#andrew!peter smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaila · 10 months

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still here

tasm!peter x reader

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue

there's this little thing called stress baking.

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed.

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients.

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to.

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention.

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it.

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions.

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram.

not that these brownies would agree.

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good.

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him.

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard.

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine.

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight.

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking.

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault.

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor.

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird.

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off.

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned.

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home."

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home."

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?"

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home."

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin.

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back.

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear.

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up.

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you.

you turn back to the brownies.

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive.

"sure?"

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes."

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it."

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet."

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again. you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question.

what are you hiding?

"we have some ice cream, too."

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him.

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge.

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor.

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending.

"peter?"

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you.

he swallows. "yeah?"

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright?

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?"

you raise a brow.

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out."

you nod. "okay."

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close.

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him.

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.”

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.”

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small.

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.”

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin.

it's not that serious. honestly.

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it.

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck.

you're not thinking about it at all.

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine.

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to.

peter has obligations.

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there.

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks.

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine.

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine.

but you miss him. if only momentarily.

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does.

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do.

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day.

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read).

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world.

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again.

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back.

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything.

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store.

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out.

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation.

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough.

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there.

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up.

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again.

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep.

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else.

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it.

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here.

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands.

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up.

it's for him to know all of this.

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again.

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window.

you want him in more than just your memory.

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

peter's not supposed to be home.

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red.

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room.

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask.

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled.

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later.

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded.

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?"

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry."

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits.

you bite your lip and look away.

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks.

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top.

you can hear peter moving.

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear.

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp.

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting.

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--"

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?"

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me."

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too."

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it."

"well, i'm going to."

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man."

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore."

peter scowls. "stop deflecting."

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back."

and you are.

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it.

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole.

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation.

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that.

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you.

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had.

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by.

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely.

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late.

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him.

you're trying not to frown back.

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?"

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone.

"good."

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room.

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes.

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home.

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual.

besides the facade you're putting on.

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about."

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?"

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time."

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie."

you frown. "i'm not lying."

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay."

"i'm fine, peter."

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know."

"well, you do."

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head.

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you.

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him.

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you."

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have.

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny.

"what?"

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world.

"what?" peter repeats, but softer.

you open your eyes.

and then it all crumbles.

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him.

"like what?"

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day.

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting."

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there.

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--"

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me."

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?"

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much."

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left.

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off.

"you're not too much."

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer.

you couldn't push him away if you tried.

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that."

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too.

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head.

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper.

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel."

"that's all easy."

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before.

you shrug.

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why."

"it's the sex."

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me."

"no?"

"absolutely not."

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream.

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck."

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his.

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks."

"for me too. it's not your fault."

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know."

"okay."

"do you promise?"

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter."

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much."

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals.

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

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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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3vergr3en · 1 year

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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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know-its-for-the-better · 4 months

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yall i haven’t been on tumblr in like 20 days BITCH IM READY TO READ SOME SMUTTTTTTT

#tasm!peter smut #andrew!peter parker x reader #peter parker #the amazing spider man #andrew!peter smut #peter parker smut #spiderman #mcu!peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spider man no way home

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spidernerdsblog · 2 years

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cool for the summer

A/N : it's really hot and humid over here and I don't know what came over me but here we are. Enjoy this filth and let me know what you think.

Summary : one broken ac, two neighbors with pent up sexual tension. What more could happen?

Pairing : tasm! Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, minors DNI, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, ice play, spitting, multiple orgasms.

It was the middle of summer, Peter didn’t feel like doing anything except lazing around on his couch in this sweltering heat the whole day. Just then there’s a knock on his door as he frowns wondering who it might be in the middle of the day. He opens his apartment door to find you, his pretty next door neighbor.

“Hey Peter.” you smiled. Peter did a once over of you dressed in dark denim shorts and a blue tank top knotted in the front exposing a good stretch of your stomach. He tried really hard to ignore the fact that you weren't wearing a bra underneath as he could clearly form the outline of your nipples through the thin cotton of your top.

“Oh hi Y/N. What's up?”

“Are you busy?”

“No. Is everything alright?” his brows draw in with concern.

“My ac broke down and it's like melting in there.” you tell him with an agonized expression.

“That's bad. Did you call the company?”

“Yeah I did and they said I've to wait until tomorrow because Sunday is a holiday.” you explain. “But then I remembered you mentioning that one time about knowing a little bit of the mechanical stuff.”

“Yes I do.” he concurs.

“I know it’s too much to ask of you but can you maybe come and look at it for once? Please?”

Peter could never say no to you especially when you’re giving him those puppy eyes. “I can try but there are no guarantees.”

“That will be so nice of you.” your face brightens. “In return I’ll treat you to fresh watermelon which I brought from the farmers market yesterday.”

“You don’t have to repay me with anything.” he chuckles, closing his apartment door and following you to your apartment.

It was relatively hot and humid when your ac decided to give up on you which had left you no other choice than to ask your next door neighbor for help. So when you knocked at his door little did you expect to be treated with him in a black undershirt and gray sweats. It was a rare sight to see him out of his usual t-shirts and hoodies and that is why his bare muscular arms had left you stunned for a second and practically drooling on the hallway.

To be honest you always had a crush on Peter Parker. You both had moved in the building at the same time. He had this whole awkward geek thing going around him with a hint of mischief behind those chocolate brown eyes which promised of more. And from the little conversations you had in the hallways you thought he was cute with his boyish charm and dorky attitude, always ready to help.

And now he was in your living room standing on a chair in front of the ac unit. He grabs the wrench from the toolbox and starts to unscrew the nut and bolts— the movement making his biceps flex and veins pop out on his arms as you enjoy your free arm porn. His back muscles ripples when he pulls out the dust filters and your mind starts to build up a totally different scenario which required you on your bed and him on top fucking you nine ways to Sunday had you pressing your thighs together.

“So what do you think?” you ask, shaking out of your dirty daydreams.

“You’re in luck.” he replies. “The filters seem to be blocked with dust, that's why it’s not cooling properly. A little clean up is required, that's all.”

“Oh thank god.” you let out a sigh in relief as Peter steps down the chair.

“Let me just clean them with some water and it will be working just as fine as before.”

You grasp on to his hands “Peter Parker, you're my savior on this hot summer day. I'll be grateful to you all my life.”

“Always happy to help my pretty neighbor.” he gives you one of his boyish grins and casually walks over to your bathroom leaving you with thousands of butterflies in your stomach.

If you aren’t wrong but that was definitely a little bit of flirting over there. With the giddiness inside you tried to make yourself busy in the kitchen preparing watermelon lemonade. You cut the fruit in half, scooping the flesh to blend it with some lemon juice, mint and soda. By the time you were done pouring the mixture into a pitcher Peter had finished cleaning your ac as well. He screws the case tight and switches on the ac. The first wave of cool air hits your face and you feel like you’re already in heaven.

“Oh…” the moan that leaves your mouth shoots straight down to his cock.

“That good huh?” he chuckles.

“You have no idea.” you smile cheekily. “And as promised, I made fresh watermelon lemonade.” you gestured him towards the kitchen.

“Ah, nothing as refreshing as a lemonade on a hot day like this.”

You fill two glasses with lemonade and place them on the kitchen island. “Wait, let me get some more ice.” you take out the ice tray from the refrigerator to empty it in a bowl before adding a few in your drinks. Both of you pick up your bowls and clink your glasses. “Cheers.”

“It’s really good.” Peter says after taking a sip.

“Thank you.” you smile at him shyly and watch him through the rim of the glass, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the drink which you find damn sexy.

Peter finishes his drink and his gaze locks on you drinking as some of the lemonade dribbles from the corner of your mouth down to your cleavage. He did not miss how your nipples had pebbled in the cold air and were poking through the top. The sudden urge to lick and taste every inch of your skin makes his throat go dry.

It is implausible how much he has liked you since the very day he met you. The short meetings with you in the hallways while going or returning back from college left him wanting more. Especially when you wore those thin tops and tight shorts that showed off your round ass. The number of times he had fucked his hand imagining it was you riding his cock at night is embarrassing.

He clears his throat brushing aside those thoughts so that his semi doesn’t turn into a full on erection in front of you. “Guess I should get going now.”

He turns towards your door but you didn't want him to leave so you blurt out. “Or you could just stay.”

“Why does anything else need fixing?” Peter looks at you skeptically.

“I don’t know… it’s still kinda hot in here don’t you think?” you are stalling. Peter could see the desire in your eyes but he still wants to be sure that you want him as much as he wants you.

All these months of secretly pining over each other you were now treading dangerously along the lines. Peter decides to take the brave step and moves around the counter caging you against it. “You do look all flushed.” he observes, tucking a wisp of your hair behind your ear.

“I know right?” you smile nervously.

“I can think of some other ways to cool you down.” his voice husky as he lazily runs a finger down your arm.

“Really?” you ask quietly, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Want me to show you?” he lifts up your chin and brushes the pad of his thumb through your bottom lip.

“Yes.” it comes out barely as a whisper from your mouth but Peter was quick to catch it. With his eyes trained on you Peter reaches behind you to grab an ice cube from the bowl and pops it in his mouth.

You watch his every move with anticipation. He leans forward to capture your mouth in a slow tantalizing kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips as he rolls the ice into your mouth. You moan at the delightful sensation of the cold ice mixed with the warmth of his mouth.

Peter devours your mouth as he sucks and nips playfully on your bottom lip. His hands get frisky exploring the curves of your body before grabbing the front of your tank top, giving it a light tug. It tears into half and your breasts bounce free as you breath out a shocked gasp against his mouth at his sheer strength.

His large hands cup your breasts feeling their weight in his palms. Quiet whimpers escape your mouth as he squeezes and tweaks your nipples, turning them into hard sensitive points. Your nails scrape the back of his shirt tugging on it. Peter stops for a moment to let you lift his shirt above his head. The heat of his bare chest against your breasts feels good as you run your hands through his toned abs before placing two featherlight kisses on his pecs.

Peter lifts you by the back of your thighs on the counter and then gently pushes you to lay on your back on the cool granite surface. You hear the clinking of glass as he reaches for an ice cube. Goosebumps rise on your skin when his mouth connects at the nape of your neck with the cold ice held between his lips. He drags his mouth over your collar bones and then down between your breasts leaving a cool trail of water on your flushed skin. He looks up at you, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he crunches the left over ice with his teeth before popping in another one.

“Relax,” he says and presses the ice cube on your nipple, circling around the stiff bud. Your stomach clenches, a warmth spreading across your lower region as he moves on to your other breast and repeats the same. Your back arches when he slowly drags his mouth down your ribs to your stomach, the cool water feeling like a hot trail of fire. He drops the ice from his mouth on your navel and steps back to watch the ice melt into a pool of water trickling down your sides.

Slowly Peter unbuttons your shorts and slides it down your legs followed by your panties which were now soaked with your arousal.

“You’re so sexy.” he rasps, lust swirling in those coffee brown eyes. He kneels down and spreads your legs apart, running his hand up and down your thighs in a soothing manner. His hand reaches for the bowl again to pick an ice cube and pops it in his mouth.

Peter kisses the inside of your thigh, holding the ice between his lips he slides it up your soft skin. Your body tenses when you feel his warm breath against your aching core but to your disappointment he ignores your dripping wet pussy and kisses his way down your other thigh.

You whine in protest, squirming unable to take anymore of his teasings which only earns you a throaty chuckle from him.

“So needy. Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you.”

He spreads your pussy lips and lets a cool trail of spit drip down your slit. It’s downright filthy but also turns you the hell on finding out this kinky side of your sweet nerdy neighbor. Peter pulls the ice cube to the back of his mouth before diving in.

“Oh fuck!” your hips jerks off the counter at the onslaught of his cold lips wrapped around your sensitive bud. A heavy hand comes to rest on your stomach holding you in place as Peter swirls his tongue over your clit while your hands dig his thick hair.

Peter rolls the ice across his tongue and presses it against your engorged clit with his mouth. You let out a little scream tugging on his hair way too harshly and he groans into your heat. He holds it for a few seconds before sucking it back in his mouth. He runs the tip of his tongue in a straight line from your pussy to your clit making you moan and scream again as he presses the cube against you.

The ice melts rapidly between the heat of his mouth and your pussy turning into a small ball. Peter dips his head and pushes it inside you with his tongue. Your body shudders as he thrusts in and out fucking you with his tongue. Pleasure surges inside you and you begin to cum. But Peter doesn’t stop as he laps up all your juices along with the pool of water dripping out of your hole. You are still high on your first orgasm as you feel the second one building quicker than before. Peter presses his thumb against your swollen clit drawing tight circles and you fall apart screaming out his name.

You were panting hard, expecting him to stop but he’s so drunk on your taste that he continues to lick up and down your slick folds with the flat of his tongue.

“Peter…” you squirm away from his mouth.

“One more baby girl.” he croons, sliding two fingers inside you with ease.

“I can't.” you groan as your whole body feels like a bundle of exposed nerves.

“Yes you can. Give me one more and then you can have my cock.” he curls his fingers against your g-spot and his mouth is back on your clit, sucking it hard to the point where the lines between pleasure and pain seem to blur. Your eyes roll back into your head as spots cloud your vision and then you explode all over him.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims. Your body feels like a limp noodle, ears still ringing from how hard you came as you weakly lift your head to look at Peter between your legs— he was drenched down to his chest.

You squirted, you fucking squirted.

Embarrassment flames up your face but Peter just smiles and stands up to lean down and press his lips softly on your forehead whispering “you did so good for me.” and lifts you in his arms, carrying you to your bedroom.

Your back hits the soft linen of your mattress as you lie motionless watching him. You couldn’t decide what you liked more. His chiseled jaw, those bulging biceps, the flat planes of his stomach or the sharp dips of his hips. But then he pushes down his sweats and boxers and his long, hard length bobs in front of him making your mouth water.

He catches you staring and grins. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah it’s alright.” you try to play cool even though the reality was far from alright as you wonder how that big of a dick is going to fit inside you without splitting you into half. The math seems a little bit hazy for you right now.

Within seconds he’s on top of you peppering kisses down your neck and breasts as you squeal and wriggle underneath him. “I’m gonna see how alright you feel when I’m done with you.”

“Promises, promises.” you giggle before your breath hitches when he shoves two fingers into your pussy, finding you wet and ready for him.

“Condom?” he asks.

“Second drawer.” Peter leans over to open the drawer of your bedside table and a huge grin appears on his face discovering your little toy collection.

“You got a nice collection in here.” Your eyes go wide when you realize what he is talking about.

“I wonder who do you think of when you use those little toys of yours hmm?” he tears the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom down his shaft. Your cheeks heat up as you look away hiding your face in the pillow.

“Now don't get shy on me, Y/N. Tell me who did you think of while you played with this little pussy?” he rubs the head of his cock through your sensitive folds teasingly.

“You… Peter.” you stutter.

“We should use them.”

“Now?”

“No, some other time. Today it would be just us.” he lines his tip to your entrance and slowly pushes in.

He was barely a few inches in and it had you gasping for air at how his thick girth was stretching you to your limits. “Oh god… you're so big.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” he grins and slowly withdraws to push in a bit more deeper. Your back arches as he repeats the motion gaining another inch. Peter thought he had prepared you enough with the three earth shattering orgasms he gave you earlier but it was still a tight fit. Your pussy grips him like a vice as he tries to be gentle, grunting with each thrust to fully sheath himself inside you.

You press the heels of your feet into his ass cheeks pulling him closer. “Fuck me already, I can take it.” you rasp impatiently.

There goes being gentle as your command sends a shiver down his spine and he gives one hard thrust filling you to the hilt. Your back bows off the bed pushing your breasts to his eager mouth as he captures one pert nipple and flicks his tongue over it. Your moans were music to his ears.

“One last question, do you still think I’m alright?”

“Oh god Peter you’re fucking perfect. I can feel you up in my throat. Now move please.” you almost sob in desperation.

Satisfied with your answer he pulls back and slams back into you. Your body moves up the mattress with each powerful thrust and he is entranced watching your breasts bounce everytime. A thin sheen of sweat covers your bodies as you find a rhythm. A tight knot forms inside your stomach as your walls clamp around him tighter and he almost loses his goddamn mind at how good you feel. His hands cup your ass lifting you up the angle allowing him to pick up his pace and pound into you deeper.

“Ah right there! Don’t stop!” your nails score down his back when he hits that magical spot. Your body trembles and you bite down on his neck as your orgasm sweeps through you. Your walls flutter milking every last bit of pleasure out of him and he moans, pumping harder before his hips stutter coming undone with his own release. Your bodies quake with the aftershock of your orgasms as you pull him closer sealing your lips together in slow, drugging kisses not yet ready to let him go.

“This was the best sex of my life.” you say between ragged breaths.

“So do you’ve anything else to fix?” he grins widely.

“Yeah my legs, they feel like jelly. I don't think I can walk properly for a month.”

“That means I did a good job.” he replies smugly as he brushes away your messy hair sticking to your forehead.

“No need to get so cocky now.” you give a light shove on his shoulder and he finally pulls out to lay on his back beside you.

“You wanna go out sometime?” he asks.

“Go out you mean like a date?”

“Yeah” he turns on his side. “I like you a lot Y/N and I’ve been meaning to ask you out for quite some time before we had sex. That doesn’t mean I regret whatever happened today because I really liked it and I don’t want you to get the impression that I’m some kind of a fuck boy and and…”

You find rambling Peter adorable a stark contrast to the confident and dominant Peter who fucked your brains out a while ago. So you decide to bring him out of his misery and cut him off. “Peter, I like you too and I would love to go on a date with you.”

For a moment Peter goes speechless before he finds his words back. “Thank you.”

“You hungry? I’m gonna order some Thai” you prop yourself up on your elbow.

“Yeah sounds good.”

“Ok, I’ll be right back.” you kiss his nose and slide out of the bed to go and find your phone in the living room but not before turning around with a sly grin. “Maybe after that I can show you my toys.”

Reblogs are appreciated ❤

#andrew garfield #andrew!peter smut #andrew!peter x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter smut #andrew!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x reader #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine

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foreverrogers · 2 years

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peter. thighs. peter being obsessed with his partner’s thighs.

peter is a thigh man and a tits man and that is my stance. all i could think about when i read this was facesitting so uhhh.... smut under the cut

okay but even in a non-sexual context, this boy would always have his hand resting on your thigh when you're sitting next to each other, forever a comforting force as he rubs his thumb back and forth against your skin and holds this small piece of physical contact.

but at the same time he would absolutely use the constant contact to tease you when you least expect it, especially if you're wearing a skirt or dress and the trail of bare skin just seems too inviting. back seats of cabs and table cloths at restaurants are no match for the way peter always needs to be touching you, slips his hand between your legs until he's skating up enough it hitches your breath, makes you glare at him and mutter something about being in public while he smirks at you.

and in bed there would always be some sort of grasp on your thighs, whether it be a bruising grip keeping your leg hiked up around his waist as he fucks into you, kissing down the inside of your thighs and leaving tiny lovebites before he eats you out, or, the thing i physically cannot get out of my head, those hands splayed around the outside of your thighs pinning you to his mouth as you ride his face.

I'm convinced the first time peter suggests it, it's because he wants to feel the pressure of your thighs lock around his face. you've been lazily making out in bed for god knows how long, you in his lap with your thighs slotted around his, and when the arm around your waist presses you so close you have to kneel up peter's only thought is of how easy it would be to slide down and have you right over his face.

"what d'you think about trying something?"

you narrow your eyes at him, can't help the small smirk you give when you notice how hopeful he looks, bites his lip as he blinks up at your through those lashes. "like what?"

"like..." he trails off, and you watch him flush a little as he struggles to just come out and ask for it, instead uses his grip on your waist to keep you on your knees as he slides onto his back. your mouth sets into a small gape as you watch him, find the idea of it immediately ignites the well of heat in the pit of your stomach. you're quiet for so long peter starts to think you're trying to say no, flushes deeper with a tinge of embarrassment as he leans up against his elbow, his other hand still at your waist. "you don't want to?"

"I... didn't say that." he smiles a little when you push him back flat against the mattress. your skirt has already pooled above your hips, and with only the this barrier of your panties inches away peter can already smell the arousal you seem reluctant to admit.

he licks his lips, like he's hungry for it, like he's about to start drooling all over the sheets if he doesn't get to taste you soon.

"you sure?"

"god, yes."

his hands slip behind you, firm on the swell of your ass as he encourages you up towards him until you're hovering over his face. his fingers tease the band of your panties, holds your gaze as he slowly starts to tug them down your legs. you lift each knee one by one, let him slip the fabric off of your body and then you're bare, so close he can smell the hot arousal pooling in your lower half.

"you ready?" you nod, already find yourself speechless despite what you knew was coming. "tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

"yeah," you breathe, and then large hands are grasping the sides of your thighs, gentle pressure urging you down until you're close enough to taste.

the feeling of his mouth on you is like a different type of euphoric, tongue circling your clit before sucking the small bundle between his lips, keeps his eyes trained on yours the whole time.

you're still uncertain, though, still think you might hurt him, have to consciously resist the writhing urge to chase the friction by rocking against his face.

the force of his hands around your thighs tells you he notices, also tells you that the restraint isn't necessary, presses you so firmly against him that it sends a fresh shock of pleasure up your spine, makes you grip the headboard in front of you as you throw your head back. it also makes the first circle of your hips involuntary.

once he feels it, he needs more, hums his approval against your clit and urges your movement with every tug to your thighs.

"god, feels so fucking good, pete. so perfect."

it doesn't take long for it all to overtake you, your free hand tangling through his hair as the rocking of your hips picks up, hardly needs his encouragement anymore before you're riding his face.

peter feels it build, the way your thighs flex and tighten under his touch and around his face, drowns him in the sweet warmth of you surrounding him.

he would be lying if he said that wasn't what he was chasing when he makes you cum, feel your slick drip down his chin and digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as they lock around his face, trembling as he works you through the shattering orgasm.

when you finally breathe out a shaky sigh and start to lean up on your knees he kisses the inside of your thighs, nips at the delicate skin until you're grinning down at him.

he truly is a sight there, between your legs, mouth and chin sticky and glistening.

"we made a mess," you smile, reach down to try and clean up his face.

he grins right back up at you. "might as well make some more before we have to change the sheets."

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clarks-letterman · 2 years

Note

Okay but like…Bully!Male reader falling for Nerdy!Pete…and like things escalate once you have detention and have to clean the tables of your class and The sexual tension is sky rocketing so much so Pete has to use his hands to hush you incase someone heard the…commotion 😭

I'M LOVING EVERY WORD!! ...let's get this written >:D

a/n — thanks for requesting this and i tried to work it in the best i could!

summary — check the request above! it's basically 1 to 1

warnings — smut! top!peter parker and bottom!reader, creampies, anal sex

words — 3.8k (i think my longest fic so far)

~~~

The end of the school day had finally arrived; for most, it was a joyous celebration as it marked the start of the two days between this grueling week and the next one to follow, but for two individuals, that end was just the beginning of their time in detention.

"Back again, huh? I guess you missed me," Peter spoke, having only just set his bag on the side of his desk as he leaned up to see you taking a seat at the desk next to his. Immediately, he took a hand to his hair, toying with it to look a bit better before the conversation was set in motion.

You were quick to respond with a bite to your words, "Shut up, Parker. Why are you even here? Fall asleep from staying up too late again?"

Peter—unperturbed by your sudden outlash towards him—leaned forward on the oak surface of his desk and explained how he had ended up with a slip for detention, "That's a really weird guess, but, no, riding my board in the halls. It actually made a bunch of marks this time on the floor—"

"I, actually, don't care," You fulminated to the other boy. Sure, it was inconsistent—considering that you had asked him how he landed in detention—but a few days ago, you stumbled into a web of emotional entanglement after a shocking realization that seemed impossible to escape; you liked Peter Parker.

At first, it was a hard pill to swallow, a pill so confusing that you couldn't even name what was in it; it was simply an imbalanced mix of every emotion packed into something that no ordinary medicine would ever make you feel. Ironically, it never made you feel better. It only caused you to feel sick to your stomach whenever you saw Peter.

You thought it was a desire to befriend him that left you feeling that way after every interaction. Maybe after all those years of being under Flash's coercion to bully the poor guy for laughs, you had realized what you actually wanted to see—you wanted to see him by your side, walking down the hall with you. The lockers that you used to cheer Flash on for shoving him into would salute the two of you as the ringleader of bullies himself would be stuffed away into one, with no one to help him.

But the more you thought about Peter, the more you wanted him. There were times in class when you would look at him, and time would stop. It felt like you could analyze every detail on his face in just a single glance but still have so much more to see behind it. Your eyes grew to know the path of his features, where certain things turned into an abrupt dead-end only to bleed into the surrounding, insanely alluring attributes. And as your feelings grew for the nerd, so did the number of times you thought about him and how perfect he was.

Hell, you were doing it now during your talk with him, watching how he sported a smirk across his face, eyes scornfully slit with a glare to combat your rude words carelessly tossed at him. His comeback to it came out a bit stilted once he deduced that your eyes lingered on him, "Well—," he cleared his throat, "—well, thinking about riding over your face helped give the extra push my board needed. Thanks, man."

"Of course," You mused, feigning compassion for the other boy. At this point, you realized that the classroom was empty apart from you and Peter. Though, in just a few moments of silence, the door opened. A faculty member entered the classroom, the handles of two buckets hung from his grip, janitorial supplies teeming over the brim from both.

He walked to the small margin of space given by the two desks you and Peter sat at, placing one plastic pail on each desk, "Alright, Mr.Parker and Mr.(L/n). I've decided to give the both of you a punishment that I think fits well—you'll be cleaning all the desks in this room, along with a few other areas around here, too."

The teacher strode to the chalkboard at the head of the classroom, turning away from the both of you to write the areas you had to clean on the black surface. Over the loud squeak of chalk marking the solid surface and the teacher's radio cutting through with intermittent static, Peter leaned towards you, asking his own question, "Why are you here?"

"Drawing on the desks," You replied hushedly. Unfortunately, it was loud enough for the teacher to hear you talk.

"Gentlemen! I don't want to have to remind you—no less than five minutes into the class—that this is detention and not a place for—," The teacher's receiver went off, signaling that he was needed on the other side of the school. He huffed at the request and carried himself to the door, "Get to work you two, I'll be back in a little to check your progress."

You shot to your feet, standing over the bucket on your desk. Inside the pail, there were bottles of various cleansing sprays for all kinds of surfaces, a couple pairs of rubber gloves, and a few large sponges.

"Let's get this done," You stated, picking out a random bottle from the bucket and slipping on the elastic gloves with ease. Peter did the same, muttering some snarky comment under his breath that you couldn't hear.

To you and Peter's surprise, cleaning the surfaces of each desk and the chalkboards integrated into the walls turned out to be a cakewalk. You neared the last row of desks in the back of the room—where you and Peter sat—while Peter worked on cleaning a blackboard at the front of the room. Cleaning your way down the line of desks, you got to your own seat, squeezing the bottle handle as it squeaked out a few spritzes of the cleanser inside onto the wooden surface.

With the sponge in your other hand, you wiped the mixture around the desk until no dry areas remained. Peter's desk was the last one you would have to clean, and then you were done with your part of the room. You rounded your desk and moved to Peter's, following the same pattern as how you had cleaned the rest of the desks. Then, you noticed to the side of his desk sat his bag, beaten and marked up from the dirt and whatever else was on it. You laughed to yourself, thinking that this could be an easy way to mess with the other boy. You tugged at the zipper as you checked to ensure Peter wasn't looking.

On the other side of the room, Peter stood on the tips of his toes, his sneakers showing heavy creases as he tried to reach a bit of writing at the very top of the blackboard. As a result, his shirt had lifted to reveal a bit of his torso. If your jaw wasn't saved by the mercy of your mandible, it would have dropped to the floor at the sight of him. Instead, your heart plummeted to your stomach, and that feeling you had for Peter came rushing back. Your mind immediately gravitated to a myriad of thoughts dirtier than a New York alley—ones that involved Peter, on his back, with ropes of glossy white coating his abdomen.

To block those feelings and thoughts out, you turned back to his bag, hoping that messing around with him would untangle the Gordian knot in your stomach. You started pulling at the zipper again, doing it softly so that Peter wouldn't hear it. You let the small, metallic rectangle dangle on the other side of his bag once you towed it along its path, parting the pieces of fabric to reveal the inside.

Your hand went for the first thing inside the backpack, a pile of some fabric that you assumed to be an extra pair of underwear given the material. It would be a perfect way to embarrass Peter, especially since it was probably something nerdy like Spider-Man boxers—or even worse, Star Wars boxers. You slowly pulled it out of his bag, careful not to make any noise as you did.

You immediately recognized what it was, your hands running over it frantically to try and confirm that it was fake, but it was Spider-Man's mask, complete with a matching suit sitting just under it in his bag. There was no way that this wasn't genuine.

But that would mean that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. The nerd who looked like a breeze could carry him away was fighting criminals at night.

“Holy shit,” You muttered at the newfound revelation, but it was loud enough to pull Peter’s attention over to you. He had finally noticed what you were doing and dropped the eraser in his hands.

"Hey, put that back!" Peter yelled, rushing towards you with a concerned expression. You did what he said and frantically dropped it back into his bag, spewing out mindless apologies to him.

He cut you off as one of his hands cupped your mouth, his other landing on your chest to push you back against the nearest wall, "(Y/n), I need you to be honest with me. Are you going to tell anyone?"

Your eyes were wide as you shook your head. While you were surprised that Peter was Spider-Man, your mind had flown from that fact to how close Peter was to you. He had never gotten this close or this physical with you, so this contact brought a rising heat to your face as the crotch of your pants felt more restrictive than before. The smell of him poured out to you without him doing much of anything, and

His impossibly powerful grip didn't lessen; he was still unsure of whether or not he could trust you. After all, you were a bully to him and others alike, so trust wasn't something established in your relationship with him. But, the longer he held onto you, the more your attraction to him became noticeable. On his end, he could hear your heart beating faster and faster with each passing second, while you figured he was going to spot the growing tent you sported.

Peter would be lying if your proximity to one another didn't entice him too, as it distracted him from thinking straight about you knowing his secret identity. Outside of your adverse interactions, Peter cherished the moments where you two seemed to bond over something, whether you were asking him for help with the homework or quizzing each other on types of chemical equations. All of it made him wish that the social influences of high school hadn't whisked you away towards a life of making poor choices alongside the rest of the bullies stalking the halls.

Even if there wasn't a close connection between the two of you, he planned on closing the distance between you—in more ways than one. He didn't want to be the guy who admired your looks through his computer screen while editing a photo for Midtown; he had always wanted to make you right your wrongs and stand up to Flash one day. Peter wasn't sure how he would do it, but he hoped it was possible. If not for his feelings, he wanted to do it for you. He pondered over the idea of bringing you closer since the ringing of your heartbeat in his ears seemed to say it all.

While Peter's panic seemed to have slowly dissipated into nothing, your's was on the rise. Every humiliating thought worked its way into your mind since Peter was bound to notice your aversely expressed feelings for him. He would have the perfect ammunition to pluck you from your place on the school social ladder and drop you into the void of irrelevancy. Not that you cared much for it, but coming to school after this wouldn't be easy. But, as much as your mind led you to believe in one specific outcome from this whole thing, it took a turn that you didn't see coming.

Peter had let out a relieved sigh, his grip keeping you against the wall loosened. His hand didn't feel like it was about to rip your face off with one quick pull anymore; instead, he moved it to cup your face. His other hand snuck up to your shoulder to pull you away from the wall and into his embrace. This was his chance, and he decided to take it.

Your tense body loosened in line with Peter's hold on you, making it easy to place your arms around him once you were away from the wall. The simmering fear turned into enthrallment at the wonder of where he was taking this. He had brought you close to him—that was the first step—and all he had to do now was close the remaining gap between you and him.

Quickly, Peter bridged the distance between you and him with his lips pressed to yours. At first, it was only a quick peck as Peter pulled back to see your reaction, but you yanked him back onto you with a craving for more before he could even take one look at you. It just felt so easy. Easy enough to guide Peter back to his desk, his back firmly pressed to the tan hardwood surface. Your lips never left the other for even a single icy second, embracing in the warm air hitting each other's skin. It was almost hard and desperate with every repeated press to the other, like a counter for the countless years of denying the truth with anger and pity. You wouldn't be surprised if you pulled away and saw his already full lips look like he had just gotten knocked in the face.

Peter's hands slid down your body, stopping just short of your pants and letting his hands soar up the underside of your shirt, bunching it up as he went. He guided you back and peeled himself away from the desk to strip the shirt from your shoulders and over your head. Peter's shirt landed over yours a few seconds later, and he was pressing your bare back to the stiff plank of wood with metal legs as he returned to crushing your lips with a loving force. His bulge mirrored the action above as it pressed to your trouser-clad thigh.

Inbetween each kiss, he warns that you two will have to be fast through a breathy rasp. He was right—at any moment, a teacher could walk in and see the ungodly sight of the both of you pressed into each other, contaminating one of the desks.

"Okay," You huffed. Peter pulled away from you and turned to rummage through his bag on the floor. He popped his head back up, softly calling out your name to grab your attention as if the half-full bottle of lube in his hand wasn't pulling enough, "Do you want to use lube? I mean I don't know if you prepped or anything."

You sat against the edge of his desk with both hands placed at the two corners behind you for support, "No! I came for school, not sex. Why do you even have that here?"

He stood tall again, towering over you as he moved closer, "It's for the suit. Sometimes swelling from an injury won't go down, so it's useful."

You laughed and pulled him down to you for a quick peck, "I still can't believe your Spider-Man."

"You're lucky I don't have any web-fluid on me," He teased, "But I can't believe I'm really doing this." Peter placed the bottle over on your desk, his hands gravitating to the button and fly of his dark denim pants. Your eyes followed down the funnel-like shape his sex lines provided and watched in anticipation for the tease of his bulge to lose its place to the real thing hitting the classroom air. The whir of his zipper felt like it lasted forever as he parted the woven flaps and bunched the elastic waist of his boxers to let his cock free.

You could have sworn that your mouth fell open as it kept going. Peter was anything but small. The length alone was enough to make you swoon and hit every spot you could ask it to, but the girth was just as impressive. You were sure it could leave your hole gaping for days after this, and you were about to find out.

"Who knew Parker was packing?" You joked, attempting to feign any emotion created by the wave of nervousness stabbing your heart as you doubted your ability to take someone his size.

A smile grew on Peter's face as he took his painfully impressive length into his right hand and grabbed the bottle of lube with his left. He flicked open the cap with ease, giving it a few shakes to force the lube to the top of the bottle as he flipped it over. He casually squirted a thick line of lube over the top of his cock, replying to you while he did it, "I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me, like, ever."

"I'll be even nicer in a few minutes when that's destroying me from the inside-out," You joked, knowing that even with the help of the slick substance, you will probably still be crying to whatever God that sculpted Peter in their image. It was breathtaking to watch Peter's left arm flex with each tug of his equally stunning cock. Your voice softened in defeat at the realization that this was a risk, temporary, and far from the ideal way to be intimate with the nerdy guy, "But, we can't be loud, right?"

"Right," Peter agreed, stepping close to you as he let his stiffening length swing with each step. He kept his slick hand near him as he used the other to pull you onto your back and shuck off your pants and boxers, ass in view for the world to see. He tossed them down to the ever-growing pile of clothes at his feet, using the lube left on his fingers to trace over your hole. You moaned at his cold fingers lightly grazing over your entrance, your head reflexively leaning over the edge of the desk.

After a few moments of teasing your hole, Peter brought both of your feet up and over his shoulders, taking his slicked cock in hand and guiding his cockhead to it. You felt it gently graze over your hole before Peter pressed his hips forward, ushering himself into with a certain eagerness. He had to restrain his urges to turn you into a mess as payback for the years of teasing, especially since your first reaction to him stretching your ass was to let out something between the noises of a moan and cry. Peter was big. Big enough to cause an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

"Hey—hey, you have to be quiet, okay?" He asks. A calloused hand imprinted on your perfect features to cover your mouth. It pained Peter to know that he couldn't hear the beautiful sounds that his size alone would emit, annoyingly muffled by the palm of his hand. Your hole would have to efficiently communicate your pleasure with each spasm and contraction against his cock.

You nodded and felt him slowly press on, stretching your ass with each passing inch. Eventually, Peter bottomed out inside you, and your assumptions about his size rang true; your small ring of pink would be left agape by the end of this. He starts to nudge his way back, putting a hand on your hip for support to pull his own hips away before driving himself deep into you.

Peter repeated himself, and his thrusts quickly increased in strength, growing more painful and pulling louder and louder noises from you, only to be muffled by the palm of his hand. Though, the smacking of skin said enough to make up for your or Peter's lack of words at the moment. You vented your pleasure into giving yourself a sloppy handjob. You could barely keep your hand taut enough to jerk your own length with each intense pounding Peter gave. This would have been the perfect moment for 'Spider-Man' to have eight arms instead of two.

As he went on, Peter moved with great stealth, letting each moan and grunt pass through his teeth to keep quiet. But, his drive to reach a climax is needy and desperate to the point where he huffed out every breath in short bursts.

Your climax came into view faster than the speed Peter embodied. And with just a few light tugs on your own cock, you shot out a few ropes of hot white release. The walls of your ass tightened around Peter's length as you did, sending Peter over his own edge.

"Fuck, fuck," He moaned while pulling out of you, making sure to keep his voice low.

Peter flipped you onto your stomach, keeping a hand on your hip. The heat from your back ruminated on the wooden desk as you gained a new look at the classroom. Everything was in your view aside from Peter, who towered over your pathetic ass as he wrapped his fingers around his cock and tugged himself towards his climax. You could feel his entire arm tremble and stiffen, hearing a loud moan echo through the silent room as the hot sensation of his release hit your lower back and the crack between your two mounds.

If it wasn't enough, a bristling feeling left the hairs on the back of your neck in pointing shock as something broad and wet ran over your perineum and slowly up between your backside. As Peter reached your lower back, he laved your skin with small laps to clean up the ropes of come he sprayed on you. He soaked in the salty and bitter flavor of your skin and his release on his tongue as you poured out a myriad of moans that were euphonic to him. He made sure to get everything and swallow it down before rising to his feet. Once you stopped feeling him messing around with your rear, you turned to see him getting dressed.

"What?" He laughed, "We gotta clean up this mess. You heard the teacher!"

"I can't believe you," You jokingly scoffed for an added effect, bending over to pick up your clothes. Peter snuck in a few glances as he pulled his shirt over his head, "So, can Spider-Man swing by later? Or should he come here tomorrow?"

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esha-isboogara · 2 years

Text

quiet down

this was written after i saw the new movie so excuse the…horny. i tend to forget how to act around pretty boys like him.

andrew!peter parker x reader

peter won’t stop just because of a phone call.

☆ MINORS GET ON OUT!!! , porn what plot, piv sex, praise, dom!peter, a bit of praise

y/n dug her nails into the pale skin of peters muscled shoulders,applying pressure as he increased his speed. droplets of blood could be seen if one were to look hard enough.

it would leave a nasty wound the next morning you were sure of it. but it didn’t matter now. the feelings were overwhelming.

"you just can't seem to help yourself can you"? he said with a playful smile while gripping her waist and pounding into her core. hitting all the right spots and angles. "love my dick that much hmm? i can tell how much you love my cock inside you. actually i find it really cute”.

words were not able to form. all she could do was nod. eyes squeezed shut , mouth half open.

"no answer huh? you're more cock dumb than i had thought. you gonna cum ? go ahead princess , let go”.

the ringing of a cell phone pierced both of their ears at once.

"fuuuck, i gotta take this baby". he said with an exasperated sigh after glancing at the glowing screen of the phone. "it's my lab partner..we're meeting up tomorrow to complete our final project or something along those lines".

the way he said it was so nonchalant. it was almost ridiculous. he was right in the middle of giving you the best dick down of your life and he was taking phone calls.

you slowed your pace down to a halt, a wave of disappointment rushing over your body. your orgasm was fast approaching and now it had come to a complete halt.

"hey dude what's up". he said in a cool tone before turning to you and mouthing the words "did i say stop"?

you were still for a few seconds unsure of what to do.

he was on the phone for gods sake. if his friend heard you the embarrassment would surely kill you.

peter wrapped one of his strong arms around your waist and got to his feet. at that moment you were sure you could feel him in your womb.

biting your tongue as hard as you possibly could was all you could do from screaming his name. the sweet sensation of being filled to the brim was nothing short of euphoric.

gracefully he placed her on her back atop the mattress still holding the phone to his ear.

"Yeah yeah man. this city is getting crazy...mhm..yeah yeah hold on a second my girlfriend needs something".

he put the call on mute. "i'm not gonna stop fuckin ya just because he's on the phone...i just need you to be quiet. you wouldn't want him to know you're just my cockdumb slut now would you"?

again you nodded, unable to form words at this point. broken moans and gasps were all that came out.

his thrusts became less erratic. “now be a good girl for me okay? think you can do that”?

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swtki · 2 years

Text

Swtki’s 2.5K follower celebration !

Aaaah thank you guys so much for 2.5 K !!!!!

18+ only content ahead - minors will be blocked as well as ageless blogs !

P Links :

Eddie Munson

Punishing sub! Eddie when he’s been bad

Giving virgin! Ed his first hand job

Eddie loves to be EDged

Boob man Eddie

Jock! Gf with Eddie

Steve Harrington

Riding Steve

Steve loves watching his cum drip out

Sub! Steve eating his girl out

Sub! Steve being edged

Steve painting her face

Missionary with Steve

Jonathan Byers

Ruining J’s fav shirt

Making out with needy! Jonathan

Boob man Jonathan

Amazon Position with sub! Jonathan

Riding J while wearing his shirt

TASM! Peter Parker

Making out with Peter

Shower sex with Sub! Peter

Peter has a breeding kink

Peter Teasing

Peter finger blasting

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kristannefoxx · 25 days

Text

I’m blowing up all my liked tings! Yes I heavily simp for Andrew Garfield and Tom holland for Peter Parker don’t mind me 👀

-Kristanne 🦊✌️

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spider-stark · 11 months

Text

A DARK AGE - PREVIEW

a tasm fan fiction // coming june 2023 // click here to read notes

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” You weren’t entirely sure who you were attempting to convince with the statement; Jameson or yourself.

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug, leaning back in the rickety chair. You knew his opinion on Spider-Man, knew his stance on the matter. Still, even he knew that Spider-Man had never crossed that line before. “No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one who goes down for it.”

Your mind was reeling, gaze falling to the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, causing the already prominent stain to grow in size, but you didn’t care.

New York had already begun to turn on Spider-Man. The city that he had saved time and time again had grown to hate him, unable to forgive him for abandoning them entirely, for leaving them to wonder if their beloved hero was even still alive. And to come back like this? To come back a murderer?

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.”

There was no other outcome for it, both of you knew that much. There was already an eerie sense of unrest that had settled amongst the city in Spider-Man’s absence; and if it was confirmed that their former symbol of hope had abandoned his own code of ethics? The world would turn to nothing but chaos.

It would be the dawn of a new age.

A dark age.

bonus teaser scene - peter parker dialogue from A Dark Age

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literaila · 11 months

Text

untrustworthy

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

"are you mad at me?"

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"

warnings: angst, alludes to depression, lost of interest, pushing people away, this is a pining fic because they’re not actually together, angst, fluff at the end, peter sucks but he’s also great?

a/n: i haven’t written anything in weeks and this is so terrible but take it or leave it. i am.

if you've learned anything in the past year, it's that you couldn't trust peter parker.

you couldn't trust him to finish his portion of your shared slideshow for your physics class. and you shouldn't have trusted him to tell you if he couldn't get it done before the due date--sparing you both from the wide-eyed, slightly over-amused gazes of classmates who thought peter's "the end" slide was purely a comedic stroke, and not just laziness, or a miserable attempt to pretend he hadn't cost you thirty percent of your grade.

and even after, you couldn't trust him not to give you a look--his signature look--sending you plummeting towards forgiveness before he'd even gotten the chance to apologize.

you couldn't trust peter parker to pick up a mutual friend's birthday cake or get himself home safely without cracking his glasses, or not to eat all of the cookies that may made for you on his way to your apartment. you wouldn't trust him to wash your dishes or sleep on your couch without burning the entire building down.

it was a dangerous thing, you'd realized, about three months after you'd met him, to try and count on him.

peter parker would borrow a pen from you, flicking his hair your way and smiling that charming smile, and then proceed to give it back to you at your thirty-year reunion. or never.

you'd learned not to expect him to show up for anything on time, ask him to pick anything up for you, or let him do laundry in your apartment.

peter parker was anything but dependable. and if you could give the past version of yourself any advice, it would be not to trust him.

not to let that foolish hope exist before it was crumbled between strong hands like a grocery receipt, never to be seen again.

you wouldn't let that faded, reliable version of peter exist.

you couldn't trust peter parker to do anything or make any promise he would actually keep.

you couldn't even trust him to stay away from you when you wanted space the most; like now.

because as soon as you heard that knock on your door, a bitter part of you was scowling at the intrusion, cursing your friend for bothering to exist or always showing up when you didn't want him to.

and you knew that just like every other thing peter did, he wouldn't take no for an answer. even if you didn't answer the door. even if you threw your phone down into the garbage disposal.

you were pretty sure peter could pick a lock. and also slightly suspicious that he'd had a copy of your key made behind your back.

so when peter walks into your living room, hair dripping from the rain, arms full of grocery bags, you aren't surprised.

you barely even blink at him before returning your attention to your tv, where a couple was viciously debating the cost of crown molding.

his presence is its own curse because you can feel every movement he makes, just like always.

"hey," peter says, smiling evilly. he ignores your ignoring. doesn't even mind the fact that you haven't looked at him. "i brought you some stuff."

he kicks his shoes off--into your living room, of course, mud sticking to your carpet--and heads to the kitchen.

"just some basics," he continues, not bothering to listen to any reply, verbal or not. "bread, eggs, milk. i got you some disgusting orange jello and a couple of those pre-made sandwiches they make at the deli. they're a bit... flat, but they should be okay still."

you turn the volume up.

peter doesn't mind. "there's also some protein bars in there--chocolate--just in case you want something quick," he walks back into the room, holding a glass bottle. "and i saw this banana-flavored soda when i was walking out, for us to try and throw up together."

he shakes the bottle around, smile on his idiotic face, not even bothering to think about the harsh reality of carbonation.

"open that over the sink," you mumble to him, still not meeting his eyes.

you curse your weak willpower for ruining your silent game. and peter, for knowing that he would win eventually.

peter tilts his head, tsking at you. "not even a thank you for your very thoughtful, handsome--" he plops down next to you, moving your legs so that he can tickle your feet. "and genius best friend?"

"thanks, peter."

instead of looking over at the man who was definitely trying to get you to yell at him, you choose to watch the ceiling on the tv crumble over brand-new hardwood.

you frown.

peter runs his hand up your calf, goosebumps riding his wake. "are you mad at me?"

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"

"no, turkey."

"then no."

peter removes his hand. "what's wrong with the bologna?"

"they put rat poison in it."

peter pokes your thigh. "and you've been letting me eat it? you know i love those sandwiches."

you turn even further on your side, wall going up between the two of you, forcing his hand off, mumbling, "wanted to test a theory."

"what theory?"

finally, your eyes meet his--stupid brown, caring, auburn, and hateful eyes. "if rat poison would kill you or not."

peter scoffs.

you let your lip quirk up, irritated at his perfect mouth and thoughtful grocery list, and warm hands climbing up your stomach, and then look away. back to the house infested with termites. if there's anything to hate, it's adoration. the ridiculous attachment you have to him, even now.

"are you calling me a vermin?"

you roll your eyes. "well, you're not dead so..."

and it was all normal. peter sitting this close and trying to mold himself into your skin, the puppy eyes he was trying to give you, and his devious smirk. his teasing and lack of common sense, his stupid jokes, and stupid thoughtfulness, ruining the silent treatment you'd meant to give him. the space you'd been forcing between the two of you.

it was all normal, but you can feel him lurking, waiting for a moment to say something. you can feel him staring at you.

"what?" you say, sharp and rough, after thirty seconds of it being too much. of peter being too close and too quiet.

his presence is a burden on your heart.

peter's hands began to massage your legs, forcing you to let him in closer than you want him to be. "what, what?" he repeats.

your eyes meet his with defenses already prepared. "what are you doing here, peter?"

the words are weapons. one punch to the jaw and a knife shoved into his back.

you're trying to get him off of you, get him out that door and back into the world where he belongs so that you could stay here and rot, just like you want to.

but peter's eyes stay soft, his hands are kind and his intent is obvious. he isn't trying to fight with you.

he blows out a breath. "what're you doing here?"

you both stare at each other for a moment and then you look away, shaking your head. "i live here."

"you know that's not what i mean."

"do i?" you ask, voice sarcastic and mean. and it would be fine--usually. you and peter are mean to each other for sport.

but he wasn't being anything but easy. careful as he stretched your muscles out like he could tell that you hadn't used them in days.

trust peter to break your only rule.

it was silent again; only the sounds of commercials in the background, a woman swearing that aleve changed her life.

peter clears his throat. "why haven't you been answering my calls?"

"lost my phone."

"and class?"

"i've been sick."

"you missed an exam," he pushes. "you're gonna have to make it up."

"already emailed connaly."

"good." peter swallows, and you can feel his pounding, his questions even when he's not asking them.

you want to push him off of the couch. you want to push him off of you, leave bruises from the fall, and tell him to find someone who can be his friend. who can do this.

you want to be understanding, and as careful as he is. you love him enough to not scream, even if you want to.

"peter, i really just want to be alone, so--"

"when's the last time you ate?"

you sigh, pulling away from him.

but peter has a firm hold on your legs, and even if you tried, you couldn't kick him away.

"when was the last time you showered?"

"i've been sick, peter, it doesn't--"

"left the house?" he prods. "or moved from the couch? when was the last time you looked in the mirror?"

you sit up, looking at him without meeting his eyes. "you should go. i could still be contagious." the words are tense, your face is stone, unmoving, and unwilling to do any of this with him.

peter moves closer to you, his hands lingering just inches away from your marble face. "what's going on?" he asks, so softly that you can barely feel it on your plastered skin.

his concern and care, his stupid face and stupid eyes and--

"i can't do this, peter."

"you need to talk to me," he says, without even processing what you've said. "you need to tell me what's happening because it's been almost two weeks since i've seen you, and this..." he gestures around the room.

a place that used to be your home.

"what happened?"

and if anyone could get it out of you--pull the secrets you have hidden in your chest, ignoring your screams of pain--it would be peter. he would be the person that you talked to.

that is if you wanted to talk at all.

if you wanted to move from his couch and look into his eyes like you had been for months before this. like he was more than a classmate, or friend who had stuck to you. like he was someone who you wanted to care about.

someone with perfect lips and wonderful eyes and an addicting laugh.

someone who you might want to tell more, share more.

the person that you'd been a month ago would've told peter. even unsure if he could keep that secret or stay with you, you would've told him. trusted him that much. more than he deserved.

but the person sitting on your couch staring into those same eyes doesn't want anything.

to move or breathe or have to tell peter that you just don't care anymore.

that whatever you have to tell him is gone, that your words and voice have been ripped from your chest, that this couch, this distance you've been trying to build is the only remedy to fix the hole that remains.

but you don't want to see him. you don't want to tell him anything. you don't want to breathe his air and risk infecting him.

"nothing, peter. i'm fine."

"you look like you've spent the last month in the hospital."

"well, you look like a goddamn swimsuit model, so i guess we're even."

you're watching as his serious face shifts, and you can see it as he fights back a laugh, his eyes just barely flickering.

and you wish that you didn't care. you wish so badly that it didn't matter. you look away, thinking to pretend that none of this exists.

you've had enough nightmares like this lately.

"hey," peter says, one fingertip turning your eyes back to his. and you know it's not a dream, because your imagination can never get those eyes just right. "i'm here to listen. whatever it is. we'll work it out. i just need you to talk to me."

"i told you, there's nothing--"

"and you've got to stop lying to me like i can't tell."

you scowl.

peter's eyebrows lift, a fraction of affection appearing on his face. "c'mon, just tell me. i won't laugh."

you look down, at his hand resting on your thigh, and the hole you've burned into the couch.

you don't want to look at his eyes anymore. you're tired of trying to look away. and not talking to him.

you sigh. "nothing, peter. just..." you blink, but it's not enough to push his regard off of you. to rid yourself of the toxins he's breathed into you.

you were almost immune to them, just a few weeks ago. mithridatism only works if it's consistent.

and his eyes are more dangerous when you haven't seen them.

you freeze. "there's nothing," you repeat, defenses falling, hands going to push him away from your face.

and peter knows what's going to happen before you do. "hey," he says, already soothing. "whatever it is..."

and peter grabs you before you fall. he catches that first tear, and it's his forever. his arms fold around your shoulder, his strong hands keeping your head up.

"there's nothing. it's all gone. everything i want, everything i--"

his hands are tilting your face up to his but you can't look at him. you can't look into his perfect eyes and feel ashamed of yourself anymore.

you're sick and tired of feeling sorry for yourself.

"i can't feel anything, peter. i don't want to do anything but sit here and hope that eventually, this feeling goes away. that it all just..." you shake your head, feeling him invade you.

and then you lean in and let peter hold you up.

you hadn't even realized that you were crying. hadn't realized how far down you'd pushed the words until they were bubbling up.

bile crawling up your throat.

"i'm sorry," you whisper to him, just before he crushes you into a hug, your head buried into his neck. your tears staining his perfect skin. "i'm so sorry."

peter shakes his head against you, holding you even closer.

and you can't breathe with how tight he's holding you, but this sort of breathlessness is welcome. much better than the other kind.

you laugh against him, feeling how sore your body is. how angry you are with yourself.

"i've got you," peter whispers, into your hair, kissing your forehead. "we'll figure it out."

you shake your head but say nothing.

you finally breathe him in, desperate after denying yourself for so long. you don't have to worry about anything as long as peter is right there.

"god," he says, after a few minutes pass. "i'm sorry i didn't come sooner. i thought..."

thought you were okay, you can hear. thought that you needed space, that time was a perfect solution.

"not your fault," you mumble into him.

peter leans back, just so that you'll look up at him. "why didn't you tell me? you know i would've come," he says, "if you'd just called."

"i didn't want--" you swallow, looking away. "i didn't want you to know. or see."

peter scowls. "what did you think would happen? i would leave? or tell you to get over yourself?"

"maybe."

"are you insane?"

"maybe."

peter doesn't even laugh. he makes you look at him again, not knowing how cruel those eyes of his are. "i would've stayed," he tells you, "no matter what. even if you told me that you murdered someone. or run over a squirrel with your bike. i would've been there. i'm going to be there."

his jaw is tense and his eyes are so serious, but you sniffle, shaking your head. "even if i murdered a squirrel?"

"i mean... it would be hard. but i'd do it."

you laugh.

he swallows, shaking his head. "you need to tell me what's going on, okay? instead of ghosting me for two weeks, acting like you died or something."

"i answered a couple of your texts."

peter glares at you.

"okay. i'm sorry."

he shakes his head again, almost smiling, if a little bit sad. "are you okay?"

you fall back into him, suffocating yourself into his shoulder. you don't want to answer that, and hope that peter doesn't push.

for once, he does what you want, wrapping his arm back around you, pulling you in closer.

"okay," he says, and breathes with you.

you sit with him for a few seconds, glad that he's there, and then you ask, "how'd you get in?" voice muffled by his shirt.

"it was unlocked, you idiot."

you frown, looking up at him.

peter laughs.

"no, it wasn't."

his eyes return to normal, deviance stuck in his expression. "i used my key," he answers, innocently.

trust peter to ruin the moment.

my masterlist here.

916 notes · View notes

lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

Note

Matt and Peter trying to see who can fuck you better but they both fuck you so good that you become a babbling mess

i meshed two requests together, this one as well as matt and peter fucking villain! reader :)) i had a lotta fun with this one, enjoy!

VIGILANTE SHIT- P.B PARKER & MATT MURDOCK

Pairing: Peter! Matt! x Vigilante Black Cat! Reader (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: SMUT, praise and degradation kink, mocking/ babying, petnames, teasing, swearing, mentions of blood/ violence (matt also bandages readers wound), bondage, dry humping, masturbation, breeding kink, man handling, overstim, fluff tho<33

"and i don't dress for villains, or for innocents.. i'm on my vigilante shit again. i don't start shit but i can tell you how it ends..."- vigilante shit, taylor swift

You had married the night.

It was your escape, your desires, your dreams. The stars were rings upon your fingers, the moon a shining spotlight through the clouds as you’d stalk your prey during the hunting hours.

You came alive in the darkness.

You felt like a burst of light, energy and power bursting through your veins. It was when you could take charge. When you could sneak up on people, make them fall to their knees and beg for salvation.

It was when you could get revenge on the people who deserved it most.

You had trained yourself to be a soldier. To have your guard up, to be alert and stealthy. The Black Cat, is what they had called you. You were quiet and flexible, getting in places the average person couldn't.

It was ideal for stealing.

“Stealing” things that didn't belong to the people who had stolen them in the first place. They didn't belong to the white, rich old men the prowled the upper parts of New York.

They didn't belong to the thugs and gangs in Hell's Kitchen either.

They belonged to you.

It was a waiting game, finding the right time to swoop in from your spot on the rooftops to scurry down and collect the goods. But it was one you were willing to play. You had played many games since your time on the streets in the twilight hours, like cat and mouse.

Matt Murdock and Peter Parker were crawling on you like spiders, and you had run into them more times than you could count. As fast as they appeared, you had fled.

They had no idea who you were, but you had made headlines. The thief in the night. The media didn't know anything. They liked to spin and twist lies for their own benefit, so that things would sell and people would become frightened.

What they didn't know- is that you only stole from people who deserved it.

Your own version of justice.

And right now, the men you were watching from the alleyway deserved it. You had been watching the Pirus gang now for days, hiding behind old warehouse containers and perching yourself upon balconies and ledges to spy upon them and their dirty deeds that made your own hands feel greasy with grime.

They had something that belonged to you. You had noted the 18k gold ring getting pocketed between them, a ring that had been gifted to your mother before she had passed.

You didn't care about the imaginary price tag that was attached to it, like these crooks did. You didn’t care you could sell it and easily make a hundred thousand dollars, waving goodbye to student debt and mortgage rates. You just cared that it was in a safe, and valuable place.

Tucked away in the little vintage jewelry box she had gifted you before she took her final breaths on that old, creaking bed.

A growl ripped through your throat as you saw them flip it up like a coin, hearing their mutters about ‘thank god the bitch is dead’. They were just a leap away. With a push, you could jump down upon the pavement, ripping them to shreds with your claws.

You had been patient enough, a clock ticking in your head with each second that had passed where the ring wasn't in your possession.

The ring was an easy target, and you shifted your weight stealthy to propel your body forward.

It was all coming together. It was easy.

Almost too easy.

As you guided yourself, eye on the prize- a sharp jerk yanked you back. The breath was stolen from your lungs, your scream muffled as a hand was placed across your mouth.

“Shhhh. Not a word.” the low voice murmured in your ear, his warm breath making the hairs on your neck rise with anxiety as you struggled against his chokehold grip he held on you against his large, solid body.

You were brought back in through the large warehouse window you had so stupidly turned your back on, too focused on the activities below to realize what was going on behind you.

Who was behind you, for that matter. You twisted your foot to step on his own, but he avoided it, clearly trained in combat as he fought back against your contained fight.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself sweetheart.” he growled, twisting you around to smash your body against the cold brick, the wind knocked out of you, too stunned to cry for help as he tossed you like a rag doll.

A black bandanna covered his eyes, toned body was hidden under the same black fabric, blood smeared across his cracked knuckles. You searched him for some recognition of who he was, but you were too dazed from the sudden assault, heartbeat racing too loud in your ears from adrenaline to think clearly enough.

“She's got fight in her man.” the mystery man smirked, as if you were a wild animal in a cage, desperate to get free.

Shivers broke out across your skin from under the leather as shocks went through your whole body, white, sticky webs clinging you to the wall like a mouse in a trap.

Then it clicked. Oh. Fuck.

“Oh you fuckers.”

A second body hung from the ceiling, emerging from the darkness into the dingy warehouse lighting, attached to a web as he waved at you from upside down.

“Well hello there!” he said cheerfully as if the three of you were all buddy-buddy and this was an everyday event.

“Was that a goddamn Star Wars reference?” you huffed, wanting to strangle the both of them.

“Yes. Maybe. Maybe yes.” He dropped from the ceiling, bouncing on his heels as he looked at you with interest through his mask, head tilted with curiosity.

“You need to slow your heartbeat. Calm down.” the masked man murmured lowly, listening to the increasing speed of its thumps as he neared you. It was then your vision cleared, and you could get a good look at them in the dimmed lighting.

Matt and Peter.

“I would be calm, if I wasn't webbed to a fucking wall right now.” you sang sweetly, making him smirk.

“It's for your own good.”

“Well technically, it’s for our own good because if she weren't bound she’d be clawing our faces off right now.” Peter noted, his voice fading in the distance as he found some random old chairs that were scattered in the corner.

“Peter’s right ya know.” you played along, the dragging of the chair's feet against the stone floor coming to an abrupt halt.

“You know my name?”

“Well duh. I’m not stupid, no matter how much you and Mr. Matthew over here may think I am.” You couldn't keep the sly smirk off your face, knowing you had them right where you wanted them.

You couldn't defeat them, and you knew the gang had most likely scrambled by now, along with your ring- but you could keep them talking.

“It's nice for us to finally be acquainted again.” Matt sighed, watching as Peter brought up the chair, plopping himself in one directly in front of you. As if you were a circus act, or the hottest new movie in the box office.

You huffed, not meeting his eyes as Peter curled his feet under him, sitting crisscross in the old, rusting chair. “What is this a therapy session?”

“Does it need to be? Tell me, my darling- how is your relationship with your father?” Peter asked mockingly, making you hiss out in response.

“Alright, alright enough. We just want to talk to you…”

“I’m not giving you my name.” you replied sharply, slightly struggling against the webs, having no luck of them weakening.

“How is that remotely fair?” Peter scoffed.

“Peter- enough. Fine, be that way. As I said, we just want to talk.” Matt exclaimed, cracking his knuckles as his head tilted to listen, surveying the nearby area with his ears.

“I think they left.” you murmured, and he nodded in response, mouth drawn into a hard line. “They left cause you scared them off with all your thrashing. Settle down woman, the webs won't break that easily.” Peter hinted, watching in amusement as you finally gave up, putting your head down in defeat.

“I hate you.” you murmured softly, quiet as a pin drop as you stared down at the cold concrete.

“Yeah, yeah tell us something we don't know.” Matt sighed, your eyes flickering back up to look at Peter, his legs still crossed in an almost childish manner as he leaned his head in his hands- appearing bored.

“Let's get this over and done with. What do you want to talk about?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

They were going to threaten you- obviously, or they'd try and talk you over with their magical words of wisdom, about how being ‘good’ was better than whatever the fuck you were doing. You didn’t care for it.

But you knew they wouldn't let you go until they said what they had to say.

You fought the urge to shiver, a cold breeze filtering through the broken windows, seething to chill your bones. Your nipples hardened, and you swore Matt’s head tilted slightly, a smirk dotting his face.

“You. Helping us.” Peter retorted, and before you could stop it, you laughed.

You laughed and laughed and laughed because what the fuck? That was the last thing you had expected them to say, his words seeming like an inside joke you weren’t involved with.

The cold had now disappeared, replaced with a warmth and bubbliness that pooled in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” was all you could gasp out, your sides hurting from the continuous laughter that poured out of you. You laughed partly because yes- it was funny, but also because you were confused and anxious. Not that they needed to know that of course.

“We need your help taking on Kingpin.”

There it was.

The laughter stopped. That name had left you scarred, your insides shriveling up at the whispers of memories that trickled through your brain.

“I don’t get involved with him.” you stated, voice hardened like cracked sugar. The air was sucked out of the room, and you saw fear and darkness slither across the brick.

“I know you don’t. That's why we’re now asking you to get involved with him, with us. We need another hand to play in his card game.”

“I don’t. Get. Involved.” you hissed, drawing out each symbol as if they were illiterate. Which they must have been. They must have been borderline stupid to think you would help them, with Kingpin nonetheless.

He was way out of your territory, and there were even lines you didn't cross once they were drawn.

“We’ll help you get your mother's things back.” Peter said cooly from his side of the room. Your head whipped towards him, eyes wide.

Maybe you didn't have the upper hand afterall.

“I don’t need your help.” Peter snorted, hand extending to the broken window, the one you had been perched out of a few minutes prior.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” he said sarcastically. “I had it under control, until you two showed up and ruined it.” you snarled.

“We saved you. They had multiple firearms on them, and you were severely outnumbered. The second you dropped, you would have been shot on the spot, too many bullets to stand a chance.” Matt replied to your outburst coolly. “But you wouldn't have known that, would you? They were tucked away, in their boots and under their jackets. Because if you did know, you would have been openly committing suicide, and that seems unlike you since theres jobs that still need to be done.”

You were silent. They had you in their webs. Quite literally, at that.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.” Matt replied softly, his demeanor seeming to change. Almost as if... as if he felt bad for you. As if he could see right through you, could feel the pain and sorrow in your heart that ripped and clawed at you daily, could feel the loneliness and anguish that haunted you.

Maybe he didn't have many choices in his lifetime.

His words were nearly comforting, but you knew they were one-sided. You did have a choice, but if you didn’t accept their offer- things wouldn't turn out good. Not that they would working with them anyways.

But what ‘choice’ did you really have?

“Fine. When do we start?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s fucking cold.” you groaned, the air around you seeming brisker with each passing second. New York never seemed to be warm, the skin-tight suit plastered to you not helping the cause.

It was lightweight and stretchy, its fabric perfect for fighting and climbing- but it provided next to no warmth.

The sirens shrieked as they passed by under you, the city lights illuminating the two men next to you as you sat perched on the roof.

It had been a few weeks since the webbing incident, and you now waited- bored out of your mind for an instruction. It was unlike you to listen and not lead, but you wanted to see how the dice would roll.

You crouched low, the concrete block rough and bitter to the touch as you knelt at Peter’s level.

“It’s not cold. You’re just being a pussy.” Peter drawled, the wind whipping through his messy locks as he looked down, taking in the bustling traffic below.

The cars were all fancy here, all Porches and Bentleys on this side of town. It made you feel out of sorts, and uncomfortable in your skin.

“Did you just call me a pussy?”

“He meant it romantically.” Matt replied, your eyes meeting his sharp jawline as he sourced out the area from the other side of you.

“I did not.” he scoffed, a blush burning on his cheeks as he turned away, suddenly very interested with the stone ledge.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. When are we moving in?” you asked impatiently, rocking on the balls of your feet anxiously. It felt like you had been sitting up here forever, despite meeting them back near Hell's Kitchen over half an hour ago.

So in reality, you had really only been sitting here for a good twenty minutes. Yet, it dragged on.

Where was the action? The fighting? You were sick of waiting.

“Don’t even think of moving in without my signal.” Matt stated, sensing your anticipation as you sighed.

“What are we even waiting for?!”

“For them to take their fighting somewhere else.” Peter snorted, obviously as anxious to get going as you were, but it appeared he was more collected. He had been working with Matt a lot longer than you had, and you hoped to keep it that way.

You watched as Matt listened closely, obviously aware of the conversation that was appearing behind the glass in front of you. The two men were tall and build, almost double the size of you. Anger was written across their faces, buried in the creases of their foreheads as they yelled, hands frantically moving. Their black suits were wrinkled, blood dotting one's forehead as if a fight had occurred before this one.

You tilted your head, curious.

Were they not on the same side? Were they not both fighting for Fisk, defending him?

“They seem pretty angry for people who appear to be on the same side.” you hinted, trying to think of reasons they could possibly be so mad.

“You’d be surprised how competitive his men can get, when he's angry the way has been lately.” Peter stated, looking to Matt for instruction as a gun was cocked, hands going up in surrender.

“Should we intervene?”

Matt just shook his head.

“Let it play out.” was all he said. You despised how calm and collected he was about this. Part of you wanted him to be rash, so you could save him and yell at him for how stupid he was. But that wasn't his style, and you knew it never had been. He and Peter waited in the shadows, counting down the minutes until it was right to strike.

Suddenly another man appeared from the hallway, breaking up the fight. They left the room, and you felt your body instinctively moving forward, ready to leap, though you couldn’t reach.

“The documents Peter and I need are in the office across from that one, in a safe behind the painting behind the desks. All the offices look the same, it's an industrial office. You’re in charge of making sure no one comes up on this floor.”

“So what I’m on watch duty? You brought me along so I could protect you guys while you play capture the flag?” you scoffed. Seeing as to how they quite literally webbed you to a wall, asking for your help- you figured it’d be for something much cooler than this.

“For now.” was all he said, a tone in his voice indicating something else was on the table for a later date. “I don’t really have a choice in this.”

“You always have a choice.” he repeated, words echoing those at the warehouse.

“I’m going to fucking punch you.”

A laugh escaped Peter and he was quick to cover it with a slap to the mouth as he watched the stand down you had with Matt. Nothing was coming out of this, and you weren't expecting it to. But it was still fun to try and bother him anyways.

Nothing seemed to get under his skin, which irked you even more. He was the water to your fire, the voice of reasoning. Fuck his reasoning.

“Punch me and I’m telling you right now things will not end in your favor.” Matt snarled, hand grabbing your wrist as you raised it.

“I’ll take my chances.” you hissed back, hair raising on your arms like a cat’s from under your suit.

“Go.” he commanded sternly. “What?”

“Go. The floor is clear, for now. Peter’s taking you over.”

“Wha-” Before you could beg to differ, confused about what the man meant, you felt an arm wrap around your middle. Matt's grip released from your wrist, yet you could still feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the area where his fingers brushed you starting to tingle.

The wind rushed in your ears as Peter grabbed you, a web shooting from his wrist as he swung you off your feet. It took everything in you not to scream, the movement so quick and sudden you felt your lungs come out through your ribcage. You were soaring through the air, Peter's grip tightening on you as you watched the world blaze by in a blend of colours from under you, coming to a standstill as he stuck to the side of Fisks building.

You looked over to where you once were, finding it empty. Matt had already disappeared, not a whisper or a trace that he had ever been there remaining.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” you whispered, looking down and regretting it immensely.

“I thought you liked high places? Don’t all cats?”

“Not this high.” you whimpered, willing for him to pry open the window quicker than he was currently. Although you gave him credit, he was doing it one-handed after all.

“Just don’t look down. That's what I did before I got used to it.” he shrugged, and you clung to him tighter, breathing in the cologne he wore through his suit. It was nice, you realized, sort of hating yourself for liking it as much as you did.

All of a sudden the two of you were much too close, the air becoming hot and saccharine despite being almost twenty stories high, the wind whipping through your hair wildly.

He let out a small grunt as you heard the window click open, the glass freeing enough space for you to wedge your body through.

“This is the storage room, down the hall from the office we’ll be at. Stay close.” he instructed, and you scrambled to grip onto the window ledge. “And don't let yarn be a distraction.” he added teasingly, darting away before you could let out a sly remark in return.

“Asshole” you muttered to yourself, slowly and quietly shutting the window behind you. You had landed upon a shelf, filled with cleaning supplies. The smell of chemicals burned, your nose twitching with disgust as you took in your surroundings.

It was quiet in here, minus the gentle hum of the air vents. Dark as the night outside, you were stealthy and careful not to knock anything over as you leaped to the floor, the hard tile cold under your hands.

Mops, buckets, vacuums and brooms all were dotted against the walls, cleaning chemicals so advanced you didn't even know if you could pronounce them. Sometimes you forgot how much money this man really had. It seemed unimaginable.

Kingpin could probably buy the entire city if he wanted, in all honesty. You were rather confused why he hadn't yet, since that always seemed to be his endgame. Changing the city. Changing the way people lived, changing the way the economy ran to better suit his needs.

All this change that didn’t need to happen. He could change his shitty attitude, or even the paint colour in here. You thought with a sigh, dusting your hands off as you rose to your full height, on high alert as your hand reached for the door handle.

It was quiet outside. Too quiet.

You held your breath, feeling your lungs tighten as you slid beside the door. Your back was to the wall, heartbeat thumping in your chest as you heard a voice call from the end of the hallway, turning the corner.

Waiting wasn't something you were very good at, but you knew you had to time this right. The whole mission- and your life, depended on it. Just as his foot hit the hardwood in front of your hidden alcove, you swung the door open, arm reaching around his throat.

A meer gasp escaped him as you pounced on him, dragging him into the cleaning closet with you. His arm went back to hit you with his gun, but you had wrapped around him like a koala bear- his arms unable to you. His gun clattered to the ground as you kicked it, squeezing your arm around his airways even tighter as he fell back against a shelf.

You winced as the pain shot up your arm as he slammed you back against the wooden ledges, cleaning supplies rattling in the struggle.

“Can you pass out quieter?!” you hissed, feeling his grip lack as he slipped into unconsciousness. You jumped off of him as he thudded down to the ground, limbs spread out as his breathing steadied.

You sighed, dusting off your suit again with the quick bush of your hands. He had got dirt on you- the bastard. Grabbing underneath his armpits, you attempted to trudge the large, beefy man to sit against the shelf.

If he was going to be unconscious, he might as well ruin his posture in the process. It seemed like a fair trade, seeming as he almost pointed a gun at you and smacked your shoulders hard enough to see little black spots dot across your vision.

He would be out cold for a while, hopefully, long enough for your little boy scout duo to get their shit and scramble. You watched as he slouched over, proud of your handiwork. You were lucky he wasn't as large as the other guards you had seen, or else you weren't so sure your strategy would work.

Remembering you had a job to do, you slipped back over to the closed door, poking your head out slightly as you heard the ever so slight creak of a window close from the office down the hall.

Good. They got in.

You were scared to breathe, scared the rush of air whooshing through your trachea would set off some sort of alarm or trigger. It was like walking on pins and needles. The air seemed tighter here, stuffy as it weighed down on you. It was almost an unfamiliar presence was lurking nearby, someone you had seen in a nightmare once before, but had convinced yourself they weren't real.

Shivering, you tried your best to ignore it, slipping off behind the corner- somewhere you knew the cameras wouldn't be able to see you. Peter had already mapped out the floor plan earlier- his long, elegant fingers gliding over the page, his words tuning out slightly as you felt warmth spread through you the longer you watched his fingers point and tap.

You thought of them now as you watched the empty hallways, knowing they were probably gliding across the ridges of the mahogany desk as he waited for Matthew to finish his task.

They brushed against you now as you felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise, a ghost slipping through you.

Someone was watching you. Someone was here with you, and it wasn't Peter.

Before you could turn fully, hands reached for you, tugging you under an invisible wave. You were dragged under the surface, the shock and adrenaline causing you to gasp for air as they yanked you back against the wall.

Men came from all directions, swarming you. You kicked and clawed, getting in a good few punches as you struggled.

You were caught. Again.

But this time, they wouldn't be willing to talk- like Matt and Peter were. You didn’t know what they do, which was the scary part.

“MATT-” You managed to call out, quickly silenced as a butt of a gun was hit to your forehead, the force so strong your neck snapped back, head rolling limp as the sound of the crack reverberated through your ears.

The world turned dark, and you prayed deep down he had some idea what was happening to you at the time being.

He was a catholic. He’d hear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world was fuzzy.

Everyone said that, that when their eyes opened it was difficult to see for a bit, shapes and colours blending together. But it was bad. Worse than they put it in the books, when they didnt know how else to change the scene, so they just made the character unconscious or whatever.

You feared you were trapped in a watercolour painting as your eyes opened, hand reaching up to grab the place where your head was throbbing like a jackhammer.

You ached for it to stop, moaning out in pain as the word started to reform itself.

“Shh, shh relax.” a familiar voice called, though he sounded slightly out of tune and distant. Matthew came into view as you turned your head, his hand reaching out to press you back into the pillows.

“What happened?” you croaked out, trying to hold back the tears as you felt dried blood crust on your forehead. There was the sound of water trickling as he twisted out a clean rag, the bowl on the bedside table scattered with medical supplies.

You managed to move slightly, allowing him to sit next to you on the bed, a slight frown on his face as he sighed.

“Peter ran out to back you up, but we were outnumbered. He grabbed you and we took off. There were too many of them swarming us for it to be a decent fight, especially because you were knocked out.”

The warm cloth was pressed against your gash, and you flinched from the sudden contact as he tended to you.

Who would have thought? Not you.

“I thought the Matthew Murdock never backed down from a fight?” you asked curiously, knowing it would twinge a nerve or two. But it didn’t. He just shrugged, setting the cloth back down next to the others.

“I do when someone who is on my side is hurt.” he stated, voice seeming to be filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decide on. It was a factual statement, and you were honestly shocked he wasn't more upset with you.

You were silent as he stood, bed creaking slightly from the removal of his extra weight, his arms hanging limp at his sides. It was then you could get a good look at him, though the lighting was dim in his apartment.

His knuckles were slightly smeared with dried blood, some slashes dotted across his forearms that seemed fresh.

But he was unbothered.

He had put on the mask you had put on so many times before, becoming a soldier. Becoming guarded.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” he noted, sensing your gaze on the marks that dotted across his exposed skin. All you could do was clear your throat as you peeled your eyes from him, desperate to think of anything else but running your fingers across his skin.

You focused on the red numbers from the analog that stared at you, seeing it was an odd hour in the early morning. The heavy rain pattered against the windows, the comforting sound reminding you of nights at your mother's, listening to the rain hit the tin.

Her soft perfume would wrap you in an embrace as she’d lie with you, book in hand as you’d drift off to sleep. The sound always brought you back to a place of serenity, even in the toughest of times. You urged to find yourself back to the memories of her, but were interrupted by the sound of the door slamming, and the squealing of wet boots.

“He returns triumphant.” Peter called from the entrance, a plastic bag dropping to the ground with the water that dripped from his coat as he shrugged it off.

You groaned, forcing yourself to swing your legs over the bed, the hardwood cold against your feet. Pushing up, you wobbled slightly as you rose to your full height- feeling like a fawn on its new legs.

“Did Claire cause a fuss?” Matt asked, flicking on a light from around the corner. You heard water run from a faucet as Peter shook out his dripping hair, running his fingers through it before carrying the bag over to him.

“No, no she seemed fine with it. Kinda rushy but-” His attention slid over to you, concern across his features.

“Hey, hey you're supposed to be in bed.”

“I don't like you.” you murmured, trying to shoo him away as he walked towards you.

“I don't care. You’re supposed to be resting.” he sighed, rolling his eyes as you protested. Peter's hands were warm, despite being outside in the crisp, chilled New York air as they picked you up gently.

He treated you as if you were a piece of fine china when he walked, moving ever so slowly to avoid jutting you around more than necessary. It was odd, considering you both had given each other the side eye more times than you could count.

You weren't used to the attention. You weren't sure if you liked it or not, it was too unfamiliar and new. But you accepted it, tucking your head to your chin as you clutched his sweater tighter, the clenching of your fists bringing you relief.

He carried you to the bathroom, the brighter lighting making you squint as he entered. Matt stood at the vanity, the bag of goods Peter had picked up scattered out on the counter. You gulped at the sight of the medical tools, the needle and thread making your skin crawl.

“I think I’m fine.” you said, anxiously clearing your throat as Peter set you down beside the sink. Matt resumed his doings, gathering the thread as if this were an everyday occurrence for him.

It very well could be, you realized.

“Seriously, I’m okay-”

“Hold her still.” Matt insisted to Peter as you made a move to slide off the counter. Panic swarmed you like flies, maggots chewing away at your lungs as you found it harder and harder to breathe.

It wasn't because of the boys, far from that. They had taken quite good care of you, despite the circumstances. It was the needle, the damn needle that made your stomach turn in on itself.

The idea of something sewing through layers of your skin did not sit right with you. You wanted to turn to the invisible camera, break the fourth wall during this shit.

“Can you believe this shit? I can help take down Fisk, but I’m scared of a small needle? (and commitment sometimes)”

“Breathe.” Matt commanded sternly as his hand gripped your thigh, sensing your bubbling fear. You shook your head frantically, your stomach starting to clench.

A gentle touch to your other thigh startled you, and you looked over in alarm as Peter's fingers brushed your skin, his eyes seeming to bleed raw with empathy. He seemed genuinely concerned for you, and you welcomed his touches with open arms as you started to shake and buzz with nerves.

“Kitty, it’s okay. I promise you, he knows what he’s doing.”

”I used to stitch up my dad after his fights when I was a kid. I’ve been doing it my whole life.” Matt replied softly. “It’s not that it’s just… it grosses me out. The needle- I mean.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small little smile on his face. The one you had seen so much when you were around him in the short period of time, the one he did when he was teasing you.

You wanted to rub it off his face, smear it like chocolate into his skin with the palm of your hand.

“You’re a brave lil thing. You’ll be okay.” You closed your eyes, doing anything to dissociate, anything to convince your mind you were in a better place. Knuckles clenched around the counters edge, nails scratching the sharp surface as you keened.

“I’ll be gentle.” he murmured in your ear, close enough so that you could breathe in his scent, could feel the heat that pulsed off him in a sinusoidal wave.

He was far, yet so close in your mind, sight like tunnel vision as you tried not to be consumed by him. But it was impossible. The soft gentle squeeze on your thigh took away from Matt's actions, and you exhaled softly, steadily.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. In for four. Hold for-

“Which one of them did this to you?” Peter asked you benevolently, finger strumming a steady rhythm. You were scared for him to stop.

Suddenly, you didn't want to be left alone anymore. It was strange how the human body could react like this, how it could change and fluctuate depending on each situation was thrown at it. It wasn't equipped to handle them alone. It was a machine, but was unusable, nor was it well-oiled if someone wasn't there to support it.

In some cases, that was the last person you'd ever expect in your life to keep its maintenance.

“I’m not sure. He had a scar, right across his cheek. That’s all I could see of him, before the others came.”

Silence. Then another beat.

“We’ll kill them all.” was all he said, eyes slipping up to admire Matt's handiwork. Matt nodded, humming to himself softly as he patched you up with ease. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their head at their comments, shocked that they could talk about this so… so lightly.

And for you? They would kill for you, someone they could barely stand to work with. It rubbed you the wrong way.

There was more to this than you realized.

“I thought the two of you didnt kill?” you asked hesitantly, gritting your teeth so hard they hurt as you felt Matt tug on the final stitch.

The two of them just shrugged. You didn't like how much they shrugged.

“We don't really.”

Then this was personal. This was about Fisk. You needed- no ached for more answers for the more questions that brewed in your mind,

Why Fisk? Why bring you into this? They most likely weren't planning on killing them because of you. You seemed too insignificant. There was a larger cause behind this, if it was driving them to killing instincts.

“So why?” You couldn't help but speak your current interest, too many questions churning deep inside the labyrinths of your mind.

“Done.” Matt sighed, ignoring your questions. A chill spread through your thigh as you felt Peter's hand slip from the surface of your skin, slightly scarred but smoothen after healing.

It felt like a shock, his hand retracting as if he was zapped from you. As if the trance was broken, and things were back to normal. Where you hated him, and he hated you, and neither of you could look at each other for more than two minutes without making faces like children.

His footsteps were silent, cat-like as he removed himself from the tension sharp enough you could cut it with a knife- as he should.

You’d go, or he would.

You slipped from the counter, watching as Matt started to put his supplies in random drawers, although they weren't random to him. He opened each one swiftly, knowing exactly where to put each item where.

You stood still, hoping he’d provide you with the answer you desired. You didn't want to leave this apartment without one.

But he ignored you, acting as if you weren't there. A childlike tendency was brewing inside you, and you fought the urge to not stop your foot against the cool tile and huff.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

Why won't you tell me anything? Why am I being left in the dark? Why, just why can't you tell me anything? But you didn't want to push anything.

It was too soon. You had a feeling deep down, small but visible, that’d they'd tell you at some point. Patience was key. It was key in that cleaning closet, and it was key now. It had overtaken so many parts of your life- being patient. It was difficult to master, but it was essential for independence.

“Thank you. For stitching me up, and taking care of me. I appreciate it.” you nodded, not waiting for a reply before you stepped out of the bathroom, heart heavy in your hands.

It had weighed on you- how exhausted you were. It was a lot for your body to handle, in such a short period of time. It was hard for you to admit it to yourself, but you registered the fact you hadn't done something as extreme as this.

Of course you had taken down organizations before, small little street gangs and such that caused disturbances to your true targets.

But this? Fisk? It was a lot. And you had a very strong feeling it wouldn't be ending soon.

The sound of a glass shifting across the table made you jump, the scraping of the glass against the mahogany an uncomfortable pause in the everlasting silence.

Peter’s hand closed around the cup, adams apple bobbing as he chugged the water back.

“You gonna sleep in just that?” he asked, eyebrow raised with a sly grin on his face. You looked down, the oversized tank top hanging down just past your knees.

You presumed it was one of Matt’s considering how large it was on you- and the fact all you had on you at the time was your suit.

They had seen you mostly naked. Oh my god.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you looked back up at him, determined not to let the humiliation you felt win. Besides, Peter was more pretty to look at than the floor anyways.

“What else am I supposed to wear? You gonna be a pervert?” His hands flew up in mock defense, eyes widening.

“No, no I’m a gentleman. Just worried you’ll be cold, that's all.”

“These floors better be heated then.” you shrugged, snagging a warm fuzzy blanket off the arm of the couch.

“No ones sleeping on the floor. I’m on the couch, you're with Parker in the bed.” Matt chipped out, emerging from the bathroom at last. It was as if he was your conversation- not wanting to interrupt in case someone said something snarky and he’d drop the popcorn.

It took you a second to understand what he said fully, feeling incompetent.

“The bed?”

“The bed.” You shook your head hectically, the room blurring.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“I know you can.” he replied, hand touching the lower area of your back as he passed you, making you shiver.

“But it’d be much better if you slept in the bed with your injuries. And besides, what guest sleeps on the floor?” he asked coyly, fluffing up the couch pillows.

Peter’s smile was mischievous as ever, a glimmer in his eye as he took you in.

“C'mon kitty. I don't bite. Promise.” You refused to trust a promise from Parker. But you felt your feet begin to automatically walk over to the comfort of the bed, with its warm sheets that smelt of lavender.

Today was bundles of nightmares all smashed into each other, toppling over one another to cram themselves into the twenty-four hours.

What would sleeping next to Parker do to add to that?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ He added a lot.

Though it wasn't nightmares- the opposite in fact, it was more trouble to your own morals than you thought was possible.

You woke just as the sun rose, only managing to muster a few hours of shut eye despite the events before. Though your injuries were numbed from pain meds, it was spent tossing and turning between the sheets, trapped in the labyrinth of your own mind.

You were internally angry at yourself, mad at the attraction you felt towards the two men. It had only been a few weeks, and anytime their eyes lingered on you for too long you felt your panties start to dampen.

You wondered if they could tell.

The idea that they could excited you even more.

This wasn't supposed to happen, this little rendezvous of sexual tension between the three of you. You were the villain, they were the heroes. The villain wasn't supposed to clash with the hero in that way- it was off-script.

Yet you felt frozen in place as the birds chirped, Peter's warm body so close to yours you felt the hardening bulge in his pj pants- his large arm draped over your body.

Everyone was still asleep as far as you knew, but you wouldn't be surprised if Matt was awake. He was as quiet as a mouse, most likely listening to your quickening heartbeat as Peter's arm brushed against your hardened nipples, and you opened your legs slightly.

You swallowed, too afraid to make a sound.

“Mmm here kitty, kitty.” he whispered, voice husky and laced with sleep against your scalp.

Your eyes widened.

Was he dreaming about you?

Shifting, you brushed the curve of your ass against his bulge, making him groan. There was no harm in a little fun- was there? It’s not like you were in love with them or anything.

Who said you couldn't mess around for a bit- act on that sexual tension?

You heard his breath catch in his throat, eyes opening slowly to feel you pressed up against him.

“Were you dreaming of me?” you asked innocently, starting to slowly tease him, his fingers brushing circles against your hardened nipples.

“I like when you do that, ya know. They're so sensitive.”

“You minx. You're being a tease.” he growled softly, pinching your nipple harshly as you softly yelped.

“Don’t you like it when I’m a tease though bug boy? It just means you’ll have to train me real good.” you smiled, turning back to give him puppy dog eyes, resulting him practically dry-humping you.

You knew Matt could smell your sweet arousal, and you wondered how long he would hold off before yelling at the two of you to stop fucking around on his bed.

“I thought you hated me?”

“I do. But you feel so good.” you sighed, coy smile blooming as he shimmed lower, teeth sinking deep into your neck as he slid his hand down to part your legs even further.

“Such a fucking whore. Just some cock will shut you up- won’t it?”

You nodded frantically, the hiss that slipped from his lips sounding like music to your ears as he felt how wet you were through the flimsy fabric.

“Please. Please I’ll be so good I promise-” you begged, squirming with anticipation as he chuckled lowly.

“Oh so now she switches up hmm? Silly girl.” he cooed, slipping your thong to the side. You couldn't believe this was really happening. It made your head spin, made your limbs tingly at the thought alone how wrong this was.

Wasting no time, he tugged down his boxers, slowly teasing you as he slid the tip along your wet folds. You knew he was doing it just to spite you, and you were insistent on not giving him the satisfaction.

Biting your lip, you shivered as he toyed with you- a cat playing with its dinner.

“Oh so no back talk now? Good.” he growled, sliding it in to the hilt, making you slap your hands over your mouth with a means to silence the moans that threatened to escape.

Though there was no point, Matt heard every little breath and whimper you protruded, cock hard and heavy in his hands as he stoked it like some pervert.

Peter stuffed you to the brim, brushing your g-spot as he tossed his head back in pleasure.

“F-fuck-” you whimpered, almost unable to speak with how sudden the stretch was. It sent fire coursing through your veins, an adrenaline rush bringing you back to when you were in his arms on the rooftop.

“Fuck is right, Jesus Christ you feel so good. So fuckin tight.” he moaned, slowly sliding out of you, feeling your juices coat the base of his cock as he thrust into you hard enough to send your body jolting before he steadied you.

A new body had entered the room, his presence searing and as hot as embers. Little moans escaped your mouth as you stared at Matt, mouth agape, eyes wide as Peter hammered into you.

“In my bed? Really?” he smirked, and you followed his happy trail down to where his large, veiny hand palmed himself as he heard your heartbeat skip a beat.

“Well someone’s happy to see me. Hmm kitty?”

You moaned, hiccuping on your spit and drool as Peter’s thrusts became more erratic. By the way he was handling you, you knew he didn’t care how quickly you came.

He was using you as a toy, a means to get off. That turned you on even more.

“You’ll get your turn with her after Matty. We talked about this.” he mused, watching your breasts bounce from his harsh manhandling.

“Oh, I know. It’s only fair, isn't it kitty?”

“Y-yeah.” you choked out, Matt’s fingers reaching out to wipe the drool that had dribbled from your lips, swirling his tongue around the coated digit and releasing it with a pop.

“She’s already going dumb. Like a bitch in heat.” Peter smiled, him and Matt holding you steady as your body instinctively attempted to wiggle away from the intense waves of overstimulation, his moans ringing out throughout the room as he came in you with a grunt.

“She just needs to be bred.” Matt smiled, tugging off his boxers and your eyes nearly rolled at the sight.

This was addicting. The way they were making you feel, the way they spoke to you as if you were just a toy for their pleasure. But that's what you liked. Which made it so you knew it would be even harder to avoid this scenario again. It was like a drug.

His hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze on his as Peter slid out of you, cum oozing out all over your puffy, swollen cunt as you whined from the abrupt emptiness.

“Shhh. You’re fine.”

Your body was limp as Matt took over, flipping you on your stomach, knees bent with your ass in the air. Kisses trailed down your spine, thin tanktop slung somewhere in the room.

You didn’t know. You didn't care.

All you cared about was the way he handled you, so gentle compared to Peter. But you knew he’d get rough soon.

“S’too much-” you mumbled sleepy against the sheets, feeling spent.

“She's spent. Fuckin whore is cockdrunk.” Peter smirked, shrugging on a t-shirt as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

It felt dirtier with him watching in a way, knowing his eyes would linger on you in your most vulnerable state.

“But she had so much backtalk with us these past few weeks. What happened to that now angel?” Matt asked mockingly as he slid back in you, stuffing Peter's cum back into your abused hole again.

“Mhm-” you moaned, fisting the sheets as he entered you. He was more patient than Peter, slowly filling you instead of slamming to the hilt- but the stretch was just as delicious.

“M’so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” you mindlessly babbled- for what you didn't know. You just wanted to be good, to make them happy, and to please them. If that meant shattering your ego, then so be it.

“Silly girl.” Matt provoked, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he started to use you as he saw fit. You sunk your head deeper into the pillows, tears starting to stream down your cheeks from the sensitivity.

“M’gonna cum-” you hiccupped cautiously, seeing as Matt’s pace was not stopping for anything, or anyone.

“Yeah? Go ahead baby. I’ll let you, since Parker was being so cruel.”

“She was being a tease. She had to learn a lesson.” Peter mused, teeth digging into his lower lip as he watched where you and Matt connected, knowing his cum was being shoved further into you.

“But she’s such a sweet girl. Deep down, you just wanna please us, don’t you baby? Your little demeanor doesn't fool us.”

You felt your brain go fuzzy, his voice sounding distant as you came around his cock with a high pitched whine.

“Atta girl kitty.” Peter called, creaming Matt’s cock as he stilled, filling you up just the same. His grunts were like music to your ears, following you as you came down from the little cloud you were perched on.

“So good baby. Just stay put, yeah?” Matt murmured, and you didn’t even have the strength to nod as he slowly inched his way out of you, both of their cum now slowly spilling out of you as your legs twitched and quivered.

You couldn't move even if you wanted to. Your body felt like jello, and you felt your lower half slowly slide down onto the bed as you whimpered.

“Hurts s’bad.” you groaned, Peter's hand finding its way to stroke your cheek bringing you some form of comfort as you heard Matt start to run the tap, warm water spewing out onto a clean washcloth.

“I know kitty. But you did so good for us. It’s okay, just go back to sleep yeah?”

You nodded, eyes starting to droop as you clung to consciousness.

“I fucked her better you know.” Peter called, making Matt scoff as he returned with the damp fabric in hand.

“Yeah right. Older men just do it better Parker.” he shrugged, and you almost wanted to deride them. They were bickering like children and if you were in the position to bicker back- you would.

The feeling of the cloth against you made you jolt, and Peter reached out to steady you, rubbing small soothing circles on your back as Matt cleaned you.

It was strange and unfamiliar, the kindness and soothing physical contact the men were showing you. You bathed in it, scared it would all slip away like sand when the after-orgasm haze wore off.

“I’m sure Murdock. But who got to have her first?”

“Because she was sleeping right next to you! In my bed, may I add.”

You rolled your eyes, their endless arguing lingering over to the kitchen as you clung to the warm blankets that smelt of them.

It was going to be a long day indeed.

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