"it's okay," he repeats, a different variation of your own words. "i've got you," he promises.

and it's okay, you think.

it's completely fine.

this is nothing.

except, you know, falling in love with peter parker.

"what is this?" peter mouths to you from ten feet away.

he's got no idea why you're staring at him, but he doesn't really mind.

"what?" you mouth back, lip quirked a little bit too much.

peter raises his brows. points at the letter in his hands.

you squint at it.

he waits.

and then you shrug your shoulders. "i don't know," you mouth to him.

he stares blankly at you. thinks about throwing it across the room.

you laugh and look down at your desk, resuming whatever you were getting done before he interrupted.

but peter doesn't mind that very much anymore.

he emails you with no subject line.

an invitation.

you take five minutes to respond. in which, peter spends throwing trash into his trash can from six feet away.

he gets every single one in.

for the work party thing?

you look up at him, raised brow.

yes.

peter thinks about how it would be easier to just text.

yeah. they do one every year

did you go?

yes

was it lame?

yes. and no. there was a dart board

you're a liar

you smile up at him. pretend that you're the most productive employee here.

peter chooses to ignore your face so that he doesn't get distracted.

are you gonna go? he asks.

not sure. are you?

for the dartboard

wise decision

go with me. i promise no lameness.

he can hear you laugh but he doesn't look up.

just keeps your voice as a soundtrack in his mind. copy and pastes the sound. hits save.

you're a liar peter

but he finally smiles at you.

peter parker is, above all else, completely wrong about the party.

not that it took much convincing on his part; one single word, one single chance to hang out with him for just a little while longer, well, that was enough.

it was enough of an answer, enough of a promise, and the threat of honeysuckle eyes staring at you until you fell apart, piece by piece.

so the party is lame.

almost the same as last year.

there's a punch bowl on the table, spiked with something you choose not to think about. there's a speaker in the corner of the newly arranged office, blasting music that you don't know the words to.

there's your coworkers, mingling, standing awkwardly together because when is there time to actually talk to each other--nonetheless develop any friendships. or, acquaintanceships.

discluding you and peter, of course.

because, as you've recently become aware, he's your best friend.

he's your best friend when he's curled up on his couch and eating all your popcorn and laughing when you choke in the middle of the movie, but handing you some water anyway, eyes betraying whatever sarcastic comment he was about to make.

he's your best friend when you're eating lunch together, contemplating the benefits of pulling the fire alarm at one in the afternoon.

he's your best friend when he sends you memes over email, swearing that they're going to make you laugh.

he's your best friend when he's throwing things at you from across the office, earning the two of you some nasty looks from the same coworkers in the room now.

he's your best friend when you want to kiss him.

when you want to lean in just a little bit closer and confess everything to him; allow yourself to be uninhibited by his smiles and eyes and laughter and voice.

he's your best friend, and sometimes, you wish he wasn't.

because it just makes it a little bit harder.

not so easy to stop noticing all the amazing, wonderful, significant things about him when you're spending each weekday with him and listening to his voice over the phone every weekend.

not so easy to stop loving him when he's just...

he's your best friend.

even now, standing too close to you, whispering in your ear.

"do you think they're all robots?" he asks you, gesturing towards the group of people.

"i think we would know by now."

he looks severely judgmental. "look at them," he points, "they're all just standing there. perfect posture. great smiles. well manufactured."

"i'm sure some people think that about you too, peter."

he looks at you, offended.

"oh wait," you say, shaking your head. "you've got the posture of an eighty-year-old, so, probably not."

"i do not."

"ninety."

"we are the same age."

you raise a brow. "there is no proof of that."

"besides our birth certificates."

you wave a hand. "i'm still young," you say, "you're getting up there."

"weren't you the one complaining about 'wasting your life away sitting at a mindless--'"

"that proves nothing."

peter laughs. takes another sip of his punch and winces.

you look around. anything to avoid his face. and his stupid attractiveness.

why you're here, you're not quite sure.

"wait," you say, grabbing peter's shoulder. "i think there's a real person here."

"really? where?"

"nancy."

you gesture towards the woman standing alone, staring at peter like she's going to demolish him in a second. looking at peter like he's an actual greek statue--not too far-fetched--and she'd like to destroy him.

it might make you laugh if you weren't severely irritated.

"nancy from i.t.?" peter asks, looking around.

"yes."

"the same nancy who gave you attitude and then made the two of us go through files all night?"

"yes."

"wow," his eyes land on her, and you watch as she looks away from him, cheeks flushing. "i think she was staring at you."

you laugh.

"no, really. her hatred is being fueled."

"she wasn't staring at me, peter."

he raises a brow, looking down at you. "uh, i'm pretty sure she was. maybe you didn't see it but she had evil in her eyes--"

"she was looking at you."

"what?" he looks back to her, back to you. shakes his head. "no she wasn't."

there's just something about his eyes.

"yes, she was."

"what did i do to her?"

you laugh. "she was admiring the view."

peter's brow furrows, and you take the time to admire his eyelashes, the light hitting the side of his face.

"what does that mean?" peter asks because he's completely oblivious.

and adorable.

"pretty much everyone in this room has a crush on you, peter parker. you're a handsome guy."

"you think i'm handsome?"

you use the time to take a sip of your drink. to look around the room and admire the disco ball on the ceiling. how they got that up there, you're not sure.

peter swallows. "everyone in here?"

"yup."

"even clive?"

you laugh. "clive is well beyond a crush. i think it's considered more of an obsession."

peter smiles. he nods, pleased. "good. i feel the same."

"i'll be sure to let him know," you look down at the floor. try and get the coffee stains out with your foot.

it hurts a little bit to look at peter right now.

to stare at his face and understand that it means nothing.

smiles and laughter--they're yours but not for you.

and it's fine.

you're perfectly alright with that.

you clear your throat. "you should go talk to her."

peter looks up. "who?"

"nancy."

his lips purse. "why would i do that?"

"she likes you."

"she was mean to you," peter frowns, eyes right on you.

looking at you the same way he did that first day. like you're crazy.

like he can hear the words you're saying but they still don't make sense. like he can touch your skin but can't feel it.

you shake your head. "it was nothing. she might be nice."

"why are you trying to set me up with nancy?"

you sigh. "peter."

"are you trying to pawn me off to someone else? because i'd really rather go with clive..."

"i don't--" you sigh again. bite your lip. look down and imagine the ground isn't there. "i don't know. just..."

peter nudges you with his shoulder. "hey. this is lame."

you snort. "i told you so."

there is music blaring in both of your ears. it's gotten increasingly louder in the last thirty seconds.

if you looked over you might see people dancing. you might actually see your coworkers getting along.

but you don't look over. you don't dare take your eyes off peter.

"wanna go somewhere else?" peter asks, with a bit of a smirk.

and then you follow your best friend out the doors, not bothering to look back.

peter has always considered himself to be fairly strong.

after a difficult childhood, a difficult teenager, a difficult life--he thinks that he's grown well. that as long as his feet have remained firmly on the ground, then he must be doing something right.

he must be on his tiptoes now.

"hey," you say, arm locked in his, so close to him that he can smell you. "there's a diner open. wanna get shakes?"

he can feel you.

"shakes?" peter winces.

"peter parker, if you're about to tell me that you don't like shakes--"

he laughs. pulls you towards the shop. holds the door open for you.

he tries to fall back on his heels. tries to remind himself that strength doesn't mean anything. that he could hold you up for as long as you needed. that he would hold you up forever.

he plants his feet in the ground and digs his toes into the soil.

he smiles at you.

"i love shakes," he says.

and what he really means is.

i love you.

"it is two in the morning," you complain as peter rubs his hand together, looking like a child.

excited and lit up and far too awake for this early in the morning.

"i thought you were young," peter says. pulling you along.

his hands are cold.

and still, you don't really mind.

he's holding your hand.

"i am young. and old enough to not want to freeze to death on some swings right now."

"y/n," he chides as if you're being ridiculous. "when was the last time you played on a swing set?"

"probably when i was five."

peter points at you. "exactly. you don't remember what it's like. the joy of feeling like you're going to fall off--"

"and die."

"i won't let you die."

"peter," you say, dryly.

but you're smiling at him.

and as long as he keeps holding your hand, you think, you might follow him anywhere.

when peter notices that you're shivering, he offers you his jacket.

but you don't take it.

"i've seen you in the office," you say to him, the words teasing. "and i know that you're the one always turning the heat up."

"it's cold in there!" peter protests, following you as you lead him to the edge of the world.

as he tells himself that it's nothing.

nothing at all.

expect wanting to keep you awake, to keep you smiling, to keep you from falling on your face, and to keep you in his arms.

you don't take his jacket, so he must resort to the next best thing.

slinging an arm around your shoulder so he can nuzzle his nose into your neck.

"peter!" you squeal, squirming away from him.

but his hands are wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

and he's definitely not taking the time to breathe you in and imagine kissing your skin right where it's most warm.

"are you cold now?" he asks, trailing his nose up your neck, feeling you shiver beneath him.

"no."

"are you sure?" his lips are at your ear.

his grip is weak, barely even there. but he can feel how heavy you're breathing. he can see your breath in the air.

"i'm perfectly content, thank you."

you only stutter a little bit. only sound a little bit shaky.

"you can still have my jacket," peter tells you, lips close to your jaw, nose by your cheek. your skin is soft, smooth.

"i don't want your jacket."

"it's warm."

"so am i," you claim, but you're leaning into him. just a little bit.

peter pretends that it means nothing.

and when he walks you home, you snuggle under the jacket with him.

the pounding in his chest is nothing more but a simple reminder.

he's strong enough to live with it.

to hold you this close and have it mean nothing.

there's this thing.

it's been there for a couple of weeks.

pressure on your chest, an unrelenting reminder that you need to do something.

and you ignore it, for the most part.

tell yourself that it's nothing significant.

but looking at peter now--peter with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes and small smile and eyes and--you can feel it.

trickling down your throat, a gentle river, swarming at the bottom of your stomach.

you take a breath in.

"that was a lot more fun than last year," you tell him because it's only the truth.

his smile widens. "i was right."

you point a finger at him. "the party was lame," you clarify. "but the company was good."

"just good?"

he's got dimples.

dimples that you might drink out of, given the chance.

you shake that thought out of your mind.

"getting cocky, parker?"

his eyes are on yours, swarming your face. "i can tell when you're lying."

the smile on your face feels almost numb.

and you don't say anything back to him.

the pressure enhances, builds and falls, and pounds on the doors to your heart, swearing that it only needs a place to stay.

you've always been too kind.

been too forgiving.

loved a little bit too much.

"okay," peter whispers, taking a step back from you, hands leaving yours. "you should go inside."

"why?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"it's cold out here."

"i'm not cold."

he smiles. brushes the side of your face with his finger. "liar liar," he says, softly.

his fingertips make your whole body fall apart.

you might be ashamed if you weren't so completely invigorated with him.

"are you going to be okay getting home?" you ask, just to break some of the silence.

tear your heart apart vein by vein.

"i'll be fine."

"it's late," you protest. "you could get hurt."

"i appreciate your confidence," he's smiling at you, but it's not enough.

"peter," you sigh.

his hand falls to your chin, tracing a line up your jaw. "hey," he whispers. "i'll be fine."

"hey," he says to you, again and again.

the pressure increases until you can barely feel anything at all.

and here's the thing about peter.

you can't stop looking at him--from that very first day.

and you haven't been able to stop loving him for months since then.

"i've got to go," he whispers, but you both know that he doesn't really mean it.

"peter," you say.

he stares at you. his eyes flick from every inch of your face, every small spot, every secret that you have written on the skin there.

he's close enough that you can feel his breath.

that you never want him to move away.

and you should really turn and open the door.

you should really go inside and forget about all of this.

you should pretend that this means nothing for just a moment more.

but.

"peter," you whisper, one last time.

"yes?" he answers back, right there. so close to you.

and his eyes stare back at yours. they have answers. they have so many questions.

"you need to kiss me."

and then, he does.

"what?" you whisper to him, walking down the hallway, taking your jacket off, bag in hand.

peter is pretending that he's not trying to slip his fingers in between yours.

he's pretending that this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

"we should've taken the day off," he says.

"we just had two days off."

"not long enough," he swears, whispering so that only you can hear. "i want a lifetime."

"let's start with this week."

he laughs. he's far too close to you.

fraternization is forbidden.

"this is weird," he says. "i want to kiss you."

"you can kiss me at five."

"but i want to kiss you now."

"join the club."

he smiles at you, and finally lets your fingers slip from his. he watches your eyes, so sure on his that it almost makes his knees buckle.

"i'm going to hold you to that," he says.

"good."

and then you walk to your desk, putting your jacket over your chair.

peter is staring at you, but what else is new?

you look up, just so you can smile at him.

with the lips that he's tasted. the hands that he's felt. the girl that he's spent the last two days with, and also can't get enough of.

he wants to run over to you. he wants to kiss you just one last time.

and, if the look on your face means anything, he's pretty sure you feel the same.

he pouts.

you laugh. point at the clock.

he stares some more.

and really, it's not like he got a lot of work done before anyway.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah

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secretaccountlol · 1 year

Note

Request! Andrew garfield's Peter Parker having such a strong breeding kink like he'd fuck babies into his wife everytime she so much as kisses a baby's head!

Honestly this was very hard for me considering, I find being pregnant extremely terrifying.

but I tried! Let me know if you enjoyed tehehe

Bonus it’s husband! Dad! Peter. I wanted it to be like soft giggly sex then I got lost in the sauce :3 but anyways enjoy!

18+ no minors!

Cw: breeding and cum n I guess nicknames lol.

“Oh my gosh! Who is this little one?” You cooed at your aunt's new arrival.

“Her name is Jamie, the newest member of the family. “ your aunt squealed.

Your baby cousin's little chubby hands reach out to you, you let her tiny hand wrap around your finger. She babbles, making you giggle giving her tiny kisses on her cheeks which makes her laugh.

“Oh? What’s this about?” You glance back at Peter, your lovely husband.

“Meet our new family member, Jamie!” You give Jamie a big kiss on the head with a “mwah!” Making her burst into laughter even more.

“God- that is so cute” you hear Peter chuckle out as you stand up.

“Well we better get goin’ we have a babysitter watchin’ our little one at home. Don’t want to keep her waiting “ you motioned to the door.

“You should bring them over next time! They can have a playdate!” Your aunt giggled, and you smiled.

“Sounds like a plan, bye bye auntie!”

“Hi, Ms. and Mr. Parker! The baby is already tucked in and fed.” Abby, your babysitter beamed as you walked through the door.

“Seriously? Aw Abby, you shouldn’t have!” You gave her a big hug, as Peter pulled out some money to pay her.

“My pleasure! Your baby is such a delight to be with honestly, so calm.” Abby put her hand on her heart making you smile.

“I’m glad. Here is a little extra for a job well done.” Peter handled Abby the cash as she skipped out your front door.

“Welp, that takes care of that.” You clapped, “What should we do now hubby? I kinda feel bummed for leaving early now, I could’ve played with the baby more.” You pouted, turning to your strangely quiet husband.

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that for very long.” Peter's hands encircled your waist, caging you against him.

“Oh? Is that so? How?” You bit your lip as Peter rocked you back and forth in his arms.

“You know, seeing you with your aunt's kid.. makes me want to have another one.” Peter hummed, you giggled, kissing his chin as he guided you to your shared room.

“Is that so, Mr.Parker?” You wiggled your eyebrows, your legs hit the side of your bed.

“Mm, so how about it?” Peter traces circles on exposed flesh before gently tugging your shirt off before taking his off as well.

“Well, I’m lettin’ you do all this, aren’t I? ” You stuck your tongue out, Peter took that opportunity to slip it into his mouth, making you shudder with delight.

Peter’s hands unhooked your jeans, pulled them down quickly, you stepped out of them as quickly before helping him do the same, you shrieked as he picked you up.

“Honey- shhh!” Peter covers your mouth, you lick his palm making Peter cringe, pulling his hand away, dropping you on the bed making you giggle.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it.” Peter plopped on top of you,

Your hums fueled him as his lips leave prints down your neck to your stomach, his fingers tracing down softly, you tremble.

“Soon, I’m gonna put another baby in here.” He taps your stomach, planting a kiss on the spot he tapped, allowing his tongue to drag down to your panty line.

His fingers hook your waistband, “Mm, every time I do this I feel like a kid on Christmas Day.” You grin at his

The statement, “Glad to know I'm the best gift you can get.”

Peter slips your underwear down your leg throwing them somewhere in your room. His finger slid into your cunt with ease, his thumb stroking your clit with a humming rhythm.

Your moans encourage another one, whimpering escaping your lips, “I gotta make sure you're nice and ready to take my cock.” his fingers brush your g spot making you buck up, “Fuck Pete..!”

Peter’s pace quickens, curling his fingers into you, his tongue joining his fingers in torturing you. Your head tilts back in delight, “So pretty seeing you losing yourself on my fingers and mouth.” Peter kissed your clit before sucking intensely making you seize as

A wash of pleasure overtakes your body.

“Y-you’re too good at that, y’know?” You stroke Peter’s hair, he takes your hand kissing it tenderly, you hum with satisfaction.

Peter’s boxers come off in a swift move, you smile at the familiar friend, “ Well hello there big fella.” You grin

Parker lines up your hole as you speak, laughing.

“Ya, big fella is happy to see you too.” Parker’s hands held your hips, plunging himself into you with a groan.

You whine as he starts his thrusts, “I’m gonna put a baby in you.” Peter bends down, nipping at the flesh on your collarbone and neck, more plastering little hickies.

“Pe-Pete, mm…! Please-!” Your legs wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper inside of you, making you both whimper.

“Aw- W-want me to breed this pretty pussy of yours? H-hm?” Peter rams into you, your eyes roll back as he hits that oh-so-sweet spot.

“Yes! Yes! Please-! C-cum in m-me please!” You squeal out as his finger rubs circles on your clit, Peter whimpers as you clench tighter.

“Yeah? M’gonna fill you up so much.” Peter grabs your arms, pinning them down to get a better grip to ram into you, making you feel oh so weak.

“Mm- p..please! Ple-! G-get me p-“ your mewl cuts you off as Peter’s hands abandon your arms to snatch your hips drilling into you in sloppy motion.

“H-hm? Get- get you what- baby? Tell me!” Peter growls and you whimper in response.

“P-pregnant! Pleas-please! C-cum i-in me!” Your hands grip his back, your nails scratch red marks into his milky skin.

“Fuck- You’re- you’re squeezing me so har-! I’m gonn- cum” Peter whimpers, you nod vigorously.

“Y-yes ! Please- I-I wanna cum wii-with you!” You wail,

“Wanna c-cum with me, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Y-yes!”

Peter’s rhythm hastens as you grip the bed, biting your lip to keep yourself from screaming.

“D-don’t wa-waste a single drop, y-you're gonna take it all- all of it!” Peter’s strained voice was music to your ears as that familiar pit builds in your stomach.

Your whines send Peter into a frenzy, the room is only filled with his grunts and your sobs. Your eyes close as Peter’s thrust grows messy, your toes curl as you feel his cock pulsing before a warm sensation fills your pussy.

The room is silent other than the soft pants of you and peter.

“Mmm, that was good.”

Peter pulls out of you, making you both whimper. His fingers push the oozing cum back into you eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

“Gotta make sure everything stays in, right?” Peter states making you giggle.

“Have any new baby names in mind, my love?” Peter’s hands rub your stomach. You hum in response.

“Mm, not really but..we have 9 months to decide right?” You kiss your husband before you both snuggle together.

#tasm!peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm fic #peter parker fic #peter parker oneshot #tasm andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker x you #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!peter x reader

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reidslovely · 2 years

Text

That’s the Price (Mob! Peter Parker x Reader) (Chapter One)

Request: Yes/No

Summary: Leaving an abusive household in your early 20′s should be liberating. Instead, (Y/N) was forced into an arranged marriage with a stranger who only ever watched her from a far. Now Peter, the soft but rigid man, will do anything in his ability to make her feel safe.

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse (physical and emotional) on the part of readers father, talks of murder, passing mentions of outbursts of anger on the part of reader, reader has a trauma response nothing too intense but still be warned. I think that is all please let me know of anything I missed.

Disclaimer: This is my first time since like 2017 writing any type of mob au! All my inspiration comes from the different interpretations of Mob! Peter I’ve seen on here. My skills may be a bit rusty, but the more y’all request him the more I will write of him.

series masterlist link

playlist link

Please, please reblog! It helps writers more than you know. Enjoy!

Young girls always idolize the love story of Belle and the Beast; the idea of a strong, misunderstood man whisking the unhappy girl away from her unhappy life sounded so beautiful as a kid. All those wishes (Y/N) made as a child, to be whisked away from her miserable day to day, had crawled up and bit her in the ass.

“Mrs. Parker?”

Her nose twitched as she admired the flowers sitting on the vanity, ignoring the faint voice of Mr. Morales who, no doubt, had come to tell her Peter was requesting her presence at breakfast. A beautiful array of green, and baby blue hydrangeas sat in front of the open window of their bedroom, a form of apology from her new husband attached.

‘Neshama sheli,

Green for renewal and rebirth, blue for my apologies.

I hope to see you today, it has been a rough couple of days but we can’t ignore each other forever. We can do anything you want, my time is yours.

-Peter.”

It was his handwriting alright, capital letters where lowercase should be and slanted slightly to the right. She clenched the note in her hand, tears building in her eyes as she remembered the first letter she had received from him. Her father forced it into her hand as he explained the situation as she sat sobbing on the floor, her cheek throbbing from the punishment after she had said she wouldn’t be married off.

“It’ll be good for both families, clear any bad blood. It is your duty to marry this man, it has been a long time in the making.” Tony explained, kneeling in front of his daughter. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. “So stop your fucking crying. We have a fiance to meet. Put something on that.” His finger prodded at the red, throbbing mark under her eyes.

Silence fell over the room as she wiped her eyes at the memory, it was a terrible memory that made her feel sick. There were not many memories of her father she thought too fondly on, they all sent her into a state of sickness. The door of the bathroom pushed open, (Y/N) jumped up from the vanity as she caught the tall figure in the mirror.

“I’m sorry..I was going to come down. I was on my way down. I- I wanted to look presentable for you.” Her apologies rolled off her tongue, as Peter's figure stalked towards her. His hands dropped into his pockets, in what he believed to be a non threatening position- but he had a lot to learn.

“I’m not angry, dove.” He pulled his hands from his pockets, placing them on his hips. “I was worried, Miles said you didn’t answer. We didn’t want a wedding day repeat, d’ya love.”

His steps towards her continued, each more careful than the last. His hands lowered, settling her back into the chair of the vanity. (Y/N)’s glossy eyes stared at him, shocked by his kindness; her cheek nuzzled into his palm. Her breaths evened out, and her eyes flooded with displaced tears.

“It’s alright, Dove. I’m here.”

“You scared me..”

Peter pressed his lips together, working her through the moment. He knew what she had gone through, Aunt May had warned him of her delicate state but the vase of flowers to the wall on the wedding day sealed the door.

Tony, (Y/N)’s father, was a deeply distrusting and unkind man. Peter had watched his future in-laws at a distance for years, even when the business between the two families was at a low. He hadn't trusted Tony since the day he laid eyes on him, he remembers the first interaction very clearly. It was at Ben’s funeral that (Y/N)’s father told Peter, to his face, that he was a kid and that he could never run this business. That after Ben had died, it should have been Tony who took over, not the unofficial son of Ben Parker. However, Peter had abilities that Tony was never capable of. Ben knew Peter, though he was just freshly eighteen, would improve the empire they had built.

That day was also the day he had been told what he and (Y/N) would be one day. May had informed him that was the girl he was going to marry one day.

(Y/N) was gorgeous, she was anything a man could want in a wife. He watched her interact with his men’s children; the way she happily played games with them. Peter thought of (Y/N) interacting with their future kids, he smiled at her when she caught his stare. She smiled back, sweet and shy. That’s when he noticed the other parts of her. There was a big bruise, poorly covered on her collarbone; the mark showing from the neck of her dress. He wondered how it had got there, when her fathers had squeezed down on her shoulder followed by a daring glare. That's when he realized how. Peter wanted to prove it, to run to May and tell her what he saw, ask what Ben would do. But, there was no actual proof- it was one bruise and visible anger he saw it wouldn’t prove liable. He saw her on and off after that, never alone enough to ask what her father did to her. Not at least up till the weeks before their wedding, he saw it with his own eyes. It was time to make any sort of case that he could against Tony.

Their wedding day changed everything. (Y/N)’s only request to May was that her father was not invited- and that their flowers be red hydrangeas. Check, and check. (Y/N) had her red flowers, and her father escorted from the building. Peter had got to cradle his bride as she broke down in his arms after their vows, he felt her pain, almost as if they were connected. It didn’t last more than a few minutes, because (Y/N) hadn’t seen the innocent touch way he had, she saw herself as being restricted physically and metaphorically. Tony always told her she was something to keep the Parker’s happy, and off his back. Her coldness returned, before the vase of red hydrangeas sitting on the table went barreling past his head and to the wall. It was misdirected anger, he couldn’t blame her. She was a fragile, and shaken animal and right now she saw him as a predator.

In this moment though, the green and blue hydrangeas sat firmly in the windowsill not moving and not coming towards his head.

“Better?” He asks his thumb stroking her cheek, his eyes roaming her face. (Y/N)’s eyes found him, she nuzzled her face into his palm as she nodded. She has taken a liking to him in the weeks after.

“Okay..come eat breakfast. You’ll feel better.”

Peter stood, reaching his hand out to her, (Y/N) placed hers in his letting him lead her down the stairs to the kitchen. The rest of the morning went perfectly, they talked and laughed. It was the first time since they met that they felt like real people towards one another. (Y/N) even started to allow him to kiss her, briefly, before he had to disappear into his office.

His feet were propped on his desk, as he stared out the window. Lost in thought as Miles explained an ongoing business deal with the Reid’s Hauling company; but all he could think about was the woman downstairs waiting for him.

“P- Peter..”

Her voice carried in the small room, over Miles even. Peter snapped his head towards her in a smile. “Hi, Dove.” His feet carried him over to her quickly, his hands settling on her side as he kissed her forehead. “Did you need something?”

“No I just..I finished my shower and wanted to see you.” (Y/N)’s hands held the opening of his suit jacket, looking up at him. “But if you’re busy I can..”

“No, no. This is your business too- everything I plan I tell you. This is a partnership, Dove.”

(Y/N) looked at him with soft eyes, his hand on her waist leading them back to the desk. (Y/N) nestled on his lap listening to the young men talk, (Y/N) twisted Peter’s wedding ring around his finger as they plotted out a line of attack. Peter treaded carefully around his words, not wanting to trigger anything in (Y/N); but when he looked at her she was far away.

“Miles, a second.” Peter nodded towards the door, the protege left, closing the door behind him. Peter fixed her on his lap, causing her to look at him. Her eyes glistening with salty tears, guilt building up in them

“I know you hurt, and that’s okay my love. But you need to tell me when you’re not in a good mindset. I am going to say things that might..”

“I just feel so guilty Pete, for hearing this stuff. For being here..” He couldn’t finish his sentence before she had fully started to cry. His tone was maybe too rough in scolding her, all of this was still so fresh for both of them. He held her against his chest, his hands rubbing her back as she cried, his lips resting on her forehead.

“Don’t feel guilty. What did I tell you? You’re allowed to have a voice in your life, in our life Dove.”

“But my dad, he never let me hear this stuff. Said that I need to-”

“Be in the kitchen and make the men you’re serving happy. I know, but I don’t want that from you. He was a mean man, and those are things we don’t stand for anymore. Times have changed, this is our family, and our business okay baby.” Peter held her face in his hands. “Tony was a mean, disgusting man who did incredibly wrong things to you. And even through it all, you became better than he could ever want to be.”

His thumbs wiped away the tears off her cheek, her forehead dropped against his.

“You’re sweet, kind, and so understanding. You don’t understand how badly, and how long I have wanted to make him pay for what he’s done to you.”

“Then do it..”

The words shocked both of them, Peter stared at her looking for any sign of truth in her eyes. It was all he saw, she was pleading with him. He tucked her hair behind her ear, as he reached for the phone on his desk. As he dialed the number he stared her down, waiting for any cue to stop while he was ahead of himself. He kissed the apples of her cheeks, as the other end picked up.

“Tony, it’s Peter. Yeah, yeah..listen man, why don't you meet me for a late lunch. We have some things to work out man.”

As he spoke his hand tightened around his girl, holding her close assuring her it was all going to be okay.

-----

tags

@bxcketbarnes @sincericida @helloheyhihowdyheya @marrymetheonott @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @theonlymaddie @lateridk @andrews-lovr @adhdhufflepuff @thatsassyhufflepuff @megmehz

#mob!peter parker #peter parker x fem #tasm peter parker x self insert #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x self insert #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker imagine #peter parker imagine #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!spiderman

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mrsbrookemunson · 1 year

Text

Spider-Man | Andrew!Peter x Fem!Reader

Prompt: This is when Peter Parker gets his powers in the movie, except you're right there with him as his best friend.

Genre: Fluff with underlying angst

Warnings: Swearing, canon fighting, mentions of injuries (Reader gets hit in the face with a skateboard, and whacked in the stomach with a pole), Peter's low key kind of mean to the reader (but cares), arguments, Peter likes Gwen, implied chubby!reader, it is the subway, and aftermath scene from the movie. Definitely a few typos

Word Count: 3445

A/N: I actually wrote a whole bestfriend!reader x Peter Parker series and never posted it, so let me know if you want part two.

| Part One | Part Two |

It all happened when Peter Parker said he was going to try to find some Dr. Conners that knew his dad back in the day, plain and simple. And me being the bestest friend I am, I waited at a coffee shop—did all my homework, not to brag… it’s a process!—so that he didn’t have to go home—which happens to be next to mine—on the subway alone. Plain. And. Simple.

“There you are!” I exclaimed, happily. “You know when someone says they’re five minutes away, I’d like to believe they are indeed… five minutes away.” I stood up, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat, the chill air having not gone away in the city of New York for a while.

Peter gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I just… have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired,” he explained, sounding distant.

I narrowed my eyes at him in question. He definitely seems off. “Ah, it’s okay, you know I can’t stay mad at you.” I widely smiled, slapping him on the arm which causes him to jolt. “So, how was it?” Did you find Dr. Conners?”

He nodded, “I did.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “And?”

“And–what? We didn’t talk, I couldn’t get him alone.”

I frowned. “Next time then…” I assured. “Anything else that happened that I should know about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing of importance.” His lips twitched up for a second afterwards. “But… Gwen Stacy was there.”

My heart hammered, “That girl you’re madly in love with?”

He laughed my statement off, awkwardly. “I’m not in love with her,” he protested weakly. “Just interested is all.”

I let out an absentminded hum.

At that moment the train came hustling in with an abrupt stop.

Saved by the subway.

“Shall we?” I tilted my head towards it.

“We shall,” he replied.

If I knew that Peter would’ve fallen asleep on the train, I also wouldn’t have drifted off… but I did… honestly… kind of worth it.

His feet were elevated, resting against the wall beside my head in his lying down position. I, on the other hand, was sitting upright, my neck craned back in a very uncomfortable manner. I was surprised we both dozed with the group of drunks beside us causing a ruckus. The group, stupidly, danced and laughed, the smell of cigarettes and beer burned my nostrils.

Suddenly I was woken up when Peter made a harsh movement up.

What I didn’t expect to see was him attached to the roof of the transport. “P–Peter?” I rubbed my eyes in the slight chance I was dreaming.

Everyone stared at him in a tense silence, including me.

Peter looked at his hands which stuck onto the metal, hesitantly letting go, sending him down to the ground. “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned, kneeling down beside him to help him up.

“Yeah,” he answered, unsure. “You did see that right?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but get cut off by one of the girls present, “Disgusting, now I smell my beer.”

I had to resist the strong urge to roll my eyes. Because that’s what’s important.

Peter, being Peter, looked at her in alarm, and guilt. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice dragged when he tried to pull his hand away.

“Peter?” I eyed him, weirded out at the turn of events that took place

“I didn’t–I didn’t,” he stuttered, still struggling his hand away.

An older man walked up to Peter, a tough persona displayed. “Get your hand off her!” he commanded.

Peter looked at the man, fearfully.

“I’m trying to get my—”

“Can’t you see he’s trying!” I shouted.

The guy, now angry, pushed Peter away from the girl, his hand took her shirt along with him. A couple of the surrounding guys laughed, staring.

“Well, that’s one way of getting your hand off of her,” I joked, but Peter didn’t react.

The man that pushed Peter gets more riled up from this action, “Are you kidding?”

Peter held onto one of the hand bars that he was previously rammed into, looking away from the girl, respectfully. “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand back, her shirt still latched onto the palm of his hand.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” the man shouted.

“Hey! It’s not his fault,” I argued in his defense. “Can’t you see he was trying to? Technically you were the one that pushed him, which led to the accidental taking off of this… lady’s shirt, so–technically–it’s your fault.”

I noticed in the corner of my eye Peter trying to pull his hand away from the hand bar just as I heard, “Hey, get him, Rudy, I got the girl.”

“What?!” I raised my hands up in defense. “Isn’t this whole thing about sticking up for women?”

“Hey!” Ignoring my words the man threw a punch towards Peter who raised a swift leg, kicking the man past me and onto another bench. The man groaned in pain.

“Woah,” I let out, breathless as the man fell to the ground.

“Man, I’m sorry! Oh, man, are you all right?” Peter rambled, turning to look at him.

As if he knew, Peter pushes up kicking another guy that had just about lunged at him, the momentum of it ended with him on his back.

“Take him down! Come on,” a woman shouted.

“Woah hold on–ah!”

I was about to step in when another guy charged towards Peter who kicked up at the guy, doing a kip up, effortlessly landing on his feet. All with still holding onto the hand rail. “Get him, man! Get him!”

There was only one guy left standing, his head whipping to the skateboard on the ground, Peter ever-so-slightly shook his head, eyeing it upsettingly. “No, man, no. Not my board,” he pleaded.

I was just about to grab it when the guy got it first in a flash, winding it back.

“Please, dude, don’t—” Peter didn’t finish his sentence as it was about to hit him, but the impact never came. “Y/n—You!”

Of course, during this part all I saw was pitch black darkness, Peter–thankfully–filled me in on what happened after I was ejected from existence… I can still feel the pain.

The guy with the skateboard still in hand, attempted to swing at Peter for a second time, but Peter manages to kick up once again, and swung around to straddle his own arms in a bent position. Much to Peter’s dismay, the pole broke from the ground, nearly hitting me…

Oh wait—

First he hit the guy who started it all right where the sun didn't shine. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then another guy in the jaw. “Oh.” He turns to look at all the guys lifeless on the ground. “I am so sorry.” And then—

“I’m alive–UGH!” I crouched down, holding my stomach.

Peter finally gained the ability to drop the pole, staring down at his hand in shock.

Coney Island, next stop, the conductor’s voice resonated through the poorly made speakers, repeating it.

“A little help down here,” I squeaked.

Peter snapped his attention to me who was… in a lot of pain. “Oh my—” he cut himself off, rushing to me. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you okay? Does it hurt? Of course it hurts, you were hit with a skateboard. Can you remember things? What’s your name? What is my name?” He took my face into his hands, inspecting it carefully. “Why the Hell did you do that? You definitely have a concussion.”

“Peter! Everyone is staring.” I covered his hands which have yet to pull away from my cheeks that felt as though they were on fire.

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out, shutting it. “Do you think your aunt would be okay if you spent the night?”

“As long as we use protection,” I teased.

Peter’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Oh–I didn’t mean–it’s just my aunt always says to… nevermind.”

It was a long ride to the Parker residence from there.

Peter practically sprinted off of the train when we arrived. “Peter!” I screamed due to the amount of distance he put between us.

“Oh, right!” He ran back, not wasting anymore time. “Hop on my back!”

I blinked a few times, “Wh-What?”

“Hop on… my back.” He set his backpack on the ground. “I literally just ripped a metal pole out of the ground, I can carry you.”

I hesitated. “You’ve never been able to carry me before,” I pointed out, sadly. “Not to mention I have a backpack that weighs at least 50 pounds.

“Don’t say it like that, please, you’re probably lighter than air, it’s my fault I’m so weak,” he begs. “Let’s just try.”

“I hate trying.”

“I know you do,” he dismissed, turning around, and kneeling.

“If this goes poorly…” I dragged.

Peter didn't respond, as I cautiously wrapped my legs to straddle his back.

“Okay I–woah!” I gasped when he stood upright. “Okay, okay, okay, you’re holding me up, that’s…”

“Just hold on tight.”

I do as he said, wrapping my arms around his neck, and intertwining my legs around his torso. “Why? You aren’t going to—No!” I shrieked when he starts to sprint again. “Peter!” I tighten edmy grip around him, my face nestled into the crook of his neck. “How are you doing this right now?” I asked, hinting at the fact he’s running with me on his back, with my backpack on, while carrying his backpack, and skateboard, which apparently broke at the second hit at him. It broke off of him.

Can’t deny all of it was attractive, well… what I saw before I was knocked out.

“How did I do any of that stuff?”

I opened my mouth to reply with something clever, but nothing formed.

“See?” he laughed.

I noticed that his face was starting to break out into a cold sweat. “Peter? You’re sweating. I knew this would be too much for you—”

“No! I think it’s the shock, the reaction. You know…” He began to slow down. “I am not beginning to feel too well,” he admitted, starting to stumble a little.

“Okay, you need to let me go. “

“It’s not you, I swear!”

“I’m not saying it is, we’re almost at your house Peter, we can walk from here.”

Giving in, he let me go. And looking at him… he didn’t look too good. Well, he always looks good, but I mean like… he looks ill. “It wasn’t you…” he reassured, shaking his head, spastically.

“Let’s just… get you home, okay?”

I go to grab his hand, but he jerked away. What is happening right now?

We arrived at his house. I opened the door, and ushered Peter inside whilst closing the door behind us. “Uh, hey,” Peter greeted. “Hey, hey.” He walked off without me.

I scrambled to keep up with his long strides as he met up with Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

“Sorry. I’m late–and–uh Y/n's here too.” He gestured toward me as I peak my head around the corner. “We got—”

“We’ve been so worried.” Aunt May stood to block him with a stern expression. “Your aunt too, Y/n!” She pointed to me who sported a sheepish smile.

My eyes looked down at my phone which I had yet to pull out tonight, cringing at the number of voicemails and messages. I sent her a quick one back that I was safe and would be staying the night at Peter’s. “Use protection,” I read my Aunt Yelena’s text in a hushed tone.

“I know. I’m sorry. Watch out!”

I looked up in alarm to see Peter catch something about the size of a fingernail, if not smaller. My feet got the better of me as I made my way towards Peter’s raised hand that rested in front of May’s face to get a better look. My body pushed up just beside Peter’s… I don’t think he noticed.

The fly buzzed as a beat of silence went by, Peter not being able to look at anything besides the insect just in between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger.

“That’s a fly, Peter,” Aunt May commented, her hands pressed against her chest, scared.

Peter, for sure out of it, let go, waving his hand in the air. “Yeah,” he responded, carelessly.

It flew around his head, his eyes following it carefully. “Nice catch,” I whispered. He jumped, dramatically, looking at me as if I was a ghost before looking back at Aunt May.

He wiped his bottom lip, preparing as if to say something, “I’m so sorry I kept you guys up,” he paused. “I’m insensitive, I’m irresponsible, and I’m hungry.” He goes to push past Aunt May, pressing a kiss on her cheek, and handing her half his broken board in the process.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben looked at me for answers, but I could only supply them a weak chuckle. Ben stood up to position himself next to May in the doorway of the kitchen, fitting myself right in between them.

The three of us watched as Peter dug out a yellow plate of what looked to be May’s meatloaf, unwrapping it, then proceeding to eat as if he hasn’t eaten anything in days, letting out breaths of relief. Was I somehow finding this attractive? Yes. “Drinking?” May questioned, eyes glancing at me as a quick analysis to see if I was in the same shape.

Ben, grasped the concept, and looked at me as well. I gave him a helpless shrug.

“What’s this?” Peter asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ben answered to May.

“This is your meat loaf,” Peter concluded chuckling, continuing to lean against the opened fridge door. “This beats all other meat loafs.”

Ben and I gave each other pointed looks of acknowledgement of his words.

“Something is very wrong,” May observed

“Yeah,” Ben started.

“Nobody likes your meat loaf,” Ben and I finished at the same time.

May looked at us both in slight irritation, her previous concerned expression dropping.

I don’t even know how it happened but the next time I saw Peter he was carrying at least seven courses, including ice cream and–is that frozen mac n’ cheese?

Peter slid past the three of us, nearly dropping one of the containers which May immediately reached out to catch, but the crook of Peter’s elbow did the job for her. “I got it,” he affirmed.

“He took the frozen macaroni and cheese,” May voiced.

“I noticed that,” Ben responded.

Ben and May looked at me with another interrogative gaze.

I sucked on my teeth for a moment, “I really can’t answer that for you.”

May looked at Ben and I with a more threatening appearance. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you didn’t like my meat loaf? Especially you Ben!”

“Um…” He gaped at her.

“You could have said that to me 37 years ago—”

“Y/n!” Peter called out from his room.

“You’re on your own Uncle Ben.” I saluted him, making a haste exit away from the conversation.

When I got to Peter’s room I didn’t find him. “Peter?”

“In here,” a muffled voice says.

I went to the bathroom, opening and closing the door to see him splashing water on his face. “Peter, what the hell was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

He stared at his reflection, his hand reaching up at the collar of his shirt, connecting his fingers to something.

“What’s that?” I took a step toward him to inspect. “It looks like—like a string.”

He pulled at it, my eyes meeting what looked to be, “a bite.”

He pulled on the string, a groan of pain escaping past his lips. He goes to look at it, a mixture of emotions flashing across his eyes as it now appear to resemble more of a web than a string. His eyebrows twitched up, as his eyes followed the trail that lead from his right hand to his left. He shuddered a couple of times. I didn’t dare to speak a word, rather just watched, but when I saw the dead spider at the end I nearly screamed.

He looked away from it, blinking twice until they fully close.

“Peter,” I breathed. “You need to go to a hospital, that spider could’ve been deadly.”

He shook his head now looking at me. I traced out his eyes that were bloodshot, a dark shadow casting underneath them. “No, we do not speak of this. I just–I just need some rest. You–you should go home.”

I look at him taken aback. “Yeah. Right. Like I would ever leave you alone knowing this. What if you have a seizure or something? What if your skin starts burning holes? What if—”

“I get it!” he snapped. “Fine. You can stay.”

I gave him a proud smile. “Cool, see you in your room.” I smoothly winked at him, skipping off to allow him a second to himself. What a twist of events.

Beep—

I jumped up when Peter abruptly slammed his fist down on his alarm clock, the whole thing blowing up into bits. “Holy—my God, Peter, you—” My eyes set on the broken pieces of the poor alarm clock that got a taste of his newfound strength, coughing a little from the smoke

His head burrowed into the pillow he had laying on the ground.

Despite having slept in the same bed multiple times, with said new strength Peter argued against it this time, claiming he'd accidentally hurt me in his sleep. With that said, he refused to have me sleep on the floor with my obvious concussion. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

Groggily he got up, storming out, and to the bathroom.

It was less than a minute later when I heard him let out a small cry. “Peter?” I opened the door to see water shooting out from the faucet. “What did you do?” I closed the door in case either May or Ben decided to walk by.

“Do you really need me to answer that?!” he replied, angry. He reached for the towel beside the sink, when the holder for it ripped off the wall.

“Peter, just calm down!” I attempted to ease, as he frantically spun around.

He tried to cover the broken faucet with the piece that he ripped off, eventually throwing the towel over it. His hand went toward the doorknob to the cabinet only to have that also be broken off. In defeat he looked at me.

“How about you try to open this door—” I knock edon the wood behind me, “—as carefully as possible?”

He hesitated, but when I moved out of the way for him to obey, he walked up, only the tips of his fingers holding the doorknob, delicately turning it. Not without another look at me he left, slamming the door. “Thanks Peter,” I huffed, walking out of the bathroom.

When I went into Peter’s room I found him sitting on his bed, toothbrush in one hand, and the doorknob in the other.

“Peter…?” I took soft steps toward him.

He jolted up, turning his head to the side, frantically. He stared at something in horror. He jolted again, moving his whole body to turn toward his window, the blinds were down, the room dim. He held his toothbrush out in front of him as some form of defense. Realizing what he’s doing, he stood up. “I have to get to the bottom of this,” he told me.

“You can say that again,” I laughed, going to his computer.

His foot connected to a piece of paper which he struggled to get off. “You–you don’t have to—” he stammered when I offered to get it for him. “Thanks,” he muttered, sitting on his desk chair.

His typing was faster than lightning, looking up every possible thing about spiders and their bites. Nothing matching his problem. He lightly touches the bite on the back of his neck, a sudden impulse going through him as he typed, ‘Richard parker spider’, but it seemed to fade into random letters.

Peter and I both looked down at his hands which he lifts. Some of the keys, including the spacebar, stuck to his fingers. “Sticky like a spider,” I thought out loud. “You’re like a spider, but a man,” I paused, my tongue darting out to swipe over my lips in concentration. “A Spider-Man.”

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

For those who used to be on my taglist and see this, please comment if you want to be on it again, as I have not written in a while and don't know what you're into now. Thank you.

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mayfieldss · 1 year

Text

First date - Peter Parker

AN: A quick Peter Drabble to feed to the birds.

Summary; Peter asks you on a date, though it doesn't all go to plan.

"Will you go out with me?" that was all Peter had to ask. Six words of which the answer would ultimately determine if he would change his name and leave the country or not. If you said yes, Peter could finally be at ease, a no, well that would be earth shattering.

You were important to Peter, one of the only people he had grown to trust and care for in the hellhole he had to call a school, but now he was taking one of the biggest risks of his life.

Truth be told, it had become almost unbearable watching you across the halls, talking to you at lunch and passing notes in classes knowing that he couldn't hold your hand as more than a friend. Knowing he couldn't wrap his arms around you while you stood at your locker, kissing your shoulder with the smile that he only gave to you.

Peter thought about these things far too much for him to consider you just a friend, and even though he was at risk of ruining the great dynamic he had with you if you happened to say no, he couldn't wait any longer.

He stood now, waiting for you outside of the chemistry lab. Peter had long ago memorized your class schedule, all so he could walk with you between classes. He'd done it be a gentleman, but with the hidden intent of spending just a few more minutes in your presence.

Upon occasion you would get out of class early and meet him outside his class instead, jumping out from behind the doors to scare him. He pretended to jump, to be shocked every time you did so, but every time he knew you were there long before he had even packed his books away.

It's nerve-wracking, waiting for you now, and Peter can feel his heart, like boxer, ready to punch its way out of his chest. He knew what he was going to say to you, how he would say it. He'd spent the whole night before planning, reciting the words in his mirror, but as the seconds passed, he felt the syllables fading.

When you stepped out of class, milling behind everyone else, the words left Peter entirely. He stood unable to do anything but smile as he waited for you, sweating through his clothes.

"What's with the face Peter?" It's the first thing you say to him, and only then does Peter realise he's staring, and that he can't bring himself to stop. If he could just stop being creepy for one moment, perhaps just a piece of this could go well.

"I uh, actually have something to ask you," Peter brings a hand up to the back of his neck, eyes moving from you at last to glance at his shoes. "If that's okay with you of course." The words tumble from him, far more awkward than he had intended, and he looks up with a smile so silly with nerves that you laugh.

"Sure Peter, ask away."

It takes him a second to gather his confidence and he has to think back to the reason he's doing this in the first place. If he doesn't ask you out now, someone else might and then he would have missed his chance.

"So, I was thinking, no pressure or anything but if you wanted-" He stops himself. This is ridiculous, the way his words pour out like water from a broken fish tank. He takes a breath and starts again. "Would you be interested in going out with me? On a date, just me and you, tonight?"

It's still terribly embarrassing, and he's stumbling over his words like they are feet stuck out by bullies to trip him in the halls, but it's better than what he started with. "You can say no, I just thought—"

"What time?" You cut Peter off with the question and only now does he notice the smile on your lips, wide as ever.

"What-, what time? Um, eight O'clock?" He doesn't know what he's saying, offering you the first number that came to his mind as an answer. You don't acknowledge how nervous he is, and he loves you for that.

"Okay, where are we going?" You hold your books to your chest and Peter watches as your backpack slides further off your shoulder with every second that passes. You start to walk, and Peter realizes then that you still have to get to class. "I was thinking that new pizza place downtown, but if you want something else—"

"That sounds great Peter."

It occurs to him then just what you are saying. It hits him like a tidal wave, and Peter is met with something like hope in the rush of it all.

"Wait, does this mean it's a yes? You're interested?"

He listens to you let out a quiet laugh before you look at him and he can see the blush forming on your cheeks. "Yes, Peter. I am very interested in going on a date with you."

Peter raises an eyebrow, slowly his confidence seeps back into his bones. He's smiling now, wide. "Very interested?"

He watches as you go red, tilting your head to watch your feet as you walk. "Very."

You repeat it like a bird that's just learnt to talk and the bell that signals the start of next period rings just as you reach the door to your class.

"You better run, Peter. You're gonna be late."

Peter doesn't care at all, and he can't help but grin at you as you walk through the door, leaving him to stew with his thoughts in the hall. He's awkward, and he's nervous, but most of all, Peter is happy because you said yes.

GENERAL TAGLIST; @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreads @hiya-its-amber

TASM PETER PARKER TAGLIST; @arignipanja574 @winter-soldier-vibes

MARVEL GENERAL TAGLIST: @mellowladyangel @5kyyy @avyannadawn

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deadqueerboys · 2 years

Note

hcns for being Peters short boyfriend ? :) (any peter is fine)

I was working, here is it!

Peter Parker x Short! Male reader

Tom! Peter

• It's kind of rare for him to find someone shorter, so it was definitely a surprise, and he loved it.

• Since you guys started dating, he was quick to like hugging you putting his chin on your head and etc… cute, just cute.

• Lend you hoodies!! No matter when, how or why, he will want to lend you!

• I'm sorry, but he would give you stupid nicknames;

Hey, my little one/mini spider.

• Of course, if he ever told you about being Spider-Man, he would do something I'm sure: • Make you wear his suit, at least once.

• He likes to make a lot of jokes too, like walking with his legs bent next to you, but he would apologize right away and kiss you smiling.

• If you asked him to stop the jokes, he would stop right away.

• If anyone DARE makes a joke about his height he will beat them up. It doesn't matter location or situation.

Nobody messes with my little love.

I thought the nicknames were over..

Oh no, I have 13 more of these.

Andrew! Peter;

• Okay, this one isn't that hard to find someone smaller than him, so he's gotten used to it.

• However, some customs never go away, one of them is loving to hold you. • You can be anywhere, in any situation, he would like to pull you close to him and wrap his body against yours.

• Hold your chin with your hand sometimes to make you look at it.

• If it's a good mood day, your 'good morning' already comes with the addition of something;

Good morning my sweet little mess.

• He won't make fun of you, he just likes you to feel protected.

• BUT, he loves to grab something from him every now and then and hold it aloft, daring you to try to take it back—he'll only let you if you pay the toll, which can be a kiss or a hug.

• GODS THIS BOY THINKS YOU'RE SO CUTE.

• No matter what, he'll think you're cute doing it. • Studying? Cute. Cooking? Cute. Just stopped watching TV? Cute.

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bxcketbarnes · 2 years

Note

Congrats on your 11k baby you deserve every single one of them!!! I have to request something 👀 most importantly I have to request the accidentally spraying pepper spraying them in the face with Peter like??? It makes so much sense it will be so funny 👀

Alisson, my dear, thank you for sending a request in from the Bingo Board. I honestly had a feeling you would choose this one and I hope you like it <3

warnings: talk about almost getting mugged

Pepper Sprayed

"How do I know which one is better?" You ask yourself while curling up on the couch. You grab the blanket from behind you before covering your legs. A frown settles on your lips as you look at multiple brands of pepper spray.

A deep sigh leaves your lips and you close out of the app. You decide to text your friend, asking for her opinion on it.

You came back from Florida with your family almost a week ago and you've been a little on edge. One night while you were down there, you decided to take a quick walk along the beach when someone tried to mug you. No one knows about it and you were thankful for the bypasser who scared the mugger away.

Now that you're back in NYC, you decide to invest in some pepper spray. You're snapped out of your thoughts when feeling your phone vibrate in your hand, causing you to glance down at it.

From: Cecile

If you don't want to spend a fortune, I would go with Sabre. It's on Amazon. I'll send you a link to it. Are you okay?

She sends a link right after and you click on it instantly, making a mental reminder to text her as soon as you're done. You look through their different colors, chuckling to yourself at how ugly some of the designs are.

"Do I really need a pretty can of pepper spray?" You ask yourself while combing through your hair.

You go for the basic black one and order it through Amazon Prime. The quicker it gets here, the safer you'll feel.

To: Cecile

Thanks so much for the help. Uhm, yeah, I'm okay. I-I don't like to talk about it but some shit happened down in Miami, so I'm just being cautious.

The door to your apartment door opens as you send the text, glancing over your shoulder to see your boyfriend. "Hey, Pete," you smile at him as he slips his shoes off.

"Hey, honey. How are you?" He asks while walking towards you.

You push yourself off the couch and meet him halfway. You smile up at him, leaning on your toes to greet him with a kiss. "I'm okay. How was your day?" You ask him while gliding your fingers through his hair.

Peter's hands slide up the middle of your back as he sighs. "It was alright. Not too bad. I'm just glad to see you," he mumbles and nuzzles his face into your neck. "I missed you."

Giggles leave your lips as Peter lifts you up. He walks the two of you over to the couch before sitting you on his lap. "I missed you too. You could've come with us," you joke with him, a teasing smile on your lips.

"You know how that conversation would've gone," he mumbles, his voice vibrating against your skin.

You release a sigh and kiss the crown of his head. "I know," you whisper into his hair, your fingers stroking the back of his neck. "But, you need a break too."

His grip on you tightens as your knees dig into the back of the couch. "I know, I know. Maybe one day," he grins before tilting his head up to look at you.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, handsome," you chuckle before kissing his lips lightly.

"God, I love you," Peter mumbles into the kiss, a smile coming to his lips.

You tap your fingers lightly against the back of his neck, dipping into the locks of his hair. "I love you, Peter Parker," you breathe out and rest your forehead against his.

You and Cecile walk down the streets of NYC together and you can't help but look over your shoulder every few minutes.

A hand rests on your arm, causing you to jump back a bit. "Hey," your friend's voice snaps you from your daze. You turn to look at her, seeing the worry in her eyes. "What's going on?"

Your gaze moves back to the concrete sidewalk. "I- Uh, I almost got mugged during my vacation. So, I'm a little on edge I guess," you shrug your shoulders, not wanting to make this situation a big deal.

"Mugged? Babe, why didn't you tell me? Does Peter know?" She questions and you shake your head instantly.

"N-No, Peter doesn't know. Please don't tell him," you almost whisper, bringing your attention back to the brunette. "I don't want him to worry."

Cecile moves her hand to your arm, stopping you from walking. "Honey, he's your boyfriend. He's obviously going to be worried about you, and that's a good thing. He cares about you, immensely. You need to tell him," she mentions as your heart pounds against your chest.

"I'll think about it, okay?" You sigh while continuing to walk towards your place.

Your friend nods her head before her phone starts to ring. She digs through her purse for a few seconds and pulls her phone out. "Hello?" She answers it while pressing the device to her ear.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and check to see if you got any notifications. A text from Peter makes you smile and you click on the notification bubble.

I hope you have a good night, baby 💗

Butterflies swarm your stomach as you text him back really quick. Cecile ends her conversation and glances toward you.

"Bad news, babe," she says with a sigh, tossing her phone back into her purse. "Mom got called into work and needs someone to watch Jordan. So, I need to go. Will you be okay walking home by yourself?"

You nod your head and pull out the small thing of pepper spray you bought. "I'll be okay. It's not that much farther," you tell her with a reassuring smile.

"Okay. Text me when you get home," she mentions with a smile.

"Will do," you wave as the two of you split ways.

When she's out of sight, you release a deep breath. You can feel the anxiety flowing through your veins as you trek home.

You fumble with the pepper spray in your hands while turning the corner. You can see your apartment building standing tall at the end of the street and you let out a breath of relief. The home stretch.

When the sound of quick footsteps reaches your ears you begin to panic. Just aim and shoot. Simple. Just like Peter's web shooters. You think to yourself as the steps grow louder.

The person's hand finds itself on your shoulder and your breath hitches in your throat. You swing at the person's arm, quickly turning around before pepper spraying the assailant.

"Fuck, Y/N!" Peter's voice reaches your ears and your lips part.

Peter takes a couple of steps back and hisses. "P-Peter, I-I'm so sorry," you stutter while reaching your hands out to him.

"When did you get pepper spray?" He asks while keeping his eyes closed.

You wrap an arm around his waist and start to lead him to your place. "I thought you were trying to rob me," you mumble to him while helping him up the steps of your apartment building.

"Rob you? What? Y/N-" he cuts himself off and releases another hiss.

"I'll explain everything after we fix you up," you tell him while leading him to the elevators.

Once the two of you are in your apartment, you kick the door closed as Peter reaches out to grab the edge of your island counter.

You quickly walk over to your fridge and grab the carton of milk. "Baby, come here," you call out to him. You stand next to the sink as Peter walks closer to you. You reach a hand out for him to take and his free hand grips the edge of the sink.

He leans his head over the sink before you start pouring the cold milk onto his face. "I guess I shouldn't be worried about you protecting yourself," Peter jokes with you.

Peter's head rests against your lap after twenty minutes of pouring both milk and water on his eyes. Your fingers comb through his hair as you keep an eye on him.

"I'm sorry again," you tell him and Peter moves his head a bit to look at you, his honey-brown eyes barely open.

"It's okay, honey. I guess I should've called out to you first," he mentions with a smile. His hand finds one of yours before lacing your fingers together.

You bring your conjoined hands to your face and press a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. "You asked me when I got pepper spray," you bring up, and Peter hums in response. "I bought it a week after I got home from Miami."

"For what?" He asks you, his eyebrows furrowing.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you continue combing his hair. "I almost got mugged when I was down there," you whisper loud enough for him to hear.

Peter sits up instantly, his hand gripping the back of your couch. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry, Peter. I-I know now that it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but-"

"Honey," Peter cuts you off and turns to face you, resting his hand on your face. "No matter what, whether you're safe or you're in harm's way, I'm gonna be worried about you. I'm so in love with you and if something happens to you, I'd be devastated."

Tears pool in your eyes as Peter places a soft kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry," you almost cry, your voice cracking.

"It's okay. I'm okay. You were just protecting yourself. I'm proud of you," he mumbles against your skin. "Just… next time tell me about it, okay?"

You nod your head and nuzzle your face into his neck. Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing you against his body before whispering into your ear. "I love you, honey."

Taglist: @jeanettexkillian @undf-stuff @softyutae @theonlymaddie @queenofshinigamis @stewielover95 @foreverrogers @writing-for-marvel @softtdaisy @xoxoloverb @onlyfreds @corneliastreetinstyle @avenjames-anderson @marvelouswinchester @0-0-sunflower-0-0 @sincericida @leleea @jessalyn-jpeg @paw-sneeze @apeainapot @reddesert-healourblues @thewxntersoldier

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spider-stark · 1 year

Text

HANDS

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Peter is completely oblivious to just how horny you get while watching him work.

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Without a doubt, Peter was the smartest person you had ever met. Yet, somehow, he managed to simultaneously be the stupidest.

Prepping for college already kept both of you beyond busy, and the fact that all of his free time was spent clad in spandex swinging around New York didn’t leave the two of you with much time to spend together. Despite this, you two worked hard to make time for each other, with most of your hang-outs consisted of sitting in his room doing totally separate tasks, happy to just be in each other's presence.

Usually this didn’t bother you. Sure, a part of you missed doing all the normal couple things—like cute little dates or surprise movie nights, but the two of you were just too busy. So you savored the time spent in his company, enjoying stolen glances at one another and silly off-hand comments as the two of you tried to focus on your own work.

But tonight was different.

You had already finished all the work you needed to get done for the week and got a head start on next week's tasks, leaving you absolutely bored out of your mind. At first you managed to distract yourself, trying not to disturb Peter’s focus as he attempted to repair his web-shooters. You flipped through his comics, toyed with his camera, and even decided to fold the laundry he had carelessly left in the basket. After practically cleaning his room top-to-bottom, you were left sprawled out on his mattress, left with nothing else to do except sit around and watch him work.

It was interesting to watch Peter tinker with things, especially when they were related to his secret identity, and so you were content to watch him. For a while, at least. As you watched him you slowly noticed your boredom turning into something…else.

Peter’s hands were one of your favorite things about him—something he teased you relentlessly for—and they were on full display right now. You watched as his slender fingers moved along the web-shooters, muttering something under his breath about how he couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. If you were less distracted you might have offered to help him, just to give yourself something to do, but you were too lost in your own dirty thoughts to acknowledge his words.

He palmed at his desk, blindly reaching for a screwdriver. Your eyes drifted from his fingers to the top of his hand, watching as his blue veins protruded as he gripped the tool. A low groan escaped his lips, the sound only aiding in the fantasies beginning to swirl in your head, your jaw falling open just a bit. He was still struggling to fix whatever was wrong with them (you had long forgotten what the problem was at this point) and you barely noticed as he let the web-shooter fall roughly against his desk, leaning back in the chair and tangling his fingers in his hair.

Normally you would notice that he was getting frustrated, but you didn’t. You were absolutely gone at this point, thinking of how it felt to have his fingers tangled in your hair. The way it felt when he was feeling particularly cruel—just barely letting his fingertips trace against your skin, the sensation always leaving you desperate for more. He knew what it did to you, those featherlight touches as he moved along your hips, venturing dangerously close to your inner thigh. He liked the noises you’d make, the way you’d start to whimper as he pressed soft kisses to your neck, occasionally grazing his teeth against your flesh.

It was cruel enough that Peter loved to tease you so much, but it was even crueler that he was capable of doing it without even trying.

Here he was doing absolutely nothing and yet you could practically feel his skin against yours; the warmth of his palms against your waist or the feel of his nails digging into the thick flesh of your thighs. If your fantasies were real then you would’ve already been begging by now, practically on the verge of tears asking him to put his fingers inside of you.

The thought was enough to make you snap yourself out of your daydream, squeezing your legs together as you realized just how desperate you actually were for him. He was still leaning back in his chair, completely and totally unaware that his totally innocent actions had left you absolutely soaked. He didn’t pay any mind when you stood up from his bed, eyes still glued to his web-shooters as he racked his brain for better ways to fix them. It wasn’t until you were standing directly in front of him that he finally glanced up at you.

“You ok?” Concern was the first thing to flash across his features, always worried about you. But as you crawled into his lap, effectively straddling him in the chair, his concern faded to confusion. “Uh-whatcha doin?”

You rolled your eyes, realizing just how clueless your precious boyfriend was. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Trying to get me to take a break?” Pete guessed, smiling when you nodded in response. “I guess I can spare a few minutes,” he teased, hands finally moving to rest on your hips, “wanna go get something to eat?”

You wondered how it was possible for someone to be so dumb, especially when said person had literal super-senses. In an effort to make your intentions even more clear, you leaned into his body and lightly rolled your hips against his, the tiny bit of friction eliciting a low noise from your lips.

That little moan seemed to be enough to at least kick his Spidey-senses into gear, his gaze darkening as he finally smelled the arousal building between your legs. You dragged your hips against his again, feeling the now growing bulge in his jeans. About time, you thought to yourself.

Peter didn’t waste any time upon realizing what you were actually after. He quickly lifted you as he stood from the chair, moving so he could lay you back down on his bed. “Fuck, why go out-” he sunk to his knees, caging his head between your legs, his fingers already toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts, “when I’ve got something to eat right here.”

You couldn’t hold in your laugh at the comment, though once he got your shorts off that laughter quickly faded into different sounds.

Oblivious as he may be, Peter Parker knows how to make a girl moan.

a/n - i had posted this on my other blog, but tumblr has decided to show my posts to absolutely no one and refuses to answer my emails asking for support so... new blog i guess? if you wanna read previous imagines for Peter that I've written check out spidey-stark, but I'll be posting on here from now on!

#peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker headcanons #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter x reader #andrew!peter fanfiction #peter parker smut #andrew!peter smut #tasm smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman imagine #spiderman smut #spiderman fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #spiderman fic #mcu imagine

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

Text

boyfriend! peter thoughts bc i need to talk about it like now

-always sitting on his lap. always. whenever you’re in his room and he’s at his desk doing work he pats his knee and you trot over and sit on his knee and he bounces it slightly while he explains his work while you just listen and nod

- takes photos of you 24/7 and sticks them up all over his room. he also has a polaroid camera where he takes dirty photos of you and looks at them while he jerks off

-builds lego sets with you and keeps the extra pieces at the end of the build to make something else for you out of the spares

-whenever you get anxious or overwhelmed he shields you from the world, answering questions for you, calming you down, ordering for you etc

- he is always playing with your hair or jewelry or some part of you he can reach and admire. also a reason to smell your perfume

-im getting a weird feeling about gummy worms. like he always has some? just on him to randomly pull out and munch on? his fav are the yellow and red

-you often stand on his toes to kiss him bc hes reallyyy tall

-he always guides you through sex. always. coaxing you through things, checking in on you. i have a feeling he cooes at you a lot, that faux pity voice that drives me wild.

-when he drives you places he has a hand on your thigh, on your headrest when hes backing up and he always has an old radio station that no one cares about but he does for some reason

-really into bondage. or that whole helplessness thing. knowing youre so fragile and vulnerable with him drives him wild bc he feels like he can corrupt you

-so supportive. even if its kinda from a distance, like maybe hes not the loudest one clapping bc he is kinda introverted, he always shows up to your events and supports you/ gives you so many pep talks about how awesome you are

- likes head scratches and when you nibble on his fingers

- teaches you video games without mansplaining things and then lets you teach him your interests

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withahappyrefrain · 1 year

Text

Work From Home

Summary: Working from home benefits both you and Peter.

Warning: cockwarming, Daddy kink, orgasm control, oral, switch!Peter, switch!reader, language, unprotected sex, p in v, afab reader, choking, I just wrote almost 5K of smut don't look at me

This is dedicated to the Spidey Simps <3

When it was announced that the Daily Bugle was transitioning to working remotely, you didn’t think much.

Peter was a photographer, which meant he still had to leave the apartment for events.

But it did mean that when it was time to edit his photos, he could do so from the comfort of your shared home.

Truth was, you weren't able to notice any differences until the school year ended.

And that's when some things began to change.

First, was the facial hair. Peter usually didn’t keep it past a light stubble, but with the new found freedom of working from home, he wanted to try it out. You noticed it one day when Peter came up from behind you to wrap an arm around your waist and give you a kiss on the cheek before going into his makeshift office.

The hair on his cheek brushed against your skin, providing a soft friction that sent electric sparks throughout your body. Your mind couldn’t help but wander about how it would feel against other parts of your body, the more sensitive parts of your body.

“You good sunshine?” He murmured into your neck, squeezing one of your hips. Curse that radioactive spider bite that made him hyper aware of every little change in your body, like your thighs clenching.

“Like the facial hair,” You mumbled, looking down to see how his large hand covered not only your hip, but his fingers spread down to your upper thigh, “That’s all.”

“Yeah?” His lips brushed against your jawline, the hair above his upper lip tickling your skin.

You nodded your head. Trying to hide how flustered you were was pointless. Even if you didn’t show it on your face, he could feel the heat radiating off your body, hear your heartbeat racing, and the pitch of your breathing increase.

“Maybe we should see how much you really like it,” He said before spinning you around. You couldn’t even get a word out, as Peter had already lifted you up onto the kitchen counter. His large fingers hooked around the waistband of your shorts to easily pull the fabric down your legs.

“Y-You have work in t-ten minutes,” You gasped at the sensation of his beard brushing against your bare thighs.

Peter simply shrugged, a devilish smirk adorning his ridiculously handsome face as he looked up between your thighs.

"You know I can work quickly."

The noise that left your throat was nothing short of animalistic. You normally would attempt to contain yourself when Peter's mouth moved against your cunt.

But that was impossible with how the hair above his lips brushed against your clit.

The noise complaint was well worth it.

—-------------------

The facial hair was the first change. After that morning in the kitchen, his beard remained. Not that you were complaining.

Then came the second change.

"Betty says I look like I should be taking a group of kids to their morning soccer practice," Peter said before taking a bite out of his eggs.

You looked up, taking him in. The beard did make him look older, combined with the eye crinkles that had become more pronounced over the years and the flecks of gray that were scattered throughout his beard and now hair.

"You do look like a Dad," You commented, smiling as you took a bite out of your bagel.

"Guess you should call me Daddy now," He muttered.

"Only if you want me to." There was a slight smirk on your face, a touch of mischievousness to your tone. All in good fun.

But then Peter's eyes widened and he dropped his fork upon hearing your statement.

Oh?

The lack of response and eye contact caused you to raise an eyebrow, "Do you want me to?"

The tips of his ears were turning red, "I mean it's um, it's a two way street. So d-do you want to?"

"I wouldn't have offered it if I didn't." Even though his beard covered much of the lower half of his face, it was still clear that Peter's face was beet red.

"I-I mean, I guess…guess it's something we could try," He muttered to his eggs. He shifted his body in the chair, as if he was trying to hide something.

"Yeah?" You asked, voice raspy and low. Peter didn't have to look up to know you had that infamous smirk on his face. The one that caused your eyes to narrow, looking at him through your long lashes. The one that made his knees buckle, ready to fall. Ready to worship you.

The one that made the fabric around his crotch tighten.

His honey glazed eyes continued to avoid yours as you waltz over to his chair. You straddle his thighs with yours, your arms wrapped around his neck.

A soft yet strangled whine escaped his lips when you ground your hips against Peter's. It was cruel of you to chuckle, but you couldn't help it. Peter being flustered wasn't a new concept; he had quite a difficult time coherently asking you out when you two first met.

But that was romance and intimacy. When it came to the more physical aspect, he wasn't shy. It was well known how much he craved you, your body.

So when he was flustered in these moments, you relished in it.

Peter's neck was warm as you pressed your lips against it, placing kisses and light nips all the way up to his ear.

"You want me to call you Daddy? Hmm? Want me to call you that while I come around your cock?"

Peter's long fingers stilled for a moment before gripping the fabric of your large Tshirt.

"Only one way to find out."

You often forgot how quickly Peter moved. In mere seconds, he had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. A loud smack across your ass silenced your surprised shrieks.

—---------------------------------

The bedroom nickname stayed, along with the facial hair.

The other change was just how nice it was to have Peter home with you. Even just a quick peck on the lips as you two passed each other in the hallway brightened your mood.

You had finished work early one afternoon and your mind couldn't help but wonder as to what Peter was doing.

Now you didn't have to guess.

Now you could just walk over to the spare bedroom, which had been turned into his makeshift office.

Fuck.

You and Peter had been together for years. On your left hand was his Aunt's engagement ring. You saw the man every day. But sometimes, randomly, it would just hit you like a train.

Fuck, was he attractive.

His brown hair was slightly disheveled, one lock in the front curled over and moving slightly when he moved his head.

The light seeping in through the window illuminated the few gray hairs in his beard. You had to beg him to not pluck them out, and were glad your pleads worked. The top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest.

A large hand of his came up to his chin to scratch the skin and your mind was flooded with thoughts of this morning, when he made you come twice on his fingers before fucking you with his-

“It’s rude to stare, sunshine,” His honey glazed eyes never left the computer screen.

“I wasn’t-”

“I can also smell you.” Somehow, that specific trait he gained from that spider bite always evaded your mind.

He finally looked up at you, a smirk forming on his handsome face, “Ya done with work for today?”

“Yeah,” your voice was breathless, “W-what about you?”

He shrugged, as if he didn’t just mention that he knew how aroused you were, “Just gotta edit this last set of photos and then I’ll be done. Wanna keep me company, bug?”

You nodded, walking over to his chair. Carefully, you swung a leg over one of his. Peter grabbed the back of your thighs, pulling you into his lap. As your arms wrapped around him, you placed your head in the crook of his neck.

“You smell nice,” He murmured, his large hands moving to your ass, grasping and kneading your flesh through the thin fabric of your shorts.

“So do you,” a gasp escaped your lips when he moved you back and forth over his crotch. Through his sweatpants, you could feel his erection growing.

“Yeah?” Peter chuckled before pressing his lips against your neck, finding your pulse point with precision, “Ya wanna keep me warm sunshine?”

A whimper was your response as you nodded your head eagerly.

“C’mon then,” His voice was low, seductively sweet. The smirk remained on his face as you stood up, pulling down your shorts and underwear. Peter quickly adjusted himself, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers just enough to free his hardened cock.

“C’mere sunshine, let’s get ya ready,” His hands grasped the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you back into his lap. A moan fell from your lips upon feeling his cock slide through your folds.

“Ready to keep me warm until I’m done with work?” You nodded eagerly, any cares about appearing desperate now gone.

One of his hands reached up to the back of your neck, pulling you down for a kiss while the other hand gripped one of your hips, aligning his cock to your entrance.

The initial stretch was a delicious pain, one that you now craved. Slowly, you guided yourself down on his cock until all of him was inside you.

“F-feels s’good,” You muttered against his lips. You began to raise your hips upwards, when both his hands pulled you down, keeping you in place.

“Not a chance princess. You’re keeping daddy’s cock warm until he’s done with work. Understand?”

You nodded, knowing it was either this or be empty.

“Good girl,” He whispered, the praise making your thighs clench.

Your head settled into the crook of his neck once more, a hand playing with some strands of his hair. You tried to focus on finding any gray hairs, on counting the different colors in his beard- dark brown, light brown, red- on anything to distract you from the rising temptation of moving your hips.

Every once in a while, Peter would shift in his chair, leaning in to focus on a detail of the photo, causing his cock to shift ever so slightly against your walls. The first time it happened, you tried moving your own hips, wanting to test the waters.

A light but firm smack to your thigh told you that wasn’t allowed.

So instead, you bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back a whimper, trying to keep your hips still, despite the fact that your mind was telling you to move.

“I know, I’m sorry,” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “You’re doing so good for daddy.”

The praise made your head feel fuzzy, combined with how full you felt, his cock nestled inside you. Every movement, every twitch was heightened, a cruel reminder of how desperate you were to move and that you couldn’t.

Not yet.

Peter’s hand moved from your hip to your back, slipping underneath your shirt.

“No bra today?” You shook your head, unsure if the decision would result in pleasure or punishment.

“P-Peter!” His name came out in the form of a desperate groan. Not that he minded. In fact, it spurred him on, his fingers continuing to tweak one of your hardening nipples. His hips shifted, causing his cock to move ever so slightly inside of you. Despite how small the movement was in reality, it began to fill the desperate ache you had been experiencing for the past twelve minutes.

His ministrations would have continued, and perhaps you would have been able to move your hips without receiving a warning, had it not been for the stiff, robotic melody that signaled a video call request from Peter’s computer.

Peter sighed, removing his hand from your shirt, “I’ll make it quick, okay? Just keep being a good girl f’me, kay?”

All you could do was nod. Being a brat wouldn’t get you what you wanted, if anything, it would make things worse, make him delay your pleasure even further. And you were already so close.

“They-they can’t see us, right?” You whispered.

Peter shook his head, “I don’t turn my camera on.”

Betty Brandt’s voice quickly filled the room, “Parker, you done editing those photos?”

“Funny story, I was a few clicks away from finishing before you interrupted me, Brandt.” Peter shifted in his seat, leaning forward. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, your grip on his white shirt tightening.

“Not my fault you work so slow that Jameson told me to check up on you. He’s worried you’re fucking around while at home,” You could hear the eye roll.

Peter chuckled, his free hand squeezing one of your hips, “I’m not fucking around."

Liar.

"I’ve been doing my work from the comfort of my own home. Not my fault that good work takes time.”

“When do you think you’ll have it done? In ten minutes? I need a specific time so I can get him off my back.”

“How about in five minutes?” Peter offered, shifting his hips again. Was he doing this on purpose? The smirk on his face, the way his eyes darted back and forth between his computer screen and you indicated so.

“You can actually do that?”

“Absolutely. I don’t have anything else to do for a while.” Another lie.

His hand guided your hips upwards, then promptly pushed them back down until you were flushed against the base of his cock once more.

“Peter,” you whispered, your voice dripping with desperation.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me,” His voice was hot against your ear.

“What was that Parker?”

“Just my fiancé asking me about dinner, that’s all Betty,” Peter said, sounding ever so casual, like you weren’t in his lap, like his cock wasn't nestled inside of you.

“She enjoys having you home or is she already sick of ya?” Betty asked with a chuckle. You didn’t mind Betty, she was actually one of your favorite coworkers of Peter’s.

Except for right now.

“Get her off,” You whispered into Peter’s ear, earning a smack on one of your thighs.

“The hell was that Parker?”

“Just a fly! Pesky little things.” You were mesmerized as Peter balanced talking to Betty, making edits to the current set of photos, all the while his free hand was moving your hip up and down ever so slightly.

It was torture. The flooding sense of relief had now turned into desperation for more. You wanted all of him, wanted to be able to raise your hips upwards until just the tip of his thick length was inside you, only to then slam down, providing immense pleasure to yourself and him.

You wanted to tell him how good he felt inside of you, wanted his hands everywhere on your body, grasping and grabbing your flesh just so, his teeth nipping along your skin in a way that made your back arch.

Instead you were clenching your thighs, trying not to move, trying to fight against his enhanced strength. It was a losing battle, one you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep silent.

“She loves having me around. We keep each other company,” He said, placing a gentle kiss on your jaw.

“Parker, I still don’t know how you managed to land her.”

“What’cha trying to say Brandt? That she’s out of my league?” His teeth nipped along the soft skin of your neck, leaving what would later form as marks.

“That is exactly what I’m saying, Parker.”

You often thought it was the opposite, much to Peter’s dismay.

“You’re absolutely right,” He admitted before pressing another sweet kiss to your cheek. The gesture made you flustered, causing you to bury your head into the crook of his neck once more.

“Don’t hide that pretty face from me,” He whispered, his voice now soft and sweet. It was moments like these that made you fall in love with Peter. How no matter what -even now- he took the time to sing your praises, to make you feel loved.

You lifted your head up, your bright eyes meeting his honeyed ones. His soft lips pressed against yours in a quick kiss.

“Parker, are you done yet or are you truly just fucking around?” Betty’s voice interrupted the sweet moment, reminding you of your goal: for her to not know you were there.

“Oh, I finished up those edits five minutes ago,” Peter replied, voice cheeky and smug.

Asshole.

“You asshole!” Betty cried, echoing your thoughts. Not that she knew. Or would ever know.

“Careful Brandt, those are words that HR don’t like,” Peter laughed, bouncing one leg up and down, which made you cling onto his shirt once more.

Betty scoffed, “Like HR will do anything, have you met our boss?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’s waiting for you to tell him that I sent those edits to him.” Thank God. The conversation was nearing the end.

“You sure bet I will. You’re not the only one who wants to get off Parker.” Interesting choice of words.

“You know me so well Betty.” You wanted to wipe that cheeky smirk off his face. In fact, you had half a mind to raise your hips and slam them down, torturing him for a change.

But that would create noise.

That didn’t stop you from wanting to tease back. You just had to be creative about it.

So instead, your lips started at his collarbone, leaving tiny kisses along his skin. Peter shot you a warning glancing, one that you merely fluttered your eyelashes in response as your lips began trailing upwards.

As Betty began to ramble about the latest thing Eddie did to piss her off, your lips moved closer and closer towards that spot.

“Don’t,” Peter quickly muttered, his grip on your hip tightening. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to let you know he was paying attention to you.

“I’m not moving, like you said,” you muttered into his skin. Peter shook his head, knowing better than to let it slide.

And he shouldn’t have. But then, as he often does, he got distracted by something Betty mentioned. Leading to the perfect opportunity to sink your teeth into that spot between his jawline and neck.

What could best be described as grunt left Peter’s lips, both of his hands now gripping your hips in a vain attempt to stop you. The action caused his cock to shift inside of you, causing another strained groan from your fiancé.

“You good Parker?”

“Yeah,” Peter all but grunted, leaning forward so he could better see the computer screen, specifically the exit call button, “Just bumped my knee against my desk. Anyways, I gotta go Betty. Bye.”

He didn’t bother waiting for his coworker to say goodbye, his attention fully on you now that the call was over.

“You little-” His hands lifted your hips up, leaving you almost empty for a brief moment before he pulled you back down to the base of his cock.

You threw your head back, releasing a high pitch whine that had been bubbling in your throat for the past twelve minutes.

Peter didn’t relent, using his strength to move you up and down on his cock, like you weighed nothing, “Take off your shirt. Now.”

But that would mean stopping. That would mean his cock would no longer be thrusting in and out of your soaking entrance, and you had been waiting so long-

“What did Daddy say?” His hands stilled, keeping you firmly in place, “Did you forget your manners? Need Daddy to teach you?”

“No!” Flashbacks of the last ‘lesson’ appeared in your mind. How he teased you for hours, how you were unable to move due to the webbing that was on your wrists and ankles, how he made sure you teetered on the edge of pleasure for so long, before finally letting you fall over.

With shaking hands, you removed your top, now completely bare to him.

“Good girl,” He chuckled, “Not that you deserve to be called that after the little stunt you just pulled.”

His lips attached themself to one of your breasts, his teeth sinking into the hardened bud. The sudden pain made your back arch, desperate to curl into him, to be as close to Peter as possible.

His hands continued moving your body, as his mouth alternated between your breasts. Meanwhile, your hands found purchase in his hair, grasping onto the short locks to steady yourself.

Peter’s eyes looked up, taking in the sight of you with your lips parted and head thrown back in pleasure.

Fuck you were beautiful. And all his.

The tall tale signs of your impending orgasm were overwhelmingly clear; your whines increasing in pitch with each thrust, the way your teeth were digging into your bottom lip.

“Ya gonna come for me bug?” He asked, his voice now gruff. It reminded you of how he sounded in the morning, when he just woke up.

But there was no sleep lacing Peter’s voice this time.

“C-Can I?” You stammered, barely able to focus on anything other than the way his cock brushed against that one spot that made your legs tremble.

“Sure,” Peter chuckled before sinking his teeth into your collarbone, “But ya gotta ask nicely.”

“Can…can I-I,” his thrusts were unrelenting, making you see stars when your eyes fluttered shut.

“Don’t think so. Look at me when you ask,” Long fingers gripped your chin, your eyes opening to find him staring into what felt like your soul.

“Can I-I come? Please?”

He shook his head, the downright devilish smirk adorning his face charming (though you should find it repulsing in this moment).

“Who ya asking bug?”

Your voice broke, like a dam finally breaking, “P-Daddy! Daddy, please, can I come? Please?”

He pressed his lips against yours, the gesture would have been sweet if not for what you just begged for mere seconds ago.

“‘Course ya can bug. You can always come on Daddy’s cock.”

Your fingers gripped his hair. The name asshole would have fallen from your lips if Peter’s calloused thumb hadn’t moved downwards to rub tight circles against your clit.

A white hot pleasure overtook your whole body as you shook. You slumped over, head resting on his shoulder.

His fingers didn’t let up, continuing to draw tight circles, prolonging your pleasure.

Your eyes met his, that smirk remaining on his face. It then hit you that he wasn’t letting up, that he was going to continue.

“A-asshole,” You gritted your teeth.

“You fucking love it,” He simply grinned before attaching his mouth to your neck, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your thighs seized up, hand gripping his shirt so hard, it was a genuine surprise the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

His name came out in the form of a broken, desperate chant, your body moving to continue chasing that delicious surge of pleasure.

Peter's own desperate moans began filling the room, his own (rather successful until now) attempt of keeping himself together finally falling apart as he felt your walls squeeze his cock again. He buried his head into your chest, his moans sending vibrations along your bare body.

“You-fuck-you want me to fill ya up, sunshine?” He grunted, voice now strained and shaking as he tried to keep his composure long enough to draw one more out of you.

In the haze of pleasure, you saw how he was barely holding on; his calloused fingers were gripping the flesh of your hips harder than usual, enough for hand-shaped marks to appear the next day. His breathing was now irregular, coming out in the form of shakey moans that fell from his swollen lips.

Peter may be able to crack jokes with thieves and criminals, but when your lips found that spot again, the one where his jaw and neck met, it was truly his weakness.

His grip on your hips softened. Somehow, you found the strength to continue riding his cock, moving your hips up and down.

Your name came out in the form of a broken whine, said over and over again like some sacred prayer.

You brought your hips down once more, this time with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin quickly filled the room, mixed with yours and his obscene moans, creating a sound so lewd, it would have anyone nearby turning bright red.

"Want you t'fill me up," You whispered into his skin, the facial hair along his jaw brushing against your nose.

"Wanna-fuck- wanna make you full of me," He could barely get out words to form a sentence, the sensation of you squeezing him so tight, your body so close to his, overwhelming.

Your hands thread through his hair, tugging on the slightly sweaty locks. The sudden pull forced his head up, his eyes now boring into yours.

“Yeah?” Your voice was raspy. Though he’d never say it out loud, you knew from the way his cock twitched inside of you how much he loved when your voice got like that; low and desperate, dripping with seduction.

He weakly nodded.

Your lips captured his in a desperate kiss, your tongue slipping past his lips to tease and taste him. Peter was fully at your mercy now, letting you guide the pace.

“What are you waiting for then?” Your lips trailed up to the shell of his ear as your hips continued their ministrations, “C’mon Peter.”

It was hearing you say his name that led to his undoing; that led to him saying your name in the form of a beautifully broken moan, that led him to pulling your hips down, keeping you still as he filled you.

You loved it when Peter came inside of you; loved how his eyes were slightly closed as his red lips parted, moans escaping.

The sensation of being completely full of him spurred you on, your hips continuing to rise and fall.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing lazy circles as you neared the edge of your next high.

"C'mon sunshine," He groaned, "Use me."

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders as you did exactly that.

Peter loved when you got like this; gone with that sweet smile and in its place was a look of sheer, determined focus.

His other hand came up to your throat, his fingers spreading across your skin as his grip tightened.

As the oxygen slowly left your body, all you could focus on was how good it felt, sliding in and out of him. How loud the lewd reminder of how much you both had come echoed throughout the room.

How good he felt.

With one last thrust, you seized around him, back arching in pleasure as your body shook.

"Attagirl," He encouraged, his grip on your throat only loosening slightly, still firmly in place as he watched you come.

You slumped forward, your legs now jello. His arms wrapped around your back as he whispered soothing praises against your soft skin.

"There she is, there's my girl," He murmured before placing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder. His smile burned into your skin, something that always made your heart flutter.

Fingers trailed up to his dark locks, twirling several languidly, "Hey babe."

The nickname never failed to make Peter blush. Which, in turn, never failed to make you giggled as you peppered his bearded cheek with light pecks.

"Let's go get cleaned up, okay?" His hands moved to the backs of your thighs, ready to carry you.

"Can we stay like this for a little longer? Please?" How could he say no to you? To spend more time being close to you?

So his hands moved once more, one wrapped around your waist while the other gently stroked your cheek.

"'Course sunshine. We have all the time in the world."

You two did.

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