his doll: pepsi cups and parking lots (1) ⧠lee bodecker
his doll ⧠a tatted mob boss!lee bodecker series | ao3
pairing: tatted mob boss!lee bodecker x fem!reader
request: So can I pls ask if you could somehow incorporate a pepsi cup into the tatted mob!lee thing whenever you write it coz Iâm itâs not like I need my sanity anyways đ„”đ€đ„ș thank u đ - @tumblin-theworldawayâ
summary: you take care of lee after he takes you on a date.Â
word count: 906
warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, inspired by the pepsi cup scene (some of the dialogue directly taken from the scene, but I also made it fit into this universe by changing a few things), handjob, pet name (doll)Â
note: there is no set update schedule for this; new parts come whenever they come.
Lee Bodecker was a powerful man, and powerful men like him get exactly what they want. So, when he asked you out on a date last week, you knew that you had no choice but to say yes. If you didnât, he would continue going after you, relentlessly pursuing you until you eventually gave into his desires. Though, you werenât one to complain about it. While Lee had his moments that fell into the dark side, so did you. He just didnât know it yet.Â
No, he thought you were all doe eyes and cotton candy and bubblegum. He didnât know that your daddy taught you to shoot before you could ride a bike, that you were taken to boxing lessons as soon as you were allowed into the gym. You werenât some timid little girl, even if that was what the entire town thought you to be. No, you were more than that. You also knew how to get what you wanted, and Lee Bodecker was exactly what you wanted.Â
The two of you had just left the restaurant Lee had taken you out to. It was one of the nicest ones in town, the kind that had a dress code to even be allowed in the door. Lee had gotten you a stunning red dress to wear, hugging you in all of the right places. And he was wearing his best suitâtogether, you looked like a fucking power couple.Â
Heâd insisted on driving you himself, said he didnât want to deal with his new driver, something about how he was too slow, too inexperienced for Leeâs taste. But you both knew that was a lie. Lee had really just wanted to get you alone to himself, drive you to an abandoned parking lot and have his way with you.Â
He had a vintage car, the kind that didnât have a center console in the way, instead having a bench seat that let you slide up next to him. His arm was thrown over the back of the seat, his hand brushing against your shoulder, pulling you tighter against him. His cock had been freed from the confines of his pants the minute he parked, standing tall, hard as a rock just for you.
A smirk stretched across his face when he saw you practically drooling at the sight of him. He grabbed at your hand and guided you to his cock, wrapping your small hand around his length. âGo ahead, doll. You can touch me.â
He didnât need to tell you twice, twisting your wrist as you stroked his cock. His hips lifted off the seat, fucking himself into your hand, groaning as you gave him a tight squeeze. If the steering wheel wasnât so much in the way, you wouldâve been ducking your head down, taking him in your mouth, suckling on that pretty red tip. But it was in the way, so you had to be satisfied in the moment with running your thumb along his slit, collecting the beads of precum that were leaking.
âWhen am I gonna get you in bed?â you asked, pressing a kiss to his lips, swiping your tongue along his bottom lip
âSoon, doll,â he grunted, reaching down to the paper Pepsi cup he had lying beside him, pressing it into the hand that wasnât occupied. âShit, youâre so fuckinâ good at this. Fuckinâ made for me.â
âYeah? You got a plan then? Know exactly how youâre gonna take me?â
âYeah, got it all planned out,â he sighed. âGonna take you on a coupla more dates, take you back to my place. Lead you up the stairs, nearly fuckinâ you against the wall. But Iâll wait, Iâll hold back. âCause when I take you, I want you fuckinâ screaminâ into my mattress. No more parking lots, no more Pepsi cups. Just you, me, and my big ole bed.â
He moaned, loud, and you were half convinced that the entire town would able to hear him. His was close to coming, so you held the Pepsi cup close to him, ready to catch everything he had. His body rose off the seat as he came, thick white ropes coating the inside of the cup, you being careful to make sure you didnât spill a single drop.
âThat was good.âÂ
A sense of pride surged in you. You liked when he complimented you. Made you feel like you were the only girl in the world, like you were the only girl who knew how to treat him right. And you swore you would keep it up. You knew Lee Bodecker could take care of you, so why shouldnât you repay the favor? It was only fair.Â
âYou get it all in the cup?â
âYeah,â you smiled, peppering kisses along his jaw. âJust like you wanted, baby.â
âGod, Iâm gonna fuckinâ marry you,â Lee sighed, tilting your head up so he could press a kiss to your lips.
âAfter just one date and a handjob?â you teased.
âNo, knew Iâd marry you long before that, doll. Knew from the moment I first saw you,â he said. âNow you know it too.â
âMr. Bodecker, you know you gotta ask a gal first before you start gettinâ all possessive.â
âBe mine, doll,â he said without missing a beat. âBe mine and only mine.â
âOh, Lee, you know I already was. I decided Iâd be yours from the moment I saw you.â
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âthat wasnt supposed to happenâ from the prompts?đ„șâšđ
Thank you so much for sending this! I had a ton of fun writing it! I definitely indulged in some delightful tropiness lmao
Content warning: they get fresh in this one lads (but not that fresh--rated T)
Undercover? I thought you said under covers...
The ballroom is warmly lit, dark wood floor shining under designer shoes. High-class socialites mill around with crystalline glassware held in well-manicured hands as a tinkling piano melody wafts over the dull murmur of conversation occasionally broken by a neatly constructed and perfectly timed laugh. Somewhere close by, a fountain splashes pleasantly.
And Peter canât take his eyes off of the appetizer spread.
âJames, darling,â Harley says with a toothy smile, sweetness and charm wrapped around his drawl like cotton candy on a stick, âwould you mind getting me a refill?â
Peterâs eyes snap away from the food and he falls back into character. Idiot.
âOf course, honey.â Peter takes the empty glass and in the same motion leans in, nose brushing his cheekbone as his warm soft lips press into the apple of his cheek and his body presses into his side.
Then heâs gone.
Harley tracks him as he crosses the room, heart fluttering and breath short.
âYou two make a lovely couple.â
He tears his eyes away from Peter and faces Maria Leonetti, the hostess of tonightâs event, with a devil-may-care smile and confident but relaxed posture. He is Randall Johnson and he loves bumping elbows with the wanna-be one-percenters and trying to convince them to back his latest venture, but if it doesnât pan out, oh well. So long as Daddy hasnât cut off his stipend yet, heâs got nothing to lose.
What a freaking joke.
-
âThank you, according to my mother weâre the talk of her book club but then again, sheâs a horrible flatterer and an even worse gossip.â
Maria laughs, high and false and grating and he hates it here, he hates it here, he hates it here. For all of the glitter and shine, everyone here is fake, contrived, plastic. He hates it here.
Peter returns, so close the heat of him seeps through his suit jacket and warms him entirely. He holds out a champagne flute wordlessly, eyes dark on Maria as she turns to greet another lady in a fine gown that glistens delicately under the glow of the chandelier.
Thereâs mustard on the corner of his mouth. He ignores the offered glass and he swipes his thumb through it then holds out the yellow glob for Peter to see.
âDid you even taste it?â he asks. He was only gone a handful of seconds. How did he have time to hoark down an entireâ
His mouth goes dry as Peter, still focused on Mariaâs journey across the room, leans forward and parts his lips. Teeth scrap the pad of his thumb, followed by a sweep of tongue, and then he pulls back.
âYeah, itâs good,â he murmurs, eyes narrowed on Maria.
A wheeze punches out of him but luckily itâs drowned out by a hearty chuckle.
âHow long have the pair of you been together then?â the glimmer dress woman asks, hip cocked and long white hair spilling around bare shoulders. âCanât be too long.â She continues, ticking off a list on fine-gloved fingers, âStill star-struck by each other, not bickering like a married couple, easily jealous.â Her eyes settle on Peter, a small smirk playing painted lips.
Wait, what?
Peter smiles but there are too many teeth for it to be genuine. âCan you blame me?â
Huh?
The woman turns to Harley and makes a show of looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his hands and his chest. âNo, I suppose not,â she tells Peter. âYouâre cute but itâs clear who the real catch is.â
Peter smiles again but the grinding of his teeth is nearly audible and thereâs an aggressive slant to his shoulders that usually precedes Spider-Man throwing a punch. âUnfortunately, this catch isnât going to market,â he grits out, âso you can just go andâ and gossip about your latest spa day or whatever.â
The womanâs eyes light with interest and she cocks her head to the side as she regards Peter in earnest.
Uh-oh. Abort, abort!
âExcuse us,â he says, threading his fingers through Peterâs and squeezing his hand tightly in warning, âwe need to ummâ Bathroom.â
He hauls Peter out of the suddenly stuffy ballroom, abandoning the champagne glass on a random table as the womanâs eyes bore into his back until he shuts the door behind them. Theyâre in an empty hall, wide and polishedâgold gilding on the crown moulding, decorative sconces adorning the walls, heavy drapes framing intermittent windows. Heâs rarely felt so out of place.
He shakes off Peterâs damp hand and turns on him. âDude, what the hell?â
âI know, right? What was that ladyâs problem?â
âWhatâs your problem? She was playing with you. You almost compromised the whole mission because you got all butthurt over a fake relationship!â
Peter sputters. âButthurt? I was playing the role!â
âWhat role? You didnât bring up your hedge fund once.â
âMaybe thatâs because I had to do double the work selling our relationship while you smiled and simpered at every pretty face that gave you the time of day!â
âEvery prettyâ Iâm gay you idiot.â
âI know that but they donât. Especially not after how youâ,â
âShut up, just shut up. We donât have time for this. Did you bring it?â
âOf course I did. This isnât my first rodeo.â
âYou couldnât handle the rodeo.â
âOh ho! Big talk from the guy who doesnât know how to use the subway.â
âWell excuse me for not growing up in rat pit city!â
âItâs been five years. Any dumbass could have figured it out by now. Well,â he smirks, âalmost any dumbass.â
Harley steps up so theyâre chest to chest and looks down his nose while Peter tips up his chin in defiance. âWhen this is over Iâm gonna kick your ass.â
âLooking forward to it, darling,â Peter says, uncowed, eyes sparking with a challenge.
Heâs never backed down from a challenge and he isnât about to now, but the longer he stands breathing in the scent of hair gel and soaking in Peterâs body heat, the faster he forgets what they were arguing about in the first place. His lips seem pinker than normalâmaybe because theyâre not chapped for onceâand his hair is neatly styled rather than a frizzy curly mess. He sort of hates it. He resists the urge to dig his hand past all of that gel and ruck it up until it looks right again. His suit⊠well, itâs got nothing on the Spider-Man suit, but he wears it well. He looks good. He looks really good.
âWhat?â Peter asks.
He snaps his gaze back up to his eyes where he finds the spark has dulled to a curious glimmer.
âWhat, what?â
âYou were looking at me weird. Did I get mustard on my suit too? Tonyâll kill me if I did.â
His mind transports back to Peter sucking his thumb clean and he takes a large step back. âNo, itâs nothing. Letâs get back to the mission.â
Their steps echo as Peter falls into step beside him. âDidnât look like nothing,â he mutters.
He pretends not to hear.
They slip into the private sector of the estate easily enough (perks of having one sticky boy as a partner) and after only one wrong turn (sticky boyâs fault), they manage to sneak into the private office of some rich jerk-off who throws fancy parties for wealthy socialites while he meets with HYDRA operatives and makes plans to create orphans.
âGive me the goober,â he whispers once theyâre secure in the room. âYou keep a lookout.â
Peter gasps, pretending to swoon. âYouâre using my terminology.â
âShut up and give me the thing.â
He plugs the goober into the USB port while Peter hunches near the door, listening for anyone who might interrupt them. Tony said the goober would take less than a minute to do its thing and then all they have to do is sneak back into the party, make nice with the rich snobs so they donât arouse suspicion, and then retire to their safe house for the night as they wait to be picked up by S.H.I.E.L.D. in the morning.
Easy as pie.
âPeter,â he says slowly, staring at the laptop screen, âwhy does this say installing? Shouldnât it be downloading?â
âHuh? Iâm sure itâs fâ,â
Peter cuts off as the laptop chimes and opens the loading screen for his and Nedâs unofficial (and illegal) Splatty Spidey desktop game, hijacked from the ever-popular phone app that Peter never shuts up complaining over.
âPeter,â he says again.
âThat wasnât supposed to happen.â
âYou dunce. Did you grab the wrong goober?!â he hisses. âPlease tell me the right one is in your other pocket.â
âUmm.â Peter pats his pockets and his face goes more ashen with every second that ticks by.
He rips the USB out of the port, shoves it into Peterâs chest, and looms over him as he bites out, âIf we get out of this alive, remind me to kill you.â
Clutching the goober to his chest, Peter says to his chin, âWeâll see if thereâs enough left of me after Fury has his say.â
âNo,â he says firmly. âIâm calling dibs. Your ass is mine.â
âWhat do we do?â Peter whispers, meeting his eyes. âTake the whole laptop? Abort mission? They need this intel now. Oh God. Oh fuck.â
âHey, cut that out. Breathe. Letâs call Tony.â
Peter groans, tipping his head back. âAnything but that.â
âOkay, yeah weâll go back in the other room and ask around if anyone has a spare goober for downloading and encrypting HYDRA intelligence from insanely secureâ,â
âOkay! Whatever! Call Tony. Just shut up. I donât need you to make me feel worse.â
He takes out his phone and says, âKind of defeats the purpose of calling if I donât talk to him.â
He hits dial while Peter growls and mimes strangling him.
âHey Tony, weâve got a problem.â
~*~
He holds his breath, clutching the lapels of Peterâs suit with a white-knuckled grip, keeping his face tucked against his neck like a toddler thinking that they canât be seen simply because they canât see.
A watched pot never boils. Surely thereâs a similar saying for not looking at security guards with multiple guns holstered on their person.
Donât look up. Donât look up. Please donât look up.
Drawers open and close, papers rustle, boots scuff hardwood until finally, finally, the door closes and footsteps rap down the hall. He lifts his head.
âShh,â Peter says, barely more than a breath of air against his ear.
Theyâre nestled in the corner, Peterâs palms stuck to the ceiling, his feet splayed on the wall, and Harley balanced on his lap, back pressed against the ceiling, hanging onto Peter for dear life. Thank goodness this ostentatious prick loves high ceilings. Thank goodness Tony had the forethought to design dress shoes with thin enough soles for Peter to stick through.
Thank goodness he recently went to the bathroom or he would have shit himself when the doorknob started to turn and Peter slammed into him, hauling him up to the ceiling in a blink.
âOkay,â Peter says in undertone. âI think itâs safe.â
âHow do we get down?â he whispers.
âUmm, hang on tight?â
âFuckinâ worst plan,â he grumbles but nevertheless koala hugs his arms and legs tight around Peter. âI hate your guts.â
âLove you too, snookums.â
Thatâs all the warning he gets before Peter swings free from their corner, wrapping an arm around his back as soon as his hand is free, and drops. Itâs a short plummet, all things considered, but it takes several months off his lifespan. They land with a thump and then freeze, Peter frowning in concentration as he listens and Harley stays very very still, not wanting to mess up his concentration and end up surprised again.
âOkay,â Peter says.
Harley releases a full breath for the first time in minutes and gets his feet on the floor. âWhat the shit, Parker. You were supposed to be lookout!â
âI got absorbed, jeez, sorry! You try reprogramming a USB drive with borrowed equipment, a killer time crunch, and a distracting cowboy breathing down your neck.â He puts his hands on either side of his head, expression tight with anxiety. âNed is going to be so upset I had to erase the game. We spent hours on it. That was his baby.â
âServes you right for grabbing the wrong thing for our super important S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.â
âDonât rub it in.â
He sighs. âDid you get everything? Can we go?â
âYeah, I think so.â
âYou thinkâ,â
âI did, okay? The program had just finished running when I heard that mook coming down the hall.â
Harley pauses. âHold on. You heard him coming before he got to the door? Thanks for the heads up. Unbelievable.â
âYouâd have gotten all panicky! And I was sort of hoping he wouldnât come in.â
âUn-be-lievable,â he repeats. âLetâs go. I want out of here.â
âWeâve still got to do more socializing. Hill said for at least an hour but two would better.â
He groans. He fucking hates it here.
âCome on. Stick close.â
They creep into the hallway, easing the door closed behind them, and then set off at a quick but silent clip down the long empty hall.
Theyâre nearly back to the public sector when Peter suddenly goes stiff, then grabs him by the sleeve and tugs him through a random door. He crashes into his back in the unlit room and kicks over a bucket as the door shuts behind him.
Too loud, too loud, too loud!
Peter curses and whispers, âTheyâre coming. Follow my lead and remember youâre in love with me.â
âIâmâ Whaâ,â
Peter grabs his tie and yanks. Their lips crush together but heâs not ready and their teeth clack painfully before he gets with the program and puckers up.
Theyâre going to be interrupted any second by people who could very well kill them for being where theyâre not supposed to be. They were so close to getting away, to getting back to the party andâ
Peter grabs him, hands on either side of his face, and glares into his eyes as he demands, âFocus on me.â
Well, okay.
In the low light of the closet, he canât see details but heâs been watching him all night. The first thing he does is rake his fingers through that stupid perfect hair. He allows himself a moment to glory in being the one to mess it up, then shoves Peter back against a shelving unit, capturing those pink lips with his own. Peter gasps and all of his blood rushes south at the sound. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and runs his tongue over it while Peterâs hands fumble at his sides tugging his dress shirt free from his slacks with a single yank.
He pulls back, winded. âWhatâre youâ,â
Peter surges forward, sealing their lips together as his hands dive under the fabric, hot and firm on his bare skin.
He canât breathe. He canât think. All he knows is Peter Peter Peter. Peter between his palms, under his lips, breathed deep into his lungs and around his heart where he belongâ
The door rips open and they spring apart, blinking dumbly into the light that spills in around the two security guards.
Oh. Right.
âOh umm we wereâ We wereâ,â
Goon #1 snorts, interrupting Peterâs wide-eyed stuttering. âI think itâs obvious what you were doing. Get outta here. This areaâs off-limits.â
âWhich you should know,â Goon #2 says, âconsidering you had to cross the roped off corridor to get here.â
âWe⊠We wereâ,â
âWe donât need to hear about how horny you are for each other,â Goon #2 says tiredly. âWeâve heard it all. Just go.â
Harley grabs Peterâs sleeve and hauls him out of the closet, nodding at the guards as they pass. He doesnât let go and doesnât slow as he pulls him down the hall towards the party.
âIâm straight,â Peter says over his shoulder just before they round the corner that will take them to safety.
He chokes on a laugh. Itâs so not funnyâit shouldnât beâbut after getting caught doing what they were doing and to hear raging bisexual Peter Benjamin Parker claim to be anything other than what he is after years of listening to him gush over Keira Knightly and Harrison Ford in equal measureâ Well, itâs kinda funny.
Shaking with silent laughter, they round the corner and he releases Peter only to punch his shoulder.
âYou asshole.â
âIt worked, didnât it?â he whispers. âCâmon, keep moving. I think we can safely leave. Neither of us is in any state to go back to the party.â
Heâs got a point. Swollen lips, beard burn from his stubble on Peterâs chin, hair sticking up all over, suit wrinkledâhe looks incredible and no one else deserves to see him like this. His stomach swoops at the thought that he did all of that. And Peter let him. He insisted.
âYouâre looking at me weird again,â Peter mutters without looking as he ducks under the out of bounds rope.
âCanât help it that youâre weird to look at.â
~*~
Peter yanks off his tie and collapses face-first onto the bed. He says something but itâs so muffled he canât make it out.
âWhat?â he asks, pulling off his own tie and tossing it in the general vicinity of his overnight bag. He starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Peter rolls onto his back and repeats, âI canât believe we pulled that off.â
âIt would have been a lot easier with the right equipment.â
Peter groans and frowns up at him balefully. âIâm never going to hear the end of this, am I.â
âNever.â He shrugs out of his button-up and it and his gross fear-soaked undershirt meet the same fate as his tie. âWhereâs my t-shirt from earlier.â
âIs it the one in the bathroom?â
âMaybe.â He ducks into the bathroom and holds up the gray t-shirt. âMidtown Techâ is printed on it in red letters. Definitely not his. He pulls it on anyway. Itâs a bit snug but he wants out of his monkey suit.
âAt least I didnât almost get us caught by being a bad kisser,â Peter calls out.
Excuse?
He steps back into the main room to Peter perched on the edge of the bed reaching behind him and pulling his shirt off over his head. His mouth goes dry at all of that skin and unbidden, he thinks of how it felt to be pressed against him.
âIâm not a bad kisser.â
Peter shoots him an incredulous look. âYou practically bit me and then stood there like a statue.â
âYou surprised me! How was I supposed to know you were going to throw yourself at me like that?â
âThrow myself at you? I was saving our lives! I didnât see you coming up with any brilliant ideas.â
âWhich we only had to do because youâ,â
Peter throws his head back and groans as he stands and violently chucks his shirt into the corner. âShut up about the goober already!â
âMake me.â
He almost regrets the challenge but then Peter cocks his head at him and something in his gaze sparks. He feels dangerous in that moment, skin singing with the thrill of it.
âMake you?â Peter asks, eyes darkening as he seems to notice his shirt for the first time.
âBet you canât,â Harley says.
âBet.â
He holds his gaze, feet rooted to the floor, pulse racing, and chest tight. What the hell is he thinking?
âYouâre looking at me weird again.â
âYouâre still weird looking.â
âWas I a good kisser?â Peter asks, not looking away.
âUh, I mean⊠You were fine.â Even he can hear the lie. He expects Peter to laugh or resume mocking him. He doesnât.
âHarley, come here,â he says.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause Iâm closer to the bed and if I go to you weâll just make out against the wall again.â
Oh. Oh shit.
He swallows thickly and uproots his feet. âYou were lying about me being a bad kisser.â
âI was,â Peter says, dark eyes heavy on him. He puts his hand on his hip and for what feels like the millionth time tonight theyâre breathing each otherâs air, standing in each otherâs body heat. âIs this okay?â
âYeah.â
âIs that all you have to say? Does this mean I win?â
God, he doesnât care about some dumb bet. He just wants to kiss him again.
âYeah, Pete. You win. Are you going to kiss me or what?â
âYou want me to?â
âI think thatâs obvious.â
âOkay, but why?â
âWhy?â he parrots. âWhy do you think?â
âI want to hear you say it.â
âIs this a kink? Some kind of power playâ,â
âHarley, please,â Peter says, as serious as heâs ever seen him, an anxious line between his eyebrows. âIâm just trying to make sure Iâm not about to get my heart broken here.â
âYouâŠâ He stares as his brain misfires and his synapses short circuit. âYou⊠me?â
Peter laughs nervously. âYouâre killing me. Just⊠What isâ For you, howâ How do youâ,â
He moves in, cupping Peterâs face in both hands and smooths his thumbs over his cheekbones. Peter sucks in a sharp breath and his hands curl loosely around his wrists.
âPete, sweetheart, Iâve been gone on you for years.â
âOh,â Peter says quietly.
âWhen did you figure it out?â he asks.
âFigure what out?â
âDonât play dumb. Itâs not cute.â
A tiny smile twitches Peterâs lips but it vanishes as he licks his lips and says, âIt was⊠It was in the closet. I told you to act like you were in love with me and you looked at me like you already were.â
âOh.â
âYeah.â He smiles again, small and almost shy. âSo are you going to kiss me or what?â
He does.
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