#andrew garfield au
Text
sugar and vice, pt 1 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]
summary: I have a meet-cute in a coffee shop. but for mob!peter.
words: 5.5k
warnings: Shameless TASM mob!daddy Peter fantasies, including, but not limited to, kidnapping, knives, bang bang shoot shoot, pining, eventual smut
Part 1
“Just a coffee, black. Biggest ya got.”
Wearily, yet still wired, Peter tapped his fingers on the stainless steel counter. It was late. Or early. Streetlamps still blazed in unholy darkness outside. It had been a long night. But he had felt like he’d been up for years.
Across from him, a young woman wearing overalls and a daisy-yellow bandana gave him a heavy nod. “Sure,” she replied, gravely. “I have to warn you, though. We over-roast our beans. It’s bitter as hell.”
He blinked at her, not expecting such honesty. She had a trusting face. Pretty eyes.
“Ya wanna sweeten it up for me?”
He could hear the lame pickup line of a younger version of himself. One that wore a confident smirk, walked with bravado. One that hadn’t lost what he had lost. The older Peter of today brushed that voice away. “I like bitter.”
He glanced up at her eyes and saw sympathy. “Oof, tragic,” she frowned, shaking her head teasingly, her coyness peeking through. She retrieved a paper cup and filled the dark liquid to the brim.
The personalness of it threw him off. Peter had wandered in like a zombie. He only briefly heard her ask for his order and his name, both of which he gave, and he expected nothing in return but the coffee. He watched her carefully, shifting uncomfortably. He was the only customer in the shop at this hour, but he didn’t expect to be seen.
“Here you go,” she declared, handing the cup over. “One large black graveyard dirt, extra tears.”
It wasn’t so much the joke, rather the way she beamed when she said it. It was like sunlight peeking through the curtains just right, casting a familiar space in an ethereal glow.
She glowed.
Seeing it awakened his senses. He felt the way flowers must feel, desperately reaching their petals out toward the sun after they’d been neglected through a long, dark winter.
Before he knew it, he was smiling back. Teeth bared, eyes crinkled, grinning like a fool. He thought his muscles couldn’t remember what smiling felt like. It ached.
She reached out, extending the cup towards him. But it was so much more than that.
His gaze darted from her sparkling eyes, to the curve of her mouth, back to the apples of her cheeks—
“Thanks for stopping by, Ben!”
The illusion vanished, as did his smile. He pulled away, staring at the stainless steel countertop for a moment. He thanked her and took the cup from her hand, dropping a couple of bucks in the jar. He didn’t spare her another glance as he turned on his heel.
For a moment there, he felt free. He’d forgotten what he was underneath the leather gloves, thick cashmere coat, the bitter coffee, and the fake name.
His hand found the door, the winter chill penetrating his glove. Just as he began to push it open, he heard a shout.
“Wait!”
He did, glancing back at her, against his better judgment.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost shrinking into herself with a sheepish expression. She blushed at the eagerness and volume of her own voice. “To have a great day.”
He blinked, brow creased.
“It’s, uh, sorry— it’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, slapping her palm across her forehead. “But I’m… I’m supposed to say ‘have a great day’ and I always forget, maybe ‘cos I’m a little ADHD, and my boss always reminds me that I need to say it every time, but that’s awkward, right? Like it needs to come up in conversation, I can’t just blurt it. I mean, I can. Like, I just did. But that was weird, right? It was weird. And sometimes, I’m thinking about the next 3 things I have to do, or the thing I just did and I get… I don’t know, a little lost in the moment, and then it passes, and then I felt like I missed out, y’know?”
He stared. “No?”
“On saying what I want really to say,” she said with a voice full of warmth—gentle and genuine in tone. Her babbling ceased as she emphatically declared. “I really hope you have a great day. You deserve it.”
There it was again. That smile. Sincerity and kindness sliced through him like a razor. He was a child again, getting a kiss on the cheek from his mother. Her cheerful gaze lit him up inside, like setting off a roman candle beneath his ribs. It wrapped him in a firm embrace, filling him, shielding him, and grounding him all at once.
This time, he couldn't look away. Didn't want to. He waited until he could hear the flutter in her heart. He was smiling again.
“Thank you. I think I will.”
And as if she’d cast some sort of spell, he did. The way she enchanted him, he was certain if they lived 400 years ago they might accuse her of witchcraft. He always had a good day when he saw her. No matter how painful, or dirty, or bloody. She became his good luck charm. His ability to ‘have a good day’ became entirely dependent on seeing her.
He shouldn’t go back there. He should try the Starbucks down the street. But he couldn’t help it.
She’d pour him basic drip coffee, announcing aloud to the whole shop as she handed it to him. “Here you go! Extra large, extra-hot dark roast, with extra-darkness and a splash of angst.” There was affection in her gaze despite the sarcasm of her voice.
“One extra large coffee, black as the devil’s soul.” She’d whisper to him privately, gifting him with a good-luck smile, even when the coffee shop was full of people during the morning rush. In those moments, she made him feel like they were the last two people on the planet. And it always made something in his belly flutter.
“I have an extra-black ‘Fault in Our Stars,’ with a shot of ‘The Road’ for my friend in the suit!”
Her friend. He couldn’t help but blush. How could he come to this place every day, stand in line, and feel like he was coming home? She was magic.
The coffee really was awful.
“Let me know if you ever want me to sweeten that up for you,” she graciously suggested, as the cup left her fingers. The brush of her fingertips against his felt like wildfire. Her comment was innocent, but his mind wasn’t. “I think I can make it taste better—I have some window cleaner left.”
He was smiling again. It blossoms into something reciprocal. That should be enough. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should walk away now. He should run.
“What would you suggest?” he asked coyly. It was the first time he had ever done so.
A million saccharine-infused terms of endearment flowed through his mind—sweetness, sugar, gumdrop, sweetheart, sweetie, cookie, peach, muffin, angelcake—most of them were trash. (Really, Parker? What is this, high school? Whaddya doin’? You ever talk to a woman before? Why do you sound like somebody’s grandpa? Such a creepy —
Some of them weren’t appropriate between friends. None of them appropriate coming from a stranger.
That’s what he was, deep down. God, this precious girl—she was so trusting. Was she friendly like this with everyone? No, he had noticed as time went on. She’s warm and kind to everyone she meets. But not like this. Not the way she is for him.
“Ooh, getting adventurous, are we?” she teased him, stars in her eyes.
For him. All he could do was stare back in awe at the Milky Way in her gaze. He would follow them and venture on any journey where they may lead.
“How do you feel about lavender and honey?”
Flowers and sugar for Brits and fancy people. He quirked his brow at the concept. “In coffee?”
Her eyes twinkled with excitement, as she spun around and began her concoction.
For him.
He needed to leave. But he followed the length of her arms, the delicacy of her fingers, the way her hips moved as she danced around her workstation. He was hypnotized again.
He imagined dancing with her. Letting her body flow and wrap around his like curtains billowing in the breeze. He barely registered that she was holding a new cup out toward him. While he was daydreaming, she had written his name on the cup and drew a little heart next to it.
He stared at it. It’s not exactly his name. But it’s the one he’d given her. And in return, she had given him so much.
He took the cup from her hand and couldn’t help but feel like he was undeserving of her kindness. Or her attention. Or her heart.
“Don’t make that face,” she softly admonished as if she could read his mind, or she might have read his sad look as disproval of her efforts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
She gave him a smile. She gave and gave and gave. Gave him a reason to keep living. She didn’t even know.
He took a sip. It warmed his tongue, his throat, his heart. It ached.
“S’good,” he hummed, honestly surprised. He was telling her the truth. He reached for his wallet with his free hand, retrieving a wad of bills. He always paid in cash.
She waved him off, mock offense on her face. “No, silly. That’s not how gifts work!” Her laugh sounded like church bells.
She was a gift. For him. His flower. His Honey.
“This one’s on the house,” she assured him, as he hesitantly lowered his wallet. She whispered low, in a tone that burned him up inside. “It’ll be our secret.” His mind felt like it was rebooting. She said it innocently, but he was anything but. She scoffed with a flippant laugh, “Just don’t tell my boss, okay?”
Her boss. He knew about her boss. Tod. With one ‘D’.
Some mornings, particularly Monday through Thursday, he’d see the pencil-like man stiffly pacing the back of the bar while she and another young girl kept up with demand. Hawkish eyes, always watching. Always judging. Rarely picking up a milk jug himself.
He dominated the register. Peter hated handing him cash. His face reminded him of a cheese grater if it could look unhappy. “Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he offered the ‘add-on’ with what was supposed to be a smile.
Peter’s eyes shot over to his Honey as she was artfully pouring foam, adding her magic to someone else’s cup. She refused to look at Peter and he hated it. It reminded him of a defense tactic. Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away. As if he was a prized possession that she wanted to hide away from Tod, who might accuse her of having ‘favorites.’
It stirred wild emotions to be thought of that way, especially by her.
How dare her boss accuse her of any wrongdoing. How dare he threaten her.
“I’m fine,” said Peter, with a chill he hoped Tod could feel.
He needed to leave.
He needed to take his Honey and his Lavender Latte and just go.
He shook his head. His brain was lagging again. He turned away from the straight-backed scarecrow before a robotic ‘thank you for being a customer’ could be responded to.
Peter waited. Eyes on the floor. Eyes on the exit. Eyes on the windows. Eyes on her, but only briefly. He waited and daydreamed bitterly, waiting for her to call out a name that wasn’t his.
“Honey Lavender Latte,” his enchantress called out. Hearing her voice caught him from his downward spiral. He made eye contact with her as he took the cup from her hands. Warmth radiated from her eyes, although muted. It was enough to soothe and comfort him.
She blushed, sheepishly, unable to contain the smile in her voice. “Have a lavender-ly day.”
His mood lifted. Such a silly girl. Witchcraft, indeed. “Thanks, Honey,” he replied, without thinking.
Her big eyes widened for a moment, and her heart quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked away, unsuccessfully hiding her teeth.
Peter would call her that a million times in a row if it would elicit that reaction.
“Have a great day,” Tod interrupted, murdering the moment.
Poor girl. She cowered slightly, like a dog hearing the word ‘no.’ She took a breath and put on a smile, turning back towards her work.
Tough girl. She didn’t need Peter to defend her.
He glanced over at Tod with a deadpan expression, and walked out of the shop before he did or said anything else stupid.
The world was full of Tods. It was also full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them. No Tod was truly worth his attention.
Except for that one time.
A Tuesday morning in the middle of the holiday shopping season. Peter stood in line patiently, arms crossed, gritting his teeth. He glowered behind the bar at Tod, standing too close to his Honey. She gazed up at her boss helplessly, watching him turn red in the face, as the flagpole of a man waved his arms wildly. Clearly agitated, he kept his volume low but his body language screamed at her.
“What I need your help with is this,” Tod hissed as he towered over her. “I need you to tell me what is the best method for getting information into your head. How can I communicate with you in a way that you’ll understand?” His voice was soft although he flailed like a wavy-arm inflatable man in a car lot.
“Tell me honestly,” he sneered, dressing her down in front of a line of customers. At this point, Peter didn’t need any superpowers to be able to hear the conversation. She visibly fought the urge to cry. “Do I need to write it down? Do I need to scream at you? Do I need to throw something? Do I need to take you aside and have an hour-long conversation?” She kept her eyes on the ground as he kept pelting her with icicles. “Tell me your preference here. What is it that you’ll respond to?”
The scene came to an abrupt end when the glass of the shop window shattered. The sound silenced him finally. The front door swayed limply, having been yanked off its hinges and slammed into its frame. His Honey glanced around the shop with concern.
Peter was no longer there.
He didn’t come back that day.
Neither did Tod.
Some sort of accident, his Honey told him the following week, although he already knew the details. She explained to him why the shop had a new manager, a well-composed woman named Leyla. By the airiness of her mood, he could tell she greatly preferred Leyla’s managerial style.
She was happy, and that made him happy.
And that should be enough.
He should leave. He should run. Get as far away from her as possible.
But he was intoxicated by her. Drunk on her sweetness and her Honey Lavender Lattes.
He looked at her like she was the queen of the hive. He’d let her take that crown, any anything else she could ever want, if he had the chance. He’d worship her. He already looked at her like she was a goddess. The devotion in his honey-tinted eyes was clear to anyone who bothered to look.
“Peter Parker!”
Hearing his real name while he stood grinning like a fool in front of his Honey one afternoon made him flinch, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned around, yanked from his reverie, watching three men stroll into the shop.
He positioned his body in front of her, obscuring her from their view. His hands were tight balls at his sides.
Peter was familiar with two of the faces, but razor-sharp focused on the mountain in a suit they called Filch. He’d seen that greasy face more times than he’d want to admit, shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke. Seated at the hand of Wilson Fisk.
His jaw locked in place.
Filch looked overjoyed to see him. Like they were old friends. Like Peter didn’t know that Wilson Fisk was plotting to move against him.
“I thought that was you!” he brightly exclaimed. He strolled through the shop, like a cheetah stalking prey. Removing a hat and revealing what little hair he had left underneath. “Long way from Queens. Fancy finding ya all the way out here, eh?”
Peter knew better. The only surprise in this situation was intended for Peter. He’d been followed here. Watched.
His spine went rigid, shoulders into stone.
Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away.
He could hear her heart flutter faster behind him. As if she could sense the way he bristled when they arrived. Trouble in her kingdom. A disturbance to the delicate sanctuary she had built, like all of her totems and protection spells were wearing out.
Peter kept his back to her. He kept his eyes trained on the three men, who spread out in a familiar pattern. They were scoping the place. Checking for cameras, other patrons, and all possible exits.
Don’t look at the thing you want—
“Hey, Sugar, it’s cold outside,” Filch called out, with all the grace of flagging down a hooker. “Whaddya got to warm us up?”
Peter stared straight ahead. Glaring. Fuming.
“Might I suggest the coffee?” his Honey answered. “Just made a fresh pot of the dark roast. It’s good.”
He might have cracked a smile if he wasn’t busy envisioning a scenario where he’d have to kill the three men in the room with just the tools available in a coffee shop.
“Pour me a cuppa that,” Filch replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s.
Peter only slightly relaxed when he felt her presence back away behind the bar. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming-hot tar. She set the cup down on the counter and backed away, minding her workstation. “That’ll be $2.50.”
Good girl, Peter thought. He saw Filch go for his breast pocket.
“I gotcha,” Peter cut in before Filch could move closer. He grabbed the cup and handed it over to his rival’s lapdog. “‘S’on me.”
Filch eyed Peter cautiously, reaching out where both hands could be visible. He took the cup with exaggerated gratitude. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”
“I said I gotcha,” Peter firmly cut him off, the cords in his neck going tight. Peter retrieved a few bills from his coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with his opponents. “We good here?”
Too many seconds passed with no response. He could feel the twitch of his pulse in his throat. Filch’s eyes drifted back behind the counter. He was too close to her. He studied her in a way that was far too intimate. It made Peter’s skin crawl.
“We’re good,” Filch replied. A smile curved his lips. He held the cup up, toasting him. “Have a great day.”
Peter swallowed hard as the three men sauntered out. He watched them go, his stomach sinking, bile rising.
They’d been watching him alright. Who knows how long. He’d been a patron of this shop and he would order from this girl and stare at her with doe-eyes and hearts swirling around his head, out in the open where anyone could see. And they did see. He showed his hand and now the game was over.
“Who’s Peter?” he heard her voice softly ask.
The illusion was shattered. He turned his head, but couldn’t bear to look at her. He felt sick. Empty. Furious. Petrified.
The monsters were gone now. But they’d be back.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, as he walked out of the door.
They’d be back. He’d be there first.
She watched her favorite customer disappear into the night, her eyes wide with longing as she followed him. He disappeared in a few blinks of her eyes.
Something unsettling crawled beneath her skin. Maybe it was longing, but she was familiar with longing. This was new.
Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how that happened either. One minute she was staring into his dreamy, honey-hued eyes, then the next he was running in the other direction. Not unlike their first meeting, a scene which she replayed over and over again in her head, trying to figure out what made him go so rigid.
Who’s Peter?
Peter Parker.
Peter Parker.
She repeated his name in her mind, reciting it like a mantra. She wasn’t great with names, but he told her his name was Ben on that first morning so many months ago, and she made a point to remember his name, and to say his name, because people liked it when you said their name, it made them feel closer to you and she wanted more than anything to be close to him.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her wheels were spinning again. She used her thumb to push down hard on the center of her opposite palm. The dull pain grounded her back to reality.
When she opened her eyes, she half expected him to be there. He always seemed to show up when she least expected it. He was a bright spot in her day, despite his gloomy demeanor. He could be dark as a raincloud, but she loved dancing in the rain.
Or as her co-worker Nasrin teased her one day, he was her “tall, dark, hot cup of coffee.” She hid her face in her hands as Nasrin got to the “sucking him down with a straw” part of the analogy. She was incredibly grateful that he had been standing by the door, and there’s no way he could’ve heard that.
Now she had a first name and a last name and a... another name? And a place — you’re a long way away from Queens. A quick Google search of the names in question pulled up too many generic results. There was a dated article about a Ben Parker who was killed in an armed robbery, but her tall, dark friend couldn’t have had anything to do with that.
It twisted her stomach when she considered the fact that she really didn’t know him. She didn’t know who those guys were, and by the looks of things, she didn’t want to know. She should just drop it.
She did the best she could to keep busy, but there weren’t any more customers after that. She sent a quick text to her new manager that she wasn’t feeling well, and closed the shop early. She took the subway home.
Once she got on the train, she didn’t make it back to the platform. It was late, but the subway car was still unusually empty, save for a couple of randos sitting at the opposite end of her car. Any other night, the near-solitude would’ve been a blessing. Tonight, something felt off.
Twenty minutes into her ride, just as the train was about to cross the river, it jerkily slowed to a stop. Her cessation of movement stirred her. Her head popped up from the glow of her phone screen curiously. She worried her lower lip as she glanced at the doors and windows, as if she could somehow see whatever it was that was stopping the train.
She jolted as she felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm. Startled, she looked up at the two other occupants of the train car, now standing inches behind her. Two men that had been seated quietly, also seemingly distracted by their phones.
“Come on, sweetie pie,” one of them said, towering over her. “It’s time to go.” She didn’t recognize either of them, but her instincts reminded her of the altercation in the coffee shop. These two had the same ‘goonlike’ look.
She tried wrenching her arm away, but the stranger held tight. “Get off,” she hissed. His partner on the left took her other arm, albeit more gently.
“Hey, take it easy,” the other man admonished. “No need to be rude.”
“Yeah, we’re friends,” the first man added, with a greasy smile. Her eyes darted around frantically. Panic set in as she realized she was alone in the subway car. The doors slid open, but there was no platform. Instead, the doors opened to building rooftops. The train had stopped on an elevated track above the street.
“Let’s go,” the gruffer man beckoned, grabbing her arm more tightly. He dragged her through the doorway, on a dark walkway next to the tracks. As soon as he lifted her, she erupted into a fit of screams. She kicked her legs, shrieking for help, but no reply came. She didn’t know if no one could hear her, or if people knew better not to respond.
“Keep it down,” one of the goons ordered coldly, dragging her along. She desperately resisted, letting her legs drop out beneath her.
She heard a hiss and pop as the subway train sprang back to life behind them. She watched helplessly as it pulled away.
“A wild one, aren’cha?” the red-haired roughneck tutted, yanking her back up to her feet. “Be a good girl or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder.”
She tried jerking away again, but halted as she faced the edge of the walkway. The dizzying height stunned her into submission. Her knees began to lock up, trembling with fear.
“Take it easy, Katz,” the man’s partner chided him, albeit insincerely. The two of them practically carried her down the walkway. “You’re scarin’ her.”
They arrived at an old set of metal stairs leading to the street below. The sharp, steep grade of the steps made her vertigo even worse.
“No, help! Somebody help!” she hollered, wrapping her fingers in a death grip around the banisters and anything else she could reach.
“Keep your mouth shut!” the red-head called Katz snapped at her. He reached around and tried to put his beefy hand on her mouth, but she bit down on his flesh the second his fingers reached her lips.
“Ow!” he roared. “Bitch!”
She saw him rear back his fist. Then she saw nothing.
When she came to, her whole body ached. Every muscle throbbing, like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Flickering flourescents stung her eyes. Bleary, she gazed around in a dreamlike state until her senses slowly started to awaken.
She tasted glue. And blood. Took heavy humid breaths through her nose. She was on her side, on a concrete floor in a garage she didn’t recognize. The smell of motor oil and cleaning solution stabbed her nostrils. She gazed up at the shadowy, filthy undercarriage of a Rolls Royce lifted high up above her. Loud bangs jarred her out of slumber further. She faintly wondered who would be jackhammering—
Loud pops. Gunfire.
Her body went rigid, then sprung to life in terror. Attempting to open her mouth to scream, she realized that it was taped shut. Even slight movements of her jaw stung her flesh. She tried to sit up. Her arms tingled, like her limbs had fallen asleep. When she tried to move them she felt a sharp sting on her wrists.
Alarm started to take hold. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She glanced down and passed her dirty, blood-stained shirt to the duct tape wrapping her ankles. It might as well have been iron. Her wrists were also firmly bound behind her. Trying to pull them on them felt like ripping off her own skin. She whimpered excruciatingly.
The sounds were getting closer. She glanced around, eyes begging for help. Searching frantically for any reprieve amidst the scattered car parts and junk.
The gunfire was getting closer.
She scooted, inching her way across the floor until she reached a work table. She was lining her spine up against the table leg when the garage door rattled open. She was out of time. A spill of light from outside lamps flooded in, blinding her. She could only vaguely recognized her own shrieks behind the wall of duct tape.
A group of people stood at the garage doors with their backs to the light. She watched their imposing silhouettes with horror.
A tall, male form approached her, his long black coat trailing behind him. Tears that she couldn’t contain sprang from her eyes. She was trapped, terrified, like a rabbit staring down a wolf. All she could focus on was the gun in the man’s hands as he stalked toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to hear a final shot that would end her life.
“Easy, easy,” a familiar, deep, and soothing voice rolled over her. “Shh, don’t be scared, Honey.”
Her breath hitched. Eyes popped open.
Crouched down to her eye level was her tall, dark, and bitter friend. Ben—Peter—whatever his name was— the moment she recognized his soft chocolate eyes and the scattering of a peppery beard on his otherwise boyish face, she felt a wave of relief.
His leather glove still held firmly onto a pistol. The sight of it dropped her back to reality. Like a bucket of ice water being poured over her body. She shuddered as he scooted closer.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he placated with a calm voice. “You’re okay.”
She wanted to believe him. He set his gun down on the concrete floor and reached for her with both hands. Another sound of a distant gunshot made her jolt. She recoiled away from his touch, shrinking herself up against the table leg.
He flinched at her reaction with a pained expression, as if she’d stabbed him. His hands faltered for a moment.
A man’s voice rang out from the group lingering behind, a youthful tone from someone barely older than a teenager. “Boss, we gotta go!”
A deeper voice called out in response, “C’mon, Pete. The calvary’s on the way. Get her on her feet! ”
Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. He stared back at her, his expression turning grim. She gazed up at her savior to realize that this was no true rescue.
A sickly feeling crept over her as she put the pieces together. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, whatever had happened to her—it was because of Peter.
Her tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. He grabbed her by the hips, scooting her closer. She wailed as he scooped her body up in her arms, dizzy with how fast and effortless it seemed. He carried her like a toddler having a tantrum, except she was restrained already.
Peter said nothing as he carried her out of the garage, barely looking at her, as he marched towards an idling, blacked-out SUV. She barely had time to spot the driver, a gorgeous woman with long silver hair.
She smirked at her, eyes sinister.
When the SUV finally came to a halt, all she knew is that they were in an underground parking garage. Her limbs felt heavy, the assault of adrenaline starting to take its toll. Few words were spoken during the car ride, and none to her. Thick tension filled the air.
She was on the floorboard, her cheek pressed up against the carpet. She gazed at the feet of two men seated in the back. One of them was the fresh-faced teenager she heard calling Peter ‘Boss.’ His name was Miles, she had heard. The other was a rugged, haunted-looking man, with large dark eyes fixed on the windows, ever watchful. Miles called him Miguel, before the older man shot him a look to stay quiet.
“That’s the unifying issue with the men in this car,” the woman driving the SUV snarked. “You all talk too much.”
Her heart hammered at the glint of a knife. Miguel opened a switchblade, grabbing her ankles.
“Whoa, hang on,” Miles talked to her—the first one to do so. “He’s gonna cut the tape, just so you can move your legs, okay?”
She gazed up at his soft dark eyes, her own still welling with tears. She felt the release on her legs give way as she kicked the rest of the tape off.
“Lights out,” a cold, distant voice ordered. The sound came from the front passenger seat, where Peter sat in tense silence.
Both Miles and Miguel seemed to hesitate, glancing at each other.
“You sure?” Miles questioned.
“He didn’t stutter,” the silver-haired woman replied, definitively. There was a bite in her voice, but it carried with it a tiredness filled with frustration. She sounded more like an older sister jabbing a younger sibling.
The woman popped open her door to get out. “Let’s go, boys. We got groceries inside.”
The world went black again. A dark hood was thrown over her head, obscuring her view.
Continue to Part 2
Did you like this? If so, tell me! Leave a comment, reblog, or anonymous ask.
Thank you for supporting fandom writers.
#Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes! sugar and vice#peter parker x reader#tasm au#mob au#tasm!peter parker imagine#peter parker imagines#peter parker x you#peter parker x oc#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker au#mob peter parker#tasm#the amazing spiderman#the amazing spider man#tasm peter parker#andrew garfield#andrew garfield x you#andrew garfield x reader#andrew garfield au#spiderman#spiderman x you#spiderman x reader#spiderman smut#andrew garfield smut#peter parker andrew garfield#peter parker fanfiction#spider man#spider man au#andrew garfield imagines
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Give me a headcanon (please) for A Lord and A Lady: Peter and Bluebell finding out she's pregnant for the first time.
OH SNAP ANON!
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy
He knew it before his Bluebell did.
Peter had noticed all of the signs; how tender her breasts were when he’d swirl his tongue along her nipples, how she absolutely could not stand the smell of frying meats or how she would wake up sick, thinking she had consumed far too much champagne the night before.
Lord Peter kept a watchful eye on his bride, making sure to be with her during practically every moment as he was fearful of what could potentially come after how he had lost Gwendolyn.
One day while Peter had gone to fetch her a bouquet of fresh flowers from their greenhouse gardens the Duchess fainted, a doctor arriving almost immediately to check her vital signs.
Peter ran home as soon as he had been alerted, busting through the doors of he and Bluebell’s bed chambers, out of breath as he rushes to her side - his love now bedridden as the doctor checks her heartbeat.
The doctor pauses, looking towards Peter before adjusting his instrument towards the Duchess’ abdomen, his eyes widening before he sits up.
“You are with child,” he breathes, looking at the couple. “The Duchess is expecting.”
He knew it.
Peter knew it.
Peter’s palm caressed his Bluebell’s belly, sweetly gazing down where she laid, “We’re going to have a baby.”
“I’m going to have your baby,” she smiles as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Peter’s smile drops as his thoughts race, still tormented by the loss of his Gwendolyn. He turns to the doctor, “She’s healthy?- They are healthy?”
The doctor nods, “All the Duchess needed was simply some sugar. Her and the babe are healthy.”
Peter swallows as he protectively covers his bride’s stomach before he lets out an exhale, “Thank you, doctor.”
The Duchess looks up towards Peter, smiling ear to ear as she says, “Your baby is in my belly, Pete. That is lunacy, is it not? Should we be allowed to be parents? We simply cannot be old enough to be with child.”
Peter smiles, his eyes full of admiration as he whispers - “I suppose our days of playing house will be put to good use soon.” He rubs her belly, planting a kiss on her cheek before whispering “Our baby is in here.”
#tasm#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker fluff#peter parker imagines#peter parker fluff#tasm imagines#tasm imagine#andrew garfield au#bridgerton au#period piece fic#tasm headcanon#peter parker headcanon#tasm!peter headcannons#headcannons with cait: drunk edition#headcanons with cait#a lord and a lady
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wolfstar Mafia AU
#sirius black#remus lupin#mafia!wolfstar#mafia!remus#mafia!sirius#wolfstar#ben barnes#andrew garfield#ben barnes au#andrew garfield au#ben barnes moodboard#andrew garfield moodboard
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
andy x barry x yn honeymoon
continuation of this post
warnings SMUT 18+ MDNI, slight dom/sub tones, threesome, daddy kink, mommy kink, breeding kink, squirting, pet names (love, babe, baby, baby girl/boy, good girl, good boy, sweet girl, sweet boy, wifey, husband), unprotected sex, slight overstem, oral (f and m receiving), double penetration (non anal), praise kink, lactation/boob kink. if i missed anything, please tell me!!
as i said in the linked post, you three had a long night, and morning
thankfully no one else (except staff) was on the island
the minute you three walked into your little beach house, and closed the door, andy was in front kissing your lips and barry was behind you kissing your neck
“we love you sweet girl”
“i love you two too”
before you went any further, you spoke up
“wait, you know how we talked about when we get married, we’re going to start trying for a baby? are we still doing that? or do we want to wait?”
your boys looked at each other
“i want to start now, what about you andy?”
“me too”
“like we agreed, both of you will cum in me, and we’ll let the fates decide, ok?”
they both nodded
barry startled to unhook your straps on your back of the jumpsuit that you were wearing (idk if that made sense)
“baby, why are there so many straps and things to undo on your outfit?”
“you and andy picked it out”
it slipped off you and they saw the lingerie you were wearing
barry obviously had to stand by andy to get see the full look
you could hear a small whimper from barry and andy
you loved the effect you had on both boys
barry stuck his hands out and made grabby hands
you looked at andy
“aw does my sweet boy want mommy’s tits?”
barry nodded, and andy spoke up
“baby, why don’t you take mommy’s lingerie off, so that you can feel her tits”
he just nodded and took your lingerie off, while andy was undressing himself and barry
the three of you went over to the bed and you sat up with pillows supporting your back, and barry got on his side and started sucking on your tits, while andrew slipped a finger through your wet folds and you let out a moan
andrew spoke up
“just think, in a few months, mommy’s tits will be bigger and will be filled with milk”
barry unlatched himself from your tit and looked at both of you
“yeah and mommy will need help during her pregnancy because her tits will be swollen and sore”
that got both your boys excited
barry went back to your tits and andrew started rubbing your clit
you arched your back which gave barry even more tit
“more please, daddy”
“of course, wifey”
andrew stuck a finger in your cunt and barry took one of his hands and started kneeding the other one
all you could do was moan and andrew put another finger in
you could feel your first of many orgasms coming
“fuck i’m going to squirt!”
with that, barry released his mouth from your tits and started rubbing your clit while andrew pumped his fingers
“that’s it sweet girl, squirt for your daddies”
andrew pulled his fingers out and held your legs open while barry was still rubbing your clit and liquid shot out of you
once you came down, both boys kissed you
“you did so well for us, baby”
you just smiled
andrew spoke up
“ok here’s what we’re going to do next. yn, hands and knees, and then barry do you want to be behind her or in front of her? we’ll do another position where you and i will switch”
“behind her”
andrew nodded and you all got ready. thankfully both boys were already hard
barry inserted his cock in your cunt and andrew put his in your mouth
both boys started moving and all you could hear was profanities, names, and moans
“how does she feel?”
“so tight”
andrew got closer quicker so he took his cock out off your mouth and you pouted
“i know you love us cumming in your mouth, but i want to cum in you”
you nodded
“fuck bar. you feel so good”
andrew got under you and started rubbing your clit
“i cannot wait to see your belly swollen with our baby”
“me too. you’re going to look so hot”
barry started thrusting sloppily which meant he was getting close. you were too
“i want you to cum with me, ok sweet girl?”
“ok daddy”
andrew started rubbing your clit faster and next thing you know, barry is shooting warm white strings of cum into you
once you both came down, barry kissed your back
“you did so well, baby”
the next position was barry laying on the bed, you on your knees, and andrew behind you on his knees
you took barry’s cock in your mouth and started bobbing your head up and down and andrew entered you
“you’re right, babe, she is tight”
“you’re doing so well for us, baby girl”
a few seconds later, barry came in your mouth then got up and kissed you
you took his hand and put it on your clit and he started rubbing it
“of fuck, baby, i’m going to cum”
“me too daddy”
you came at the same time and you felt andrew’s cum shooting in you
while you both came down, barry got a pillow and andrew slowly took his cock out
you whined at the over stimulation
your back was against the bed and a pillow under your ass.
while barry was getting a washcloth to clean you up, andrew kept praising you
then they switched and andrew got a shirt for you, and him and barry boxers while barry was praising you
after a while you got up on shaky legs and peed
the three of you got in bed, with you in the middle
barry spoke up
“do you think that did it?”
“i don’t know. if it didn’t, then we can keep trying”
“i love you, husband and wife”
“same”
“i love you too, husbands”
the rest of the honeymoon you spent in bed, at the gym, the pool, the beach, eating, and jet skiing
two months later, you took a test (ok you took 6) and they all said “pregnant”
both boys were so happy
@ftrmrs-barry-keoghan
#andrew x barry x yn#k’s barry and andrew au#barry keoghan#barry keoghan heacanons#barry keoghan au#andrew garfield au#andrew garfield#andrew garfield headcanons
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️
A Little Reminder
--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.
--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader
--word count: 1.4k
--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!
love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".
You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help.
As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you.
Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”
“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.
You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”
“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue.
You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter.
****
“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you.
As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby.
You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped.
Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face.
“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.
He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?”
“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”
This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried.
You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.
Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers.
“You need me to answer that right now?”
“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too.
Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?”
He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands.
Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!”
Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine.
He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation.
As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.”
Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?”
You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.
“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed.
Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked.
--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333
#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker x reader#peter parker#fluff#marvel#andrew garfield peter parker#tasm!peter parker#spiderman#college au#frat!peter parker x f!reader#frat!peter parker#frat!peter#tasm!peter parker smut#frat!peter smut
486 notes
·
View notes
Text
Professor Peter Parker
Summary: The first day of college nerves are suddenly made worse when you realised the guy you f*cked last night is your new Physics Professor!
Warnings! 18+ ONLY! This is some of the filthiest smut I have ever written and posted on here yet. Female reader and pronouns, Age gap (everyone is of legal age, Peter is a very young Professor), Oral (F + M Receiving), Dirty Talk (so much fucking dirty talk), praise kink, edging, P in V, Peter Parker (YES he does need his own warning), One Night Stand... or is it?, ITS SEX PEOPLE, JUST STRAIGHT UP SEX WITH A LITTLE PLOT FOR ADDED TENSION AND POW!
Word Count: 4.9k+
A/N: Consider this my formal application piece for the literary prostitutes society. There are no words for this, so I'm just gonna type/sing Don't Lose Your Head from Six. "Sorry not sorry but what I said, I'm just tryin' to have some fun..." But seriously though this was so self indulgent and I can't believe this came out of me. It's very much giving Aria and Ezra in Pretty Little Liars but older and much more Peter Parker. Also I am really sorry about if the tense keeps changing, I sometimes have a problem with finding my rhythm and I really cba to spend the time working it all out and changing it.
First day of college. Standard level of nerves for a first day. Are you running on just a couple hours of sleep? Sure. Still a little tipsy from last night? Okay, yeah, maybe just a little, but that’s a good thing right. Takes the edge off. But then again numbers and science had never let you down before. You can do physics. You’ve got this.
You took a deep breath, hand hesitating on the door handle. ‘This is the first day of the rest of your life.’ You said to yourself, breathing deeply.
You found a spot somewhere in the middle of the room. Not so eager you were at the front but you also didn’t want to hide away in the back. That and you were pretty sure you were due for an eye test and if you sat any further back you wouldn’t be able to read the board. You got out your notepad, flipping open to the first page, your fingers smoothing across the fresh paper comfortingly. You reach for a fresh pencil from the novelty pack your Mom had bought you especially for your first week, knowing you prefer the feel of writing in pencil than pen, the ink always getting smudged on your hand from your messy scrawl. You pluck the one with tiny zebra all over it from the clear case before placing it back in your bag. Your fingers drum the back of the pencil on your page nervously as you wait. You tried not to overthink things as your stomach began to churn. Had you really turned up this early? You took a quick look around the room at the other 5 people who had actually been there before you. ‘Hey,’ you reasoned to yourself, ‘at least you weren’t as early as them.’
You yawned. Damn you were tired. Although you had this early class, when your new room mate suggested you go out with the guys who lived across the hall you couldn’t say no. To be fair, it had been a good night all considered. You had met some new people, exchanged a few numbers, agreed to go to the end of semester drama club performance even though the term had only just started, drank way too many jello shots, got snuck into a local bar and then ended up going home with a tall brunette with the softest yet devious brown eyes you had ever seen who completely rocked your world.
You absentmindedly rubbed your thighs together, squirming slightly in your seat as you thought back to his head between your legs. The lewd moans he’d pulled from your lips echoing around your brain. It sent a fresh new wave of arousal straight to your core.
‘Not the time or place.’ you berated, instead forcing your mind back into the classroom and the task at hand. ‘Physics of Matter with Professor Peter Parker. He was probably middle aged’ you thought to yourself. It was always the case with classes like these, middle aged men finally leaving the lab for the first time after finally completing their life's work, now relenting to their wife’s begging to spend more time with the family. Or older men with white hair, wrinkles and tweed, desperately holding on to their independence, understimulated by the idea of retired life when all that knowledge of matter and the universe was rattling around their brains. ‘Young hot professors were only to be found in the movies or on TV’ you daydreamed as you tried to distract yourself from the growing pit of nerves in your stomach.
You check your phone every few seconds as other students file into the room, finding their own seats as you count down the minutes. 5 minutes… 3 minutes… 2 minutes… 1 minute… … He’s late… 1 minute past… 2 minutes past… 3 min-
“Okay, okay, settle down!” A voice called out as the classroom door opened, far younger than she expected and slightly familiar. “Welcome to Physics of Matter,” the voice continued as he made his way towards the board, picking up a bit of chalk and lifting it to the board as he spoke, “I am Professor Parker, but please,” he said dropping the piece of chalk back onto the little shelf at the bottom of the board, “call me Peter.” He said finally turning around.
SHIT!
DOUBLE SHIT!
You dip your head towards your page as you sink a little bit down in your seat. Hopefully he won’t notice. ‘FUCK!’ your head was suddenly screaming as all those memories of the night before flooded your brain again. His messy hair. His naked body. The way he had moaned into your cunt- FUCK!
You subtly glanced around the room from your head's dipped position. This had to be some new prank show right. There’s no way this happened in real life. There had to be cameras. He’s an actor right? Ashton Kutcher was about to burst through the classroom door shouting “YOU’VE BEEN PUNK’D” any second followed by the actual Professor Parker, right? Right?
“Now I’m not gonna ask you to get your books out this lesson,” he began to say playfully, his voice carrying around the room as he walked back and forth in front of his desk surveying his new class. “Today is about you getting to know me and me just going over all the things we are gonna be covering over the course of our year together.” He said, talking a lot with his hands. “As much as I’d love to start getting into equations with you, I’ve learnt that that tends to be futile during our first lessons. I mean, just by a show of hands, who went out drinking last night?” Professor Parker asked and a shower of hands across the room went up, Peter’s gaze scanning across the faces of the raised hands as he continued, “Keep your hand up if you’re still a little bit drunk-” his voice cut off as his eyes finally landed on you, his own oh shit face befalling him.
You felt your skin crawl as people lowered their hands and began following his gaze to you. You moved your hand up to your face as you sank down in your seat further. ‘Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring!’
8 HOURS EARLIER
“I couldn’t help but see you staring.” He said as he sidled up to you. ‘Holy fuck’ he was gorgeous. Tall, lean, perfectly messy brown hair and the most delicious biceps (not too big) that were flexing under the cuffs of his fitted T-shirt you really just wanted to wrap your fingers around and squeeze. Damn. “Is she okay?” He said turning to your friend.
“Yeah she’s just-“ your roommate started before nudging you and breaking you from your hypnotised gaze on this absolute Adonis of a man. “She thinks you’re really hot!” she shouted over the music to him.”
He raised his eyebrows as he gave a small chuckle, flattered, as you cringed. They both laughed at you. “Do you wanna dance?” he asked as he took your hand.
“Yes, she does!” your friend said, pushing you off your stool. His other hand comes out to steady you as you almost slam into his chest. You blush before turning to give your roommate a death stare.
He flashed one of those charming smiles again before he began to guide you away from her and to the dance floor. His hand doesn’t leave yours as he starts to bop and bounce, easing you both into the music. You slowly relax, smiling as a giddy feeling churns in your stomach, as you begin to bop with him to the music.
The music swells and he gives you a twirl under his arm before he pulls you closer to him. “So have you got a name or am I supposed to refer to you as flower for the rest of the night?”
You frown. “Why Flower?”
“Isn’t that the name of the skunk in Bambi who is all quiet and has those big eyes and blushing cheeks and-”
“Don’t call me Flower.” you quickly say, slightly embarrassed by the way you had gone all goo goo eyed and helpless over him.
“Okay, then what can I call you?”
You hesitate for a second as you think about giving him your real name but what would be the fun in that, especially if this only turned out to be a one night stand. “Trouble.”
He laughs, his head dipping to hide his amusement. “Is that so?” he says from beneath his lashes. “Fine, if that’s how we’re playing it, you can call me Professor Brat Tamer, Professor for short.”
You feel your arousal soak your panties the moment he says it, the words going straight to your core. What have you gotten yourself in for? It’s like he knows too from the way he’s smirking. He turns you, pulling you back into him, his hands resting on your hips as he begins to grind himself against your ass. “Now, are you gonna be a good student?” he coos against your ear only loud enough for you to hear. “Or are you gonna be like your namesake says and cause me a whole lot of trouble?”
He can feel the way you relax your body back against him, your eyes closing as you relish in the feeling his words elicit in you.
You smirk as you look back at him, “I’m sorry Professor, but you may have your work cut out for you.”
An hour and a half later he’s pulling you into his apartment, your back slamming hard against a wall of exposed brick as your mouth latches onto his. Both of you had done so well keeping your hands to yourself the whole way back, but the moment you got through the door it was like a starting pistol had gone off, both of you suddenly in a race for pleasure.
You moan against his mouth as his tongue slips between your teeth. You can taste his final Jack and Coke he had had before you left. Your skin felt like it was burning under his touch.
“Fuck.” You gasp as his mouth is suddenly moving across your jaw and down your neck, his teeth and stubble grazing you slightly in his hunger for you.
“God Trouble, you sound so fucking pretty.” he coos against your chest, his hand moving to paw at your breast, bunching it up to spill over the top of your dress as he leaves wet kisses across the skin.
Your fingers wrap around his messy tresses as you pull his head back up so you can connect your mouth with his again, a small growl escaping his lips at the slight pain. You kiss him messily, both of you breathing heavily before you push him back, allowing you room to drop to your knees on the hardwood floor. Your fingers immediately begin to fight with his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking sending arousal straight between your own legs.
“Fuck.” He pants as he looks down at you, his hand reaching to cradle either side of your face as you pull down his jeans and his boxers in one swift pull. “Uh, baby, baby, baby.” he coos as you take his length into your mouth and immediately begin to work your tongue up and down his cock.
His fingers move away from your face, grabbing at the hem of his t-shirt and you watch as he pulls it up and over his head, exposing the rest of his body to you. Fuck he really was gorgeous. “Oh my god.” he cried out when you began to swallow his length down your throat, your nose pressing to his pelvic bone. “Uh,” he said, his head tipping back, “she’s not trouble, she’s fucking perfect.” he says as he drops his head back forward to watch you, his thumb reaching to wipe away a stray tear at the corner of your eye.
You take his length out of your mouth as you gasp for air and he thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. “Come here Trouble.” he says as he takes your face and chin in his hands and lifts you from the floor, pulling your lips back to his as he smashes his mouth into yours.
He begins to kick off his shoes as well as his jeans and boxers that now sit tangled around his ankles as he continues to kiss you, freeing himself so he can lift you up into his arms, your own arms throwing themselves around his neck, as he carries you to his bedroom.
You can’t help but cheekily bite at his lower lip as he stops just before the foot of the bed. “Oh she has some bite does she?” he says against your mouth. Your teeth almost clash together from how close you are as you grin, waiting to see what he’ll do or say next. “Okay,” he says as he pauses a little for dramatic effect, “I can bite back.” he says before throwing you back on the bed.
You let out a small squeal as you're caught by the mattress springs and pillows. You quickly prop yourself up on your elbows so you can see the devilish look on his face as he pulls off your heels before he stalks up the bed towards you. He leans over you, attaching his lips to yours once more, his tongue sliding deftly into your mouth and out again with every kiss until his last, when he uses it to suck your lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it. He releases it just as you’re beginning to feel it bruise, his lips instead attaching to your throat as his hands come up to pull down the top of your dress. He had already clocked that you were sans bra from how low the back of your dress was and is even more grateful now he can immediately latch himself onto your nipples, his tongue lapping at the small sensitive nibs, one and then the other.
You moan under his touch, your eyes falling closed as your head tips back, fingers gripping tightly at the covers beneath you. When he looks up at you, keening under his touch, he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Look at me baby.” he softly commands and you oblige, your chin pressing to your chest as you gaze straight into those big brown eyes. It’s the sexiest eye contact you’ve ever held. It’s like he’s fucking you with his eyes as his fingers begin to snake their way up your thighs, lifting the bottom of your dress up to your hips so he can pull down your underwear. He takes one feel of them before saying, “Fuck, trouble, these are soaked.”
You can only nod in agreement, as all words seem to have left your brain. ‘Fuck, he’s so fucking hot’ you think, as he kisses his way down your middle, over your dress until he reaches the hem where he can start kissing at your skin. You sigh, your head falling back again at the sensation of his lips kissing across your hips and then down your thighs.
His fingers spread your legs and he gives a small nip to the inside of your thigh and you gasp at the small feeling of pain, that quickly turns to pleasure, as yet another wave of arousal floods between your legs.
“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping.” he says as his finger scoops up the arousal thats begining to drip down your thighs, bringing it up to his mouth. You watch hypnotised as he sucks on his fingers. “Damn, trouble, you tast so fucking good.” he says as he slips his fingers from his mouth. It’s so filthy. He has barely done anything and you’re a fucking goner.
His tongue suddenly crashes between your folds. “FUCK!” you cry out loudly. His fingers trace over your thighs, reaching for your own fingers which you entwine with his. He’s got his eyes closed, savouring every moan, every little gasp he pulls from you.
He can tell you’re getting close from how your cunt begins to grind itself down against his tongue, chasing you’re high, but to allow you to have it would be too easy. He listens closely to your breathing, your moans; one… two… he suddenly moves his mouth away and you want to scream. He playfully nips at the inside of your thigh, almost hard enough to bruise. You really do scream now in frustration. “Told you I could bite.” he says coily as he mumbles against your skin.
He licks another stripe through your folds as if in apology, as if to soothe the sting but his tongue flicks at your sensitive clit before he sucks it hard between his lips and you cry out again. “Mmmm.” he hums against your cunt, “you sound so pretty when you scream like that.”
You want to cry, you are so sensitive and overstimulated but suddenly he’s lapping at your pussy again and you’re melting back into the bed as your muscles begin to relax again with the long slow licks of his tongue.
When you both begin to feel the build of your climax again he doesn’t pull away this time. He lets you have it, your thighs closing around his head, hips bucking off the bed as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. He keeps going, his mouth lapping up everything you’ll give him until you're pulling yourself away from him. Tears well in the corners of your eyes from the over stimulation as you pant and whine and rub your thighs together, desperate for the feeling to dissipate. He grabs at your ankles, holding you still as you flop back into the pillows at the top of the bed.
“So good for me Trouble, you’re doing so good.” he says as he crawls up the bed to kiss you.
Although he’s wiped at his mouth, the taste of you still remains and you lick it off every part of his mouth you can reach as he settles himself between your legs.
His hands slide up your thighs before they’re grabbing ahold of your waist and suddenly he’s flipping you, his head crashing into the pillows as you straddle his hips. Your lips race to chase his as you continue to pant breathlessly into his mouth, another flood of arousal soaking between your legs.
His fingers reach for the bottom of your dress, lifting it up and off your head, leaving you finally, completely naked before him. “Fuck, trouble,” he moans as his eyes drink you in, “has anyone told you how absolutely fucking perfect you are.” You giggle and blush as you lean down to kiss him. “No. No. Look at me.” he says as he takes your head in his hands and moves you away from him so you have to look at him. He’s giving you that look with his eyes again as he holds your face in place, not allowing you to break eye contact with him for one single moment as he begins to grind his hips up against you, his rock hard cock grinding against your clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. “So fucking perfect.” he repeats. “Now tell me, trouble, how do you want me to fuck you?” You can’t think, your eyes closing as you try to focus your thoughts as his skin drags across your clit teasingly. He gently taps your cheek with his fingers, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. “Eyes on me Trouble,” he says, “find your words, tell me how you want me to fuck you.”
You shake your head as you close your eyes again, really unable to think. “Options.” you say breathlessly, your eyes flying open, before he can punish you for breaking eye contact again. “Give me options.”
“Okay.” he concedes with a small nod and a smile. “Okay, pretty girl.” he repeats again soothingly as he pulls you back down closer to him, his lips kissing you sweetly and encouragingly, aware he’s over stimulating your brain. “I can fuck you like this.” he says as he looks into your eyes. His hand slowly trails down to wrap around your throat, his other hand still cradling the back of your head as he flips you again. “Or I can fuck you like this.” he says as he continues to slowly grind himself against your sex. “Or,” he says as he lowers his head down to the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply as he speaks directly into your ear, “I can flip you over and fuck you from behind.” You sigh as his words go straight to your core again.
“The last one.” you say breathlessly as your eyes close.
“MMM.” he hums into your ear as his teeth nip at your jaw, satisfied with your response. He pushes you back into the bed slightly as he lifts himself onto his knees, his hands moving away from your face and you watch him eagerly as you await his next move. He leans over to the bedside table, reaching into the draw for a condom, lazily tugging at his length with one hand whilst he uses his teeth and the other hand to open it up. You’re almost starring as he’s rolling it down the length of his cock, fully taking in his erect size. He smirks when he looks up to notice you nibbling at your lower lip.
“Come here, trouble.” he says before he’s flipping you over, your head finding a comfortable position on the pillow as he lifts your ass into the air.
He slides his fingers down your opening before placing two fingers slowly inside you, stretching you out and you let out another breathy moan at the feeling. He pumps them in and out of you a couple more times before he slowly lets them slide out of you, his fingertips dragging agonisingly across your clit before he uses them to pump his cock again a couple times, shifting himself into position.
His fingers grip tightly onto your hips as he lines himself up and slowly pushes himself inside you, your back arching with the stretch, head shifting as you let out another moan of satisfaction into the pillow. “Mmm, let me hear you baby.” he says as his hand removes itself from your hip to reach for the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he turns your head back towards him.
“Fuck.” you hiccup as he pulls himself out little by little before he’s slamming his hips forward against your ass, pushing himself in even deeper.
“Fuck, trouble. So fucking tight for me.”
You lose all ability to speak as he begins fucking into you, slowly building his pace until he’s fucking into you at a wicked speed. You want to scream again, your face screwing up in ecstasy as his cock continuously hits that spot inside you that makes you want to explode. His other hand reaches around for your throat, pulling you back up as he leans over you so he can stick his tongue back into your mouth. It adjusts his angle somehow, making the feeling in your cunt even more intense. Your mouth falls open as he holds it there, you’re panting and moaning into his mouth. “Look at me.” he encourages as his thumb rubs soothingly across your jaw. You can’t help but obliged.
It’s too much. It’s the hottest, most filthiest sex you’ve ever had. You know you’ll never be the same again. Nothing, no one, will ever compare to this. “Please, please, please.” you find yourself repeating as your eyes close again. You’re so close and he knows it because your cunt is constricting like a vice around his cock.
He moves his hand down to circle at your clit between your legs. “Come on, trouble, give it to me,” he coaches, “Fuck, baby!” he snarls against your mouth as he smashes his lips to yours again, pulling at your lips bruisingly.
You pull your mouth away from him, wailing, gasping for breath as your body convulses around him, his pace only slowing slightly to help you ride out your climax. “So good.” he coos, “My trouble, so fucking good for me. Atta girl.”
His pace is steady as he feels you begin to relax again but you’re still so stimulated. You’re surprised he’s still going. “Your turn.” you say to him breathlessly and he smiles. When he doesn’t say anything you decide to push your luck. “How do you want to fuck me?” you coo, now you’re the one who’s eye fucking him.
You watch as he closes his eyes, head falling back. He chuckles then, something low and devious. He suddenly pulls out of you. It makes you feel so empty. You’re about to whine but then he’s flipping you over and pulling your legs together and then over his shoulder as he bends you in half. He lines himself back up with your entrance and slips back in with ease and you gasp as he bottoms out, the position making him hit that devastating spot inside you instantly. He leans all the way over so he can kiss you, his mouth swallowing every moan, gasp and breath that leaves your mouth as he pounds down into you like something fierce.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” you whine as the sensitivity grows too much. His pelvis is slamming against your clit with every thrust. Now you really are crying, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel yourself clamping down on his cock again.
“Oh my god, baby.” he says. “You’re so fucking wet. So fucking good. Such a good fucking girl.”
It’s a guttural wail you let loose into the room as you cum and his head dips down as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, his thrusts growing even faster as he chases his high. “Stay with me, Trouble,” he says, trying to ground you. He lifts his head, hand reaching for your face, forcing you to look at him. “Just a little bit longer, baby, just a little bit-” but he can’t finish his words. He’s so fucking close. One pump, two- he suddenly stills as he buries himself inside you, his forehead pressing into yours grounding you both as he pumps his seed into the condom inside you. You whine at the feeling of his cock pulsating against the still extremely sensitive spot inside you.
“You did so good.” His voice reassures as he strokes soothingly across your cheek forcing you to look at him as you breathe deeply and heavily in your come down. “So fucking good.” he says as he kisses your forehead before slipping out of you.
With his body no longer crowding you you fully relax back into his sheets, your eyes closing as you try to regulate. You think you might even pass out. You think you may even have blacked out for a second, but you know you haven’t as your eyes fly open and your body jumps at the feeling of a cool damp cloth between your legs.
He watches you content as you suddenly relax once more, the cool washcloth doing wonders to soothe the hot swollen feeling between your legs as he cleans you up. You definitely black out then, completely exhausted.
You are disturbed again a few minutes later, a soft reassuring hand brushing up your legs. “Here.” his voice says softly as he sits on the side of the bed next to you, waiting for you to open your eyes and look at him so he can pass you a glass of water.
The cold liquid does wonders to help regulate your temperature and you can’t help but stare at him again in wonder as he sits before you in a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. He leans over you, kissing the top of your head, breaking you from your sex induced stupor.
“You can stay if you want.” You nod your head, you have no energy to move yet.
“Okay.” he says with a soft smile as he takes the now mostly empty glass from your fingers. “I’m gonna go get you another one of these,” he says motioning to the glass now in his hands, “you go to the toilet, there’s a spare toothbrush under the sink, get yourself ready for bed and when you get back we can cuddle.”
You still have no words, just dociley nod and agree. You wobble slightly as you try to stand, blood rushing back to your limbs and his hand reaches out to steady you. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” You say as you sway slightly and wave him away.
He just chuckles. “Whatever you say, trouble.”
You crawl into bed beside him 5 minutes later, tucking yourself into his side as his arm wraps around you. “You really are Professor Brat Tamer huh?” you joke as you nestle into his bare chest.
“And don’t you know it.” he smiles, pulling you tighter into his side so he can place a kiss to the top of your head.
You wake just after 6am, sneaking from his bed with a smile on your face as you pick up your clothes before doing the walk of shame back to your student halls. The sun is just coming up and the leaves are just starting to change, you can still feel the alcohol in your system as well as the after effects of your orgasms and you know, although you’re tired, today is gonna be a great first day… or was it?
________________________-
@tarzinnia @withahappyrefrain @xenasolos @sincericida
Is this a one off? I don't know. Is there a lot of room for this to turn into a collection of shorts... yeah, maybe.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#andrew!peter parker#professor!Peter Parker x reader#andrew!peter x reader#Andrew Peter imagine#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker#Peter Parker smut#professor!au#spiderman#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm!peter#andrew garfield peter parker#reader insert#smut#this is so self indulgent#Peter Parker x female reader
840 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your friendly neighborhood, Remus Lupin. 🕷
#wolfstar#wolfstar au#Remus Lupin#Sirius black#spider man#moony#padfoot#marauders#the marauders#atyd#fanart#letraspal#illustration#Spider-Man multiverse#Spider-Man#andrew garfield#Harry Potter#sirius orion black#remus john lupin
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Running from the Daylight (Part 2 Final)
Regulus Black AU
Request: @iluvthe-marauders HI LOVELYYY, HAVENT HAD TUMBLR IN AGESSSSS. Dont know if you remember but i was the one who asked for different harry potter characters and wanted to ask if you'd do a regulus oneshot. where y/n is a halfblood (Remus’ sister) and they run away together?
Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader
Rating: T
Link to Part 1
______
Remus and Sirius arrived back home after midnight to a quiet house. Sirius stood tapping his foot as Remus unlocked the door.
“I can’t believe you didn’t get me cotton candy.”
Remus rolled his eyes before opening the door.
“I can not help that the theater’s cotton candy machine was down. I promise we will go back next week and get you some.”
Sirius scoffed.
“I’ll take Y/n to a movie. She will get cotton candy too.”
Remus chuckled. He made a mental note to tell you that you needed to tell Sirius no more often. You treated him like some kind of pet, making Remus’ life difficult.
“You can be really annoying sometimes. You are aware of that, right?”
Remus said over his shoulder as he tossed his coat on the couch. Sirius was chuckling to himself as he moved to go get a beer out of the refrigerator.
“Yeah, but you love me so there.”
Remus smirked while shaking his head. He was not about to feed into Sirius’ foolishness (no matter how right he was on the subject). A small envelope on the coffee table caught Remus’ attention. It had both his and Sirius’ names on the front.
Frowning, Remus walked over and picked the envelope up. Right away, Remus noticed your handwriting.
“Is she leaving us love notes again?”
Sirius asked, coming back into the room while shoving popcorn into his mouth. Remus rolled his eyes.
“She’s probably begging me to marry you so you don’t go get lost some place.”
Sirius gave Remus a cold glare as his lover tore open the envelope.
“To Sirius and Remus,
By the time the two of you read this, I will be out of contact. There have been many things that I have been hiding and it is time that the both of you know. I have been dating Regulus for a while. We are running away together. This is the only way that we can be together and no one have a problem with it. Remus, I know you of all people won’t be happy. You are my big brother and I love you but you need to let me make my own decisions. If I was honest and told you that I was dating Regulus, you would have flipped. Please know that I am not doing this to hurt you. I hope, in time, we can meet again and put this behind us. I beg you to take care of yourself and I love you. Sirius, I want you to know that you were right about Regulus. There is more to him than some cold member of the Black family. He isn’t a death eater and no longer “drinks the family koolaid.” He and I….we are what each other needs. Regulus is still your brother and he loves you. I hope to see the two of you sooner rather than later. I’m sorry but I have to go.
Love,
Y/n.”
Remus stared at the letter with his mouth open. Sirius shoved a few more mouthfuls of popcorn in his mouth before realizing that Remus had gone dead silent.
“Moony, what…”
“Y/n ran off with Regulus!”
Sirius stood motionless. He tilted his head as if he was trying to process what his lover actually said. Did Sirius hear Remus right? You ran off with Regulus? Why would you run off with Regulus? Did you even know Regulus? Sirius had never witnessed the two of you speak to each other.
“Regulus? Like my brother Regulus?”
Remus ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to start jumping up and down.
“How many other guys named Regulus do you know?”
Sirius held his hands up defensively.
“Just my brother. Why would Y/n run off with Regulus? Do they even know each other apart from us?”
Remus handed Sirius the letter. Sirius frowned as he read the letter, his eyes widening with each word. While he wanted to panic that you jumped ship with his little brother in the middle of the war…he couldn’t. Sirius read your words to him about “being right about Regulus.” Regulus wasn’t a bad guy.
“Regulus is still my little brother, after all.”
Sirius smiled at the thought. His little brother…the real Regulus…the boy Sirius adored so much was still in there. Sirius also smiled at the thought of you being the one who gave him this information. You would be good for Regulus just as Remus was good for him. Sirius could live with that.
“Sirius, say something.”
Remus ordered, feeling on edge. He didn’t know what he was going to do but he needed to do something. Remus was nearly ready to go run about the neighborhood looking for you. Sirius took a breath before speaking.
“Remus, I need you to breathe, mate. Look, I didn’t know about this either. I have my concerns but…they are like us. Maybe Y/n is good for Reg. Let’s give them a chance. Let them come to us.”
Remus paced around quietly for a moment.
“She’s my sister, Sirius.”
Sirius nodded before moving to put a hand on the small of Remus’ back.
“She will always be your sister but for right now Y/n is what Regulus needs. Trust me.”
(two weeks later)
The sound of a tea kettle whistling woke you up from a sound sleep. Yawning, you reached over to Regulus’ side of the bed. His pillow was cold indicating that he had been up for some time. You stretched with a smile before slowly getting out of bed and looking out the window.
You would never get tired of the sight in front of you. Everything was peaceful. Waking up in a quaint little cottage with a field of wildflowers near a lake was your own personal heaven. From the moment that you arrived at the cottage life changed completely. You had gone from being stuck in the middle of a war with no idea how the future would play out to pure blissful peace.
The sound of a small bang in the kitchen tore you from your thoughts. Regulus muttering “son of a bitch” made you smile.
Regulus
That was another thing that you couldn’t help but smile about. In the course of two weeks, you had seen Regulus make a complete change. Now he was no longer the brooding moody young man who always looked mad at the world. He smiled more than you had ever seen him smile before. You noticed how much Regulus being happy reminded you of Sirius. Happy was exactly how you loved seeing Regulus.
Your mind went back to the morning that you arrived at the cottage…
“This place hasn’t changed since I was a child.”
Regulus commented as he sat his bag down. You were looking around the cottage with a pleased little smile on your face.
“It's lovely. I can see why your uncle bought that place.”
Regulus nodded as he started looking through the cabinets.
“As much as Alphard loved our family, he loved being in peace that much more. He saw the cracks and crazy in the Black family. Thank Merlin he saw a way out and away from it all.”
You turned to face Regulus as he took off his suit jacket and started rolling his sleeves up.
“Now we can have our peace.”
You replied as Regulus’ grey eyes rolled up your face.
“Yes, we can. We can have our happily ever after without this stupid war or whatever garbage is going on back in reality land. Maybe in time, Remus won’t hate me for conning you into running away with me.”
You moved to wrap your arms around Regulus’ neck.
“You didn’t do any conning. I wanted to leave as much as you did. I’m not brave like my brother and friends. I don’t want to be involved in some war where people I love on both sides die.”
Regulus frowned before wrapping an around your waist.
“You are braver than you know. You left everything behind for some boy who never deserved a moment of your grace and love.”
“The boy who deserved all of the grace and love.”
You countered with a smile. Regulus leaned his forehead against yours. He didn’t know that you saw the happy smile on his face…but you did.
“Well..if you say so. You know, we’ve never had the opportunity to dance together.”
You couldn’t help the chuckle as Regulus slowly began to move with you in his arms.
“We’ve never had the opportunity.”
Regulus nodded.
“Now we do. Every day…anytime that you want.”
The bedroom door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Regulus stepped in with a small smile on his face.
“Sorry, I didn’t wake you…did I?”
You shook your head before moving to snuggle back into your boyfriend’s waiting arms.
“No…I heard you fighting with the stove.”
Regulus rolled his eyes.
“That damned thing is a menace. We might have to invest in a new one before I catch that one on fire. I see why Kreacher hated our stove at Grimmauld Place now.”
Regulus didn’t have to say it for you to know that he missed Kreacher. That was the only part of his family that he missed.
“We can get a new one whenever you want or you can let me do the cooking. I admire you for trying but I was born to cook on shitty stoves.”
Regulus rolled his eyes before looking back at the bed.
“You haven’t made the bed yet.”
You nodded.
“I just got out of it.”
Regulus reached out to gently push the strap of your nightgown off of your shoulder.
“We can mess it up a little more before you make it up…for the day.”
Wrapping your arm around his shoulders, you stood on your tiptoes kissing Regulus slowly.
“I love that idea.”
Right as things were starting to get heated there was a loud knock at the door. Regulus pulled away as you reached for your silk robe.
“Who the hell is that? We don’t have friends. That is the problem with visitors. They always come visiting.”
You grabbed your wand and followed Regulus down the stairs. Part of you was wondering if it was the friendly widow who lived down the road a bit. The other part worried that it was some member of the Black family to attempt to drag Regulus home.
“Do you have your wand?”
Regulus whispered.
“Armed and ready to go.”
You replied as Regulus moved to the front door. He was ready to hex whoever the hell it was to kingdom come and back.
The moment that he opened it, Regulus was shocked to see Sirius on the other side. Sirius stood holding what looked like a geranium in a tacky ceramic pot while Remus stood behind him looking super uncomfortable.
Regulus tilted his head to the side while you came to join him at the door. You were clearly as surprised as Regulus was.
“Hello?”
Regulus managed to get out while Sirius smiled.
“Hello, happy couple…I brought you a plant.”
Sirius held out the geranium to his younger brother with a grin. Regulus slowly took the flower with an uncomfortable expression.
“Um, thanks. How did you two find us?”
Sirius glanced over his shoulder praying that Remus had listened to that whole “be nice and don’t strangle him” talk.
“Can we come in?”
You moved aside as did Regulus. Sirius and Remus walked in closing the door behind them.
“Did you two steal this from the old woman down the street? I saw her potting this plant last week.”
Regulus commented before sitting the geranium down. Sirius shrugged.
“She won’t miss it. So….here we are and here you are.”
Regulus nodded, sitting down.
“Yes. Here we are. Again, how did you find us?”
Sirius grinned.
“Uncle Alphard told me after I wrote him.”
“How long?”
Remus finally commented. Both Regulus and yourself turned to face your older brother. You could see the unease in Remus’ eyes. How he was remaining calm was a mystery.
You placed a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before speaking to Remus directly.
“Two years.”
“Two years!!?? The two of you have been dating for two years and no one said a word. Y/n, this is big. You could have married this man by now…wait, you two aren’t married are you?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow before holding up your hand that had a diamond ring on it.
“Not yet but we will be. This is exactly why we didn’t tell you, Lupin. You are spazzing out and acting ridiculous. Family reactions are the reason why we didn’t say anything. My family would never accept Y/n and would potentially hurt her. You are…well…you are acting as I expected.”
Remus went instantly silent before muttering “fuck me” under his breath. He took a few deep breaths before speaking. Looking at your face, Remus stared at you hard for a few moments. No longer were you the little girl that chased after him always wanting to be part of her big brother’s activities. Now you were a grown woman with a life of her own…a grown woman who deserved to have the life that she wanted.
Regulus was busy watching Remus hoping the other man didn’t burst into a fit of tears. He was not ready to deal with that!
“I apologize…to both of you. You have to understand that is my only family left, Regulus. Outside of Sirius, Y/n has been my forever friend. It hurts knowing that both of you felt this was the only option…but I understand. I was wrong to judge your happiness. Y/n, is this what you want?”
You squeezed Regulus’ shoulder.
“It is, Remus. I love Regulus very much. He’s very good to me and I’m happy. I know you are worried but I want you to be happy for me. I found my person must like you found yours….your plant stealing person.”
Sirius giggled. Remus stared at Sirius before shaking his head.
“Yeah, my plant-stealing person. Fine, if you two are happy then I’m happy for you. Regulus, please take care of her.”
Regulus reached up to squeeze your hand that was resting on his shoulder.
“I would die for her.”
Sirius stood up clapping his hands together before going off in search of breakfast.
“Now that is out of the way…who is going to feed me breakfast? You two should have seen the mad dash we made to get here.”
_____
@geeksareunique @jessyballet @knreidy1 @justfinishthis @dumbbunnys-safes @mimisparkle12 @criminalyetminimal @teletubiswszpilkach @0xxeclipsexx0 @luclue @ad-astra-again @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @rubyroscoe1 @readtomeregulus @regulusblackswhorecrux @i-love-scott-mccall @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @s-we-e-t-t-ea @woohoney @abaker74 @regulus-black-223048 @saramaple @missgorldafirst @millies0bsimp @stelleduarte @siriuslyceleste @dumybitch @gugggu6gvai @jag9000 @bennyberry @f4iryluvy @panpride @haroldpotterson @mentally-unstable-hoe @goldensunshineshit @padf00ts-l0ver @marichromatic @ravenhood2792 @playmore-zeppelin @ell0ra-br3kk3r @authoressskr @emiwrites3reads @rogue-nyx88 @coffeeaddictednymph @knight-of-gleefulness @shaylybaby2032 @livshifts
#Regulus Black#Regulus Black x Reader#Reader x Regulus Black#Regulus Black au#Regulus Black imagine#timothee chalamet as regulus black#ben barnes as sirius black#andrew garfield as remus lupin#sirius black#remus lupin#sirius x remus#wolfstar#regulus x reader#reader x regulus#regulus black series#the ancient and most noble house of black#regulus arcturus black#sirius orion black#walburga black#orion black#alphard black#hp#hp marauders#marauders au#harry potter marauders#marauders post hogwarts#HP AU story#Regulus Black AU#Running from the Daylight#Running from the Daylight part two
100 notes
·
View notes
Note
Request for Andrew Garfield: he introduces the reader to his closest friends and they tell him she’s a keeper
She’s a Keeper
Pairing: Andrew Garfield x FemReader
Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol, implied smut
Summary: meeting Andrews friends seemed terrifying, desperate to make a good impression, and when you finally get the chance to meet them it goes much better than planned. (sorry this took forever, I kept getting distracted starting different requests but this one was to cute to forget about)
Masterlist
Andrew had met all of your friends. They all loved him and you were content spending time with them in a group setting. You still had yet to meet Andrews friends but you were extremely nervous. Your friends were simple people, friends from college, people you’ve seen make stupid mistakes. Andrews friends were famous, older, and they’d probably look at you and wonder what the hell was wrong with their friend for dating you.
Of course you couldn’t avoid it forever and Andrew had made plans that you couldn’t back out of. You already planned to spend the night with him when he informed you that you were going to get drinks with Jamie Dornan, Charlie Cox, and Eddie Redmayne. If you had any chance of survival you weren’t sure. The thought of you sat around a table with well known famous actors almost made you laugh, surely onlookers would laugh at you too.
You prided yourself on being a very controlled and out going person but as you stared back at yourself in the mirror not even you could ignore the slight shake of your hands as you brushed the blue fabric of your dress. Andrew thought it was adorable that you were nervous about making a good impression on his friends. So he walked up behind you, his large hands covering your shaking ones as he pulled you back into his chest, his face nuzzling into your neck, his beard tickling you.
“You look beautiful baby” he spoke the words into your neck, kisses pressed lightly to your skin.
“Are you sure I’m not overdressed?” your head tilted in concentration as you continued to look over yourself. Making a good impression and not making a fool of yourself was top priority. Andrew thought it was adorable and he chuckled as he spun you around so you could stop obsessing over how you looked.
“The dress is perfect, you’re beautiful. Not even a hair out of place, well at least until I get my hands on you” your cheeks flamed red as he pushed your hair out of your face, his hand trailing along your neck.
“I just want them to like me” you told him as you grabbed the ends of his blazer, pulling him into you.
“They’re going to love you, just like I do” he whispered before pressing a kiss flush to your lips. The hard kiss made your head spin and you grinned for such a distraction. A faint imprint of your red lips sat on his own and you weren’t going to tell him.
“Let’s go before we’re late, they’d probably blame me if we were” you said slipping out his grasp as you pulled him out of the apartment. Getting a cab wasn’t difficult and soon enough you were pulling up outside of the bar, a bit fancier than your usual taste but you figured they picked it to have less chance of being overwhelmed in public.
“Ready?” Andrew asked and you nodded as he offered his hand and helped you out if the car and onto the sidewalk. Before he could pull his hand away you tightened your grip and locked your fingers with his, your nervousness showing. Andrews heart fluttered at the fact this meant so much to you.
“There he is” a booming voice called as you stepped through the doors of the bar. You looked over the see the three very recognizable men sat at a table, empty glasses and new drinks in front of them.
“Always late” Jamie chuckled and you felt your heart drop slightly, wanting to avoid that.
“I bet he drives you nuts, he can never be on time to anything” Charlie said as his eyes flitted to you and your nervousness eased that they didn’t blame you.
“Probably to busy putting his lipstick on huh?” Eddie teased with a wink and Andrews eyes widened as he realized you had left your mark, him quickly wiping at it with his sleeve.
“If I didn’t drag him out of the door we would’ve been later” you teased and the three men laughed.
“Guys this is Y/N” you smiled and quickly shook all of their hands before Andrew pulled out your seat for you to sit.
“It’s nice to finally meet you guys” you beamed at them, trying to remind yourself they’re still just people.
“How’d a pretty girl like you end up with this guy?” Jamie asked and a deep crimson blush covered your cheeks, because well, Christian Grey just called you pretty.
“He practically begged, I finally just got sick of him asking” the group laughed including Andrew especially because everyone at the table knew you said yes the first time he asked.
“He’s a very determined guy” Eddie said as he clapped his hand to his shoulder. Andrew shook his head, realizing he was in for an afternoon of teasing.
“And stubborn” you pointed out and the boys laughed again. You started to feel more comfortable especially when you realized you were all there because of someone you love which meant you all already had something in common.
“Speaking of stubborn, I have a story for you” Andrew was quick to lean forward and wave a hand in Charlie’s face.
“Alright enough of that” he quickly spoke and you shook your head as you slapped a hand over your boyfriends mouth.
“Shut up baby I want to hear this” you told him and he groaned as he fell back and away from your hand.
“Few years back we went out to this club, and Andrew got wasted. I mean like stumbling around, slurring speech wasted, and we just wanted to go home. Yet this guy somehow still wanted to party, I mean no one was even out anymore and we couldn’t drag him away from the table. So I did the only thing I could think of” Andrew recoiled into his seat, shielding his eyes with his hands as if it would lessen the embarrassment. “I told him Anne Hathaway was at the apartment and she was looking for him. The guy couldn’t control himself as he ran out of the club”
“Anne Hathaway huh?” you rose your eyebrows at your boyfriend and he shook his head.
“I went through a Princess Diaries phase” you and his friends laughed loudly at his defense.
“It’s okay baby, I went through a She’s The Man phase, Channing Tatum man” the boys continued to laugh, able to picture them both in their young obsessions.
“We all had our phases. Avril Lavigne has had my heart since 07” Jamie said and the group continued to share their laughs.
“I’m happy to know he’s still the same, we came home from a night out the other night and he cried while watching Ratatouille” the boys chuckled as they imagined their friend crying over the cartoon.
“Look he found out it was his Dad, and Remy won the heart of the food critic. I don’t think I have to defend myself here” Andrew held his hands up in defense and you giggled while reaching to grab his hand.
“It was cute, I just wanted to cuddle him for hours because of how sweet he was” Andrew blushed and you smiled. You were no longer nervous to be around his friends.
“Yeah I oddly remember feeling that way about drunk Andrew too” Eddie said which caused more laughs.
“I’m gonna use the rest room, I’ll be right back” you stood and left the boys at the table. Once you were out of sight they all turned to the brunette boy.
“I like her man” Jamie quickly said and the other boys nodded.
“Me too, she’s funny. I’m glad you didn’t bring another dud to drinks” Eddie spoke and Andrew rolled his eyes before smiling.
“I love her man, she’s so full of life. I can’t get enough of her” the grin of adoration was evident on Andrews face as he spoke about the girl.
“We approve dude, she’s a keeper” Charlie told him and Andrew felt his heart warm. He knew you’d win them over, you were just that kind of girl.
After some more chat about how much his friends liked you, you returned to table with drinks for the both of you in your hands. The rest of the night full of more laughs and fun. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you both left, you hugging each of the friends, as you moved to return home. The minute the apartment door shut behind you Andrew wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.
“What’s this about?” you asked as his face nuzzled into your neck and started pressing soft kisses into your skin.
“I just love you so much” his hot breath fanned over your neck as he spoke, causing you to recoil away because it tickled.
“You’re in a good mood” you told him as you turned around to press a kiss to his lips.
“Of course I am, my best friends love my girlfriend” he quipped before kissing you hotly again.
“Oh so it’s confirmed, I’m the favorite” you teased and Andrew chuckled before scooping you up and starting towards the bedroom.
#andrew garfield x reader#andrew garfield imagine#tasm andrew garfield#andrew garfield#imagine#andrew garfield fanfiction#andrew garfield fic#andrew garfield fluff#romance#marvel#tasm!peter smut#tasm x reader#tasm au#tasm fanfiction#tasm imagine#tasm fic#tasm peter parker
823 notes
·
View notes
Text
it’s really nothing
tasm!peter x fem!reader (office au)
summary: with peter parker as your coworker, work is something to look forward to.
warnings: idiots to lovers, pining, reader has a panic attack, peter gets sick, spider-man stuff, fluff, actual idiots, they both “hate” m&ms
a/n: this is the longest oneshot i’ve ever written. and also, i really like calling people criminals. let me know what you think!
*
peter parker has pretty eyes.
this is what you're thinking about while he stands in front of you, smiling politely, waiting for you to say something.
to shake his hand and establish a growing work relationship.
they're brown. soft and warm and a bit too bright for so early in the morning--he probably hasn't been up all night and probably doesn't suffer from a severe coffee dependency.
not that you do, either. it's just...
"y/n," you say, smiling even though it feels more like a wince. like trying not to scare away the newbie. you shake his hand.
the newbie who you were supposed to be director of today.
the newbie who you definitely did not forget about.
and who is absolutely not almost devilishly handsome.
his eyes are crinkled at the edges and you can't tell if it's because he's amused or concerned.
or if he is just pleasantly waiting for you to say something.
"sorry," you clear your throat. look away from him, to the person in the cubicle beside you--who is not judging you in the slightest. "busy morning."
"it's okay. i like... awkward silences."
he's got dimples. a little quirk on his cheek as he waits for you to tell him where to go. what to do. how not to get fired on the first day.
"i'm a little distracted," you concede, almost regretful. almost like he definitely thinks you're crazy.
he turns to look at whatever you were staring at. "yeah," he turns back, smiling. "that's a nice wall."
"okay," you take a deep breath in, feel the shame smother you with your shirt. "let's try this again."
peter, who looks like a tiny little beam of light in this room full of half-asleep people, nods. he holds his hand out again. "hi, i'm peter. i'm supposed to ask you where my desk is."
you almost laugh. "y/n," you say again, to clarify. "i'm supposed to show you where your desk is."
"hopefully it's facing that wall."
and so ensues the battle of trying not to stare at him for thirty seconds every time he makes eye contact with you.
fraternization is forbidden from the office.
you lead him to his desk, show him all of the drawers, completely with a jar full of pens--courtesy of the company--and a little welcome gift.
a little bag of m&ms that you may or may not have rushed to get from the vending machine down the hall.
"what's this?"
you swallow. again. maybe for the fiftieth time. "just a 'welcome to the office' sort of thing."
peter raises a brow. "from who?"
"me. i'm, uh, supposed to be your 'office buddy' while you settle in."
more specifically, you're supposed to be the person he goes to. the person with all the answers. the person who does not get distracted when looking into the eyes of their coworkers.
third time's a charm.
peter nods. "oh, well, i don't like m&ms."
there is a tiny fraction of you that would like to beg him not to make this even harder than it already is.
"you don't like m&ms," you repeat.
he shakes his head. his hair is messy. and soft. you'd like to reach out to touch it.
and burn your hand off immediately after.
"i didn't realize we were hiring criminals," you shrug. take the candy from his hands.
peter's jaw drops, minimally. "um, sorry?"
"not like m&ms is a federal crime."
his eyes widen. he looks a bit relieved. and then his face switches, smooth and chill, and almost evil eyes. "guess i must've missed that one."
"if you don't take my candy i'll have to eat it myself."
he raises a brow. "i'm assuming you like m&ms."
"nope. hate 'em."
he laughs. "then why would you give them to me?"
"it was the last thing in the vending machine. and i assumed you weren't also on probation. "
"neither of us is very good with assumptions," he leans back, looking a little bit more comfortable than he did a minute ago.
like maybe he doesn't think that you're absolutely insane.
you smile at him, try and keep the energy up even though you would really like to lay down on his desk and take a nap.
"so," you say, clasping your hands together. "my desk is right there."
across from his, of course, because you're already the office leader in procrastination.
"if you have any questions i won't be too far away."
"questions?"
"yeah. like, about what email to use for an article. or where to find files in the overly complicated filing system. or why it smells like pickles every couple of days."
his brow furrows. "pickles?"
"don't ask."
he picks up a pen. clicks it. puts it back down.
you watch because how are you supposed to do anything else?
especially when he's got a voice like that and a face like that and eyes that could probably remove your heart from your chest and take a bite out of it.
he clears his throat. "does everybody get an office buddy?"
"only the pretty ones."
immediately you turn around, run directly into the wall.
you fall directly onto the floor.
you don't dare to look at his face.
you laugh, awkwardly, scratching your neck. "sorry. i, um. i'm not very good at this."
at talking to people who are insanely attractive, or showing anyone around. or breathing, really.
"being an office buddy?" peter tilts his head, but he's smiling at you.
you're pretty sure the crinkle is amused.
"talking to people. especially when i'm sleep-deprived. or, trying to make a good impression."
peter laughs, seemingly appreciative of your self-depreciation. "you're doing fine," he assures. "you know, after the whole wall thing. and then the m&m thing."
you cross your arms. "it was an example of your everyday employee."
"oh okay, then." he nods. "it worked."
"and that was a welcome gift."
"you called me a criminal."
"i also called myself a criminal. and if you turn out to be anything like me, then you'll last at least a year."
he bites his lip, looking a little bit confused.
you laugh.
"c'mon, i'll show you where we keep the snacks."
his eyes light up even more. you have to take a deep breath in before you start walking.
*
peter tries not to bother you.
he took this job with the money in mind.
because selling pictures and running around all night and falling asleep in a bed made out of more cardboard than cushion, well, it was time for a change.
time to become an actual adult--in aunt mays words--and get an adult job.
when peter took this job--mostly because it was the first acceptance he'd gotten and the rejection letters were killing his ego, piece by piece--he figured that it would almost bore him to death.
but pay the bills.
but make it possible to keep up with his extracurriculars and avoid getting his water turned off when he was covered in a slime-like substance that he would really rather not think about.
he figured that it would be horrible; because having a job was, inevitably, horrible.
but he was good at suffering. he was good at balancing the scales and doing what needed to be done.
and may had threatened him with not letting him do his laundry at her house anymore, so, he didn't really have any other choice.
when he took the job, peter hadn't thought that he would be spending almost every night rushing to submit his forms and edit a million different articles.
he really hadn't thought that most of his hours spent in the office would be spent staring at you.
at watching your lips move as you talked to someone on the phone; or straining to hear you whispering to yourself--because not even with his senses could he make everything out completely.
or at staring at your hands as you typed. your eyes as you laughed. or when he said something--how he managed to, peter wasn't sure because his brain all but stopped whenever you were within five feet of him--to make you smile.
because your smile, god. it was the worst of all.
it was soft and beautiful and so mesmerizing that peter was worried you had already killed him every time he saw it.
there was just something about you.
something funny. something intriguing. a tiny little thing he wasn't sure how to describe.
and so, it really wasn't his fault that he didn't get any work done.
it's not as if he'd chosen to sit right across from you and be forced to watch you work all day.
he made a conscious effort not to.
to only stare when you were staring back.
to type random things onto his document and swear that he was actually going to get something done.
today.
but, of course, today he was having a problem.
the problem being that he didn't want to bother you but he also hadn't talked to you all morning.
three weeks after he'd officially met you.
you were his office buddy. his friendly coworker who he was just a little bit infatuated with.
and he didn't want to bother you.
he tried not to.
to keep his staring down to a minimum and avoid planning what he was going to say to you the night before.
he smiled at you during lunch, asked how everything was going.
and that was that.
until now, because peter was having a problem.
"hey," peter whispered, trying to keep his voice down.
you looked up from your computer, a quick smile making its way to your face.
peter pretended not to notice the three cups of coffee on your desk.
or that your shirt was inside out.
"hi, peter."
"hi. i'm--i'm having a little bit of trouble with a document..."
you raised a brow, making one of your eyes quirk up. just so peter could memorize the color a little bit more. "trouble?"
"i don't know how to change the font."
it wasn't a complete lie. it also was a poor, poor excuse to talk to you.
to not bother you.
"the font?" you ask as if he was lying.
which he would never do. especially not to get your attention.
"i've never used this program before."
"microsoft word?"
he nods. he watches the edge of your mouth quirk up.
he watches your fingers tap against the desk.
"okay," you say, so easily. "i'll show you."
you stand up, close enough to peter for him to smell your perfume and practically taste your amusement.
"thanks," he says, quickly, taking a couple of steps back.
and then a couple of steps more.
he allows you to lead him back to your desk. to sit in his chair and spin around, just so that he's looking at your face again.
"i like what you've done with the place," you say, gesturing to his almost empty desk.
"thanks. i try."
you laugh. "very cozy."
and then you spin around again, and peter leans a bit closer to you, watching your eyes as they flick over the computer screen.
"see the little 't'?" you patronize him, using the cursor to point.
he avoids laughing and giving himself away. he feels like a child.
which, in hindsight, he pretty much is.
peter nods. he's sure you can feel it.
because he can almost feel it when you swallow.
"you click that," you do so, "and then choose whatever font you want. except for comic sans. because that is against office policy."
"what if i like comic sans?" he whispers, closer than he wants to be to your ear.
"then we can't be friends and i'll be switching departments."
he chuckles. "where would you go?"
and he leans up, just so you can turn around again. and maybe because he feels little bit lightheaded.
it's really nothing.
"probably legal. they have a ping-pong table down there."
"and a dungeon with all of their lost souls."
you shrug. "reasonable price to pay."
you're smiling at him, so small that he might not notice if he hadn't been watching you do it for three weeks.
"i'd personally go with janitorial. get the whole place to yourself."
"they also have to clean up your desk, so."
he crosses his arms. "what is that supposed to mean?"
"you think i haven't seen the old wrappers and cans of soda? did you clean up just for me?" you touch your chest, mock appreciation.
"nope. it is 10 am, and the janitors love me."
"i highly doubt that."
you stand up, wiping your hands on your pants. "okay. you got it now?"
"yup. thanks for your help."
peter can see you trying not to laugh. he watches very closely.
"sure thing, peter. let me know if you have trouble finding the space bar."
and if peter's got a little bit of a crush, so what?
he likes his new job.
*
you poke him on the shoulder. "peter."
he doesn't budge. his eyes barely even move. his chest just barely inflates.
so you resort to almost pushing him out of his chair. "hey," you say, just a little bit louder. "peter."
and then, as soon as you've begun to push him again, his hand darts out to grab onto yours.
you let out a little yelp.
it scares you more than it scares him. you try to flinch back but his grip is hard, his eyes are stern and confused as he looks at you.
as he looks down at the hand that's on you; creating bruises on your wrists.
and then he lets go, as if your hand was burning hot, and jumps away from you.
"i'm sorry--"
"are you okay?"
peter blinks. looks like he's forgotten where he is or what he's doing here. he blinks again. "what?"
"you were asleep. i woke you up."
"oh."
you nod. take a breath in and readjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "you okay?"
"i'm fine."
you stare at him. his eyes are a little bit wild. a little bit all over the place.
he's staring at his keyboard like he's lost the ability to think clearly.
"peter," you say, softly. "it's five."
"five?"
"yes. time to go."
"oh."
you frown. "how long were you asleep?"
"not long. like, an hour."
some part of you wonders how you didn't notice that. considering how much you're looking at him on any average day.
"i didn't realize. i would've woken you up sooner."
you rub your hand, taking a step back as he gets up from his desk. as he grabs a bunch of spare things and doesn't really look you in the eyes.
"it's fine. i wasn't getting a lot done anyway."
his voice is quiet. soft. a bit rough--like he's been using it too much. sore.
"having a hard time sleeping?" you ask, trying not to step over the boundaries of your office buddy relationship.
peter snorts. "you could say that."
you nod. stand there uncomfortably.
not sure if you should just leave or wait for him. which one will cause you more pain.
peter looks up. he sighs. "your hand," he gestures to the red mark you've got on your wrists--which really don't hurt that bad but are a bit startling. "i'm sorry."
"oh," you look with him. shrugging. "it's fine. it's what i get for waking you up."
"no, i just--" he pauses. shakes his head like he's being stupid. "sorry. i don't know what's wrong with me."
"i'm sure there's a multitude of answers, peter parker."
you say it with a smile on your face, trying to avoid the seriousness of this situation. in which, you should probably be concerned for him.
in which you would really like to hug him because he looks sort of sad. sort of crumbled as he picks up his bag. sort of small.
he chuckles. "good guess."
"ready?" you ask him, straightening up.
"i'll walk you to your car."
you hold a finger up, brow raised. "i think i'll walk you to your car. 'cause you're looking a little... green."
peter blinks.
"and also because i'm a gentleman."
"of course," peter snorts a little bit, beginning to walk. "thanks for waking me up," he says, "i would've just slept there all night."
"and then what would the janitors think of you?"
he waves a hand. "they'd just clean around me."
"or call the police."
"yes. or that."
you smile at him.
appreciate the way he smiles back. even if it's just for show.
*
when peter runs into you just as he's leaving the bathroom, it's a completely normal reaction to be a little bit shocked.
to crave the warmth of your body, even if it's slamming into him and causing him to trip.
causing you to trip, which, peter does not take advantage of.
he does, of course, steady you with his hands, looking down at you as you blink.
"woah," you say. "i didn't think i was going that fast."
"practicing for a marathon?"
you glare at him, just a little. "just going to lunch."
your eyes are delightfully smooth. your mouth is quirked up in peter's favorite way.
he laughs. "i would run too."
"sorry. didn't mean to crash into you."
"it's fine."
he stares at you for a moment. waiting for you to say something.
you don't because you're not a strange coworker trying to preserve any minute with him you can get.
"where are you going?" he asks, rocking on his heels.
"forced to go to the sandwich shop on the corner. i forgot my lunch."
"charlie's?"
peter watches you lick your lips. he watches you breathe in and out and pretends that he's not being weird.
he's not.
"yeah. have you been there?"
he nods. smiles a little bit. "it's good."
you smile back.
he breathes in; trying to match his heart to yours.
you look a little bit disheveled; a little bit eager as you stare at him.
and he's got no clue how he looks because he's got no control over his body.
you breathe out. "well..."
"oh," peter steps aside, running a hand through his hair. "enjoy your lunch."
"thanks, you too."
and then you walk away from him.
peter tries not to feel a bit begrudged by his lack of conversation skills--particularly when it comes to you--and he tries not to think about how warm and soft your skin is, or how cute you look when your hair is a little bit messed up.
but then you turn around, clearing your throat. "you, um, wanna come?"
it barely takes peter a second to say "let me grab my bag."
*
"where'd you work before this?" you ask peter, sipping on some coffee.
nursing the fact that you're going out to lunch with him and that he offered to pay.
not that it means anything. it doesn't.
it'd be nice to have a friend around the office, though.
and it's nice to know that he doesn't completely hate you. yet.
peter swallows some of his sandwich, face contorting strangely. "i did some pictures for a couple of newspapers... but um, just a lot of odd jobs," he shakes his head. nonchalant.
"you like photography?"
"just a hobby."
you raise a brow. "that's not what i asked."
"yeah," peter answers, slowly. "i like it."
"you must be pretty good at it, you know, since you got paid for it."
he shrugs again. "i'm alright."
you let out a confused breath, trying to take his short answers as a good sign.
as any sort of sign.
"how long have you been working here?" peter asks you, quickly changing the subject.
you pretend not to notice.
"oh, a year and some odd months."
peter leans a little bit closer to you. "and you've lasted this long?" he whispers.
you laugh. "it's not that bad. good holiday pay. free vending machine snacks. and clive, the elevator guy, brings me coffee sometimes. can't let him down."
"clive?"
you frown. "you haven't met clive?"
peter shakes his head.
"that is a problem. i'll introduce you to him. it'll change your life."
peter laughs.
"no, i'm serious. after i met clive i was a completely different person."
"i guess we'll see."
"no, peter. i wouldn't joke about clive."
peter raises a brow. "you joke about getting fired all the time."
you wave a hand. "pfft. have you ever even met the boss?"
you say the words like they're formidable.
kind of like how peter is looking at you right now.
his eyes are absolutely insane.
"um..." peter thinks for a moment. "no, i don't think i have."
"me either."
"really? you've been there a year."
you point at him. "exactly. who's going to fire me?"
peter smiles. "fair point."
you nod at him, content.
happy, for some strange, incomprehensible reason. you can feel his eyes on you.
you look up at the clock.
"you better finish your sandwich," you tell him, meeting his eyes. "we've got fifteen minutes."
and so it begins.
*
"hey," peter says, sticking his head in front of your face, and interrupting your typing.
you scoff and push him away, moving so you can see the screen again.
resume typing.
"y/n," peter sings.
"i'm working."
"why?"
you turn towards him, sighing. "what do you need?"
he gestures towards your coffee cup, smiling. "want some more coffee?"
"no. i've had two cups already."
peter raises a brow. "that's low for you."
"rude."
he grabs your cup. "don't worry. i know how you like it."
"stalking me, peter parker?"
"you're in there all of the time," he deadpans. "it would be hard not to know."
"rude," you repeat.
peter turns around, whistling as he carries both of your coffee cups.
you shake your head, somewhat amused, somewhat confused.
you blink until the image of his face and stupid smile is gone.
continue writing.
and then peter sticks his head around the corner again.
"by the way, you're missing a comma in line three."
and you hate him, just a little bit.
you barely even smile as you add the comma in.
*
peter has been looking for you for the last ten minutes.
it's become sort of a thing to walk out together; to make fun of the building as you go, swearing that you're never ever going to come back.
peter, well, he likes the opportunity to stare openly at you while you laugh.
and when you weren't at your desk, peter took the time to explore a little bit.
and maybe go through some of your drawers looking for snacks--not that he'll admit to it when you ask.
he finds you in the basement, going through a filing cabinet.
"what're you doing?" he asks, attempting to scare you as he turns on a light.
you've got a flashlight in your mouth and a glare in your eyes.
"that's too bright," you say, around the flashlight.
"woah. what's going on?"
peter gestures to the mess on the floor. to the papers you're practically buried in.
"i couldn't find a file, and nancy in information technology said that it 'wasn't in the database' so i'd have to come and look for it down here. and none of these are alphabetized."
"ah. and did nancy use that snarky tone of voice?"
you glare even harder at him. "yes. she was very unpleasant."
peter groans as he sits down right next to you, messing with a file you've left on the floor. "sure you're not projecting?"
"peter, you should go home."
he laughs. "c'mon, you can't stay here all night. why don't you look for it tomorrow?"
"i need it tonight."
he puts a hand over yours, urging you to look at him. "you're gonna be looking forever. who knows the last time these were organized?"
you sigh, head drooping. "i know. i was trying to do it myself but..."
"there's thousands of these," peter finishes for you.
"yeah."
he laughs. "yeah."
you rub your eyes, and peter watches you as you try not to yawn.
"when was the last time you ate?" he asks.
"had lunch at my desk."
"you know that's not enough," he chides. "that was six hours ago."
"my deadline is today. i didn't realize i needed the file until today."
you sound just a little bit angry. and absolutely tired.
peter can see the circles under your eyes, and the furrow between your brows that hasn't gone away since he walked in.
"okay," peter sighs, taking the stack of files from your lap.
"peter," you sigh. "i really need--"
"i'm gonna help you."
you look up at him, frowning. "what?"
"it should only take an hour or two with both of us. and then we'll go get something to eat. and then you'll go home and sleep."
"it's--peter. that's sweet, but you don't have to. it's already late and--"
"c'mon," he says, handing you a couple. "who am i going to annoy if you're at home sleeping tomorrow?"
there's just a quirk of your lips. and then it stills, and you're staring at him very seriously. "are you sure? i know you don't get a lot of sleep anyway."
he smiles, nudging you with his shoulder. "we'll work fast. and then have fries."
and the smile it earns him is worth the exhaustion the next morning.
*
"hey," you frown, tilting your head to get a better look at his jaw.
peter looks over, eyebrows raised. "hmm?"
you point to the side of his face, brows furrowed. "you've got a bruise."
peter touches the spot you're pointing to--as if you've just reminded him of this--and winces. "oh. yeah."
"does it hurt?"
he shrugs. "a little."
"what'd you do?"
he smiles. "how do you know that i did anything? some of us wake up looking this good."
"peter."
he rolls his eyes. looks away from you and sighs. "i was helping may hang some pictures. dropped one."
"on your face?"
"no, actually," he says, smiling at you. "i dropped it on my foot. the bruise just happened to show up on my face."
if it wasn't for his smile you might push him off of the bench.
"you're stupid," you respond. "and reckless. and stupid. did may yell at you?"
he snorts. "told me that just because i 'act like a child' doesn't mean i'm not 'a responsible adult' and that i shouldn't be so 'stupid.'"
you nod, pleased. "good. now i don't have to."
*
peter is not staring.
he does not stare at you, he swears.
he watches the wall instead.
the wall with its lips and eyes and nose and cute little crinkle in its brows.
he watches the walls and he doesn't get any work done.
and when you look back at him--because you always do--he'll make a face at you. gesture towards the clock with a frown.
it might get him a laugh. or a pout.
and peter finds both of those things equally gratifying.
so it anyone asks, peter does not stare at you. he has no reason to. no need to look at something that he already knows very well.
and still, he can't quite look away.
*
"where are you?" you say, immediately, without any greeting.
because it's ten in the morning and you're actually staring at a wall. a wall that might've been interesting about five months ago before brown brown eyes took its place.
now it seems boring, blatant, and annoying.
"hello?" peter says, sounding as if he's attempting an old man.
"hi, peter. where are you?"
"at home."
"really?" you say, rolling your eyes into the receiver so that he can feel it. "i thought you were sitting right across from me. what i really meant was, where the hell are you?"
there's a pause. a quick shuffling. and then: "i'm sick."
you frown. "sick?"
"you know the thing where your body begins to ache, and then you--"
"i don't need to hear about your bodily feelings."
peter laughs. "well, that's where i am."
you almost whine. you almost swear to god that you're going to drag him in here so that you don't want to nap all day.
or go over to his apartment and have him cough in your face.
"what am i supposed to do?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, allowing the cord to wrap around your chest.
it's not like anyone is looking at you.
"i don't know," peter answers, voice muffled. "your job?"
"that's boring."
"so is reality tv. where did all the good stuff go?"
"you're at home watching tv and i have to work."
you hear peter sigh. "i'm at home sick and you're perfectly healthy at your desk. you get to talk to clive today."
he sounds a bit desperate; a bit peeved.
"clive misses you."
"he tell you that?"
"no. he actually told me that he wants his money."
you spin back around. pretend to type something into your keyboard.
"not this again."
"you lost the bet."
"i did not, you both knew that i--no, you know what?" peter pauses, breathing against the microphone. you almost have to tilt the phone away from your ear. "i'm too sick to argue."
your brows furrow. "that's not good."
he laughs. "i'm going to take a nap. get an article done. ask clive about cacti. steal all of the m&ms from the vending machine."
"it's not like anyone eats them."
"goodbye, y/n."
"but, peter..." you whine.
and that's how you end up at his door, shivering on his welcome mat.
*
peter frowns as he opens the door. "what're you doing here?"
you, immediately, walk right past him, feet pounding on his floor.
"i brought soup," you say, instead of answering. "and good company. and crackers."
"i don't like soup."
peter follows you into his kitchen--because somehow you know where everything is and are completely comfortable in his house already--leaning against the counter.
he tries not to wince as his leg strains to keep up.
you stare at him a moment, frowning. "you don't look sick. do you have a fever?" you reach out to touch his forehead but peter leans back.
"i don't like soup," he repeats.
"ah," you wave a hand. "yeah you do."
"no."
you sigh. "peter. soup is good for you. and so is getting out of bed."
peter stares at you for a moment.
any other day he might've appreciated the faux oblivious smile on your face. or the humming you're doing as you look for a bowl.
"y/n," he says, flat.
"hmm?"
"how did you get my apartment number?"
you turn back to look at him, eyes wide. "you know," you say, calm. "google."
he stares at you.
"i looked it up."
he raises a brow. takes the weight off of his left leg.
"you have a file, peter. which is very useful when your favorite coworker wants to bring you soup because you're sick."
"clive is my favorite, so--"
"you're sick," you emphasize. "which means you should go lay down. i'll bring you the soup when it's warm."
peter bends down so he can look you directly in the eye.
so he can stare at you a little bit closer and laugh when your eyes begin to disappear.
so he can watch your skin curve and fall and all of the indentations that he can't see from more than a foot away.
you stare back at him, eyes wide.
"you're not sick," he mocks, "which means you should be at work."
you cross your arms. "it's my lunch break."
your stubbornness would usually excite peter, but it's getting hard to stand.
"did you eat?"
"coffee in the car. and i stole some candy from the candy jar."
peter frowns. "that's not lunch."
he teases a small strand of hair out of your eye, pokes you in the forehead gently.
you pretend to fall backward.
"i'll have some soup," you say, pleasantly, stepping past him. "there's enough for two."
"you could've come after work," peter says, mostly just so that you'll look at him again.
so he can catch an inch of your smile and hide it in his pocket forever.
it's a crime that his camera is in the other room.
"i was worried," you admit, a little bit softer than usual. "i didn't think you could get sick."
"i am human," and even peter doesn't really believe it.
"yeah, but you're, like, naturally gifted. immune system of steel."
"i wash my hands."
you laugh, the small sound is a beacon in the room.
an earthquake shaking peter's core, again and again.
"you don't have to be worried about me," he says.
but what he really means is thank you for coming, and i wish you'd stay all day.
he means absolutely nothing at all.
"it's not just that," you turn around, gentle light in your eyes, face morphing into something peter can't describe. "i missed you," you tell him. "it's boring."
he tilts his head. tries not to let the words fall too far to the ground. "you done it before," he protests, just so you'll smile again.
"well, i didn't have any friends at work before."
peter takes the words. he grabs them from the air with his hands and throws them into a corner somewhere very far away.
he waits a moment, for you to laugh at him, to smile, to tell him what the hell to do about any of this.
and, because you know him, you do.
"go lay down," you tell him, pointing towards his door. "it'll be just another second."
and peter tries not to limp as he walks away.
he tries not to look back at you; fails.
*
it really means nothing.
it means nothing as you push away from your desk, legs feeling surprisingly limp, hands shaking as you use them to stand up.
as you run them over your face, making sure that you're still here.
you look towards peter's desk and see nothing. he's sick today, you remember.
he's been sick for three days.
that this is all normal, and perfectly fine, and just your average workday, really.
except for the overwhelming feeling pulling at your chest, making it just minimally harder to breathe.
harder to think. to see. to wonder where you are and why you're supposed to be here.
work, you rationalize. you think it through again and again.
and it still doesn't help.
you take a step, moving away from the cubicle, from the phone that you've left stranded on your desk and the tears that--as you'll find out later--have ruined a document.
you take another step, swearing to yourself that if you're going to throw up--which isn't even a possibility really--it won't be here.
it won't be in front of these people, and it will not be over something so small. so trivial.
still, that sort of fluctuating anger crawls further up your throat.
if you tried to speak, you would find only air in the place of words. you would find a dry and broken throat.
you would find that you've lost the ability.
you walk down the hall, nervous tears dribbling down your cheeks.
you wipe them away with an errant hand that you can't feel.
the next goal is the bathroom. the next goal is to calm the hell down and try and pull yourself together.
it's only nine in the morning.
it is too early for any of this.
too early for the sun to be up and too early for these feels to have collapsed your chest in whole.
you were fine when you woke up, you swear.
you had breakfast, got to work, had coffee, got to work.
there's no disorganization in a routine that you've been developing for years. in the same job that you've been used to since you got there.
panic attacks aren't acceptable when everything is fine.
you're fine, you tell yourself, a meek repetition in your brain, but whoever is controlling this doesn't seem to care.
you're fine.
the bathroom is two hallways away. on normal days, you have to plan out when you need to pee.
you clench your fists so tight that they lose blood circulation.
you wipe another tear away, angry at the movement it takes to do so.
ashamed to be walking down this hallway and avoiding the eyes of coworkers you would usually smile at.
but they don't deserve this sight.
you walk a little bit faster, unsure how far you've gotten.
it could be inches. it could be miles.
and it's at this point--when you've made it so far from your desk that you can no longer feel the indention of your chair on your legs--that you realize that this isn't going to get any better.
that compartmentalization has failed you, once again.
your eyes burn as you look down at the floor, trying to note all of the coffee stains you can see as you walk along.
you fill your lungs with air, basking in the bit of relief, the cool feeling in your chest before the anger comes back swinging.
it mocks you with a laugh. with a funny little remark about how deep breathing won't get you through this.
and it's fine.
you walk faster, swearing to yourself that you just need a moment alone.
and then you hear a quick little "hey," before you run directly into someone. quickly looking up while your eyes fill with tears again. mistake mistake mistake.
running into your coworker--especially this one--is definitely a mistake.
especially with his eyes and his face and every single thing that he just seems to know.
"hey," he says, softer, trying to keep you steady with one open hand, the other holding a coffee mug.
you're pretty sure that he just spilled some of it on the floor but you don't dare let yourself look.
this is fine, you think, as his fingertips burn your skin.
"peter,” you whisper, voice cracking. "what're you doing here?"
you try not to wince.
immediately, he's frowning. "what's wrong?"
you laugh. you chuckle. you practically cackle at the words.
what's wrong, do you think? nothing.
absolutely nothing.
you stand up even straighter. "nothing. i'm fine. how are you? feeling better?"
you're very confident that he can't hear the hesitation in your voice. after all, you're completely fine.
you smile at him.
you know that there's something else you should be saying, something funny, something to make him smile.
this might be normal if you could just figure out what that something was.
"c'mon," he whispers, little concerned brow. little evil eyes. "you're crying."
you clear your throat. "am i?" pretend to wipe away any remains. "i get really bad allergies this time of year."
"you don't have allergies."
you laugh again, little bit smaller. there is no evidence of a lie on your face.
the feeling is still there, laughing with you.
"i think i would know, peter," you say, taking a step back from him. "just heading to the bathroom so--"
"y/n," he's even softer, like whatever you're saying is causing him physical pain. "you don't have to lie."
"i'm not lying," you swear.
you swear again and again that you're not going to start crying in front of him.
because if there's one thing that could make this any worse--besides an actual heart attack--it would be peter parker watching you cry.
"did something happen?"
"no. i have to go to the bathroom."
"did someone do something?" he's leaning down a little bit, trying to get a clearer view of your eyes.
there's really no better view than this, you think, staring into his brown eyes. waiting.
"nothing happened, peter."
"then why are you crying?"
"i already told you--"
he tilts his head. he's breathing almost normally. he's standing close to you. his eyes are so gentle, warm. "i just want to make sure that you're alright. you don't look alright."
"i'm fine," you say, out loud, through clenched teeth.
and another tear falls down your face, mocks you as it hits the ground.
and then another, because where else are they supposed to go?"
"okay," peter says, leaning down just a little bit so he can grab your hand. taking a step closer, and using a hand to get you to look at him.
to rub your skin with the tip of his thumb.
to drive you even more insane than you already feel.
any other time, this might be a dream.
he takes a moment to look at you. and you look back, a bit perturbed. a bit annoyed. a bit anything but fine.
and then he nods. "okay," he repeats. looks up from you to around the office--you don't want to know how many eyes are on the two of you.
peter uses his grip on your hand to pull you, clearly not hearing your protests, as he drags you into a room.
into a maintenance closet that you didn't even realize existed.
"there," he says. "no more people."
the room is big enough for you to take a step away from him. breathe out. "thanks."
but it doesn't help.
the tears continue because the floodgates are open and the universe would like to continue to make a fool of you, thanks.
"it's okay," peter says, and he takes the step forward. his hands wipe away your tears, but they aren't fast enough. "it's okay. you don't have to tell me."
and then, in a quick gentle motion, he wraps you in his arms.
he holds you so close. so tight.
fingertips trailing on the skin of your neck. chest smelling exactly like his house.
breaths and heartbeats in your ear.
"why are you here?" you whisper, against his chest. just to break the silence and no longer feel overwhelmed by his very proximity.
"i missed you," peter answers, quickly. "i feel better."
"that's good."
he nods against your head. breathes in even deeper.
you're not sure if it's for you or him.
"peter," you whisper, and your voice shakes.
you topple over the side of the building.
but he catches you.
"i've got you," he whispers. "whatever happened, i'm here."
"thank you."
"shh," he says, and "don't be ridiculous." and "you look pretty even when you're crying." and "i would offer you some m&ms right now, but i think that would be counterproductive."
and you breathe against him, allowing yourself to laugh.
allowing the feeling to envelop you whole.
you almost don't mind, because however much panic is stuffed down your throat, peter is holding you.
peter is hugging you and whispering in your ear.
"it's okay," he repeats, a different variation of your own words. "i've got you," he promises.
and it's okay, you think.
it's completely fine.
this is nothing.
except, you know, falling in love with peter parker.
*
"what is this?" peter mouths to you from ten feet away.
he's got no idea why you're staring at him, but he doesn't really mind.
"what?" you mouth back, lip quirked a little bit too much.
peter raises his brows. points at the letter in his hands.
you squint at it.
he waits.
and then you shrug your shoulders. "i don't know," you mouth to him.
he stares blankly at you. thinks about throwing it across the room.
you laugh and look down at your desk, resuming whatever you were getting done before he interrupted.
but peter doesn't mind that very much anymore.
he emails you with no subject line.
an invitation.
you take five minutes to respond. in which, peter spends throwing trash into his trash can from six feet away.
he gets every single one in.
for the work party thing?
you look up at him, raised brow.
yes.
peter thinks about how it would be easier to just text.
yeah. they do one every year
did you go?
yes
was it lame?
yes. and no. there was a dart board
you're a liar
you smile up at him. pretend that you're the most productive employee here.
peter chooses to ignore your face so that he doesn't get distracted.
are you gonna go? he asks.
not sure. are you?
for the dartboard
wise decision
go with me. i promise no lameness.
he can hear you laugh but he doesn't look up.
just keeps your voice as a soundtrack in his mind. copy and pastes the sound. hits save.
you're a liar peter
but he finally smiles at you.
*
peter parker is, above all else, completely wrong about the party.
not that it took much convincing on his part; one single word, one single chance to hang out with him for just a little while longer, well, that was enough.
it was enough of an answer, enough of a promise, and the threat of honeysuckle eyes staring at you until you fell apart, piece by piece.
so the party is lame.
almost the same as last year.
there's a punch bowl on the table, spiked with something you choose not to think about. there's a speaker in the corner of the newly arranged office, blasting music that you don't know the words to.
there's your coworkers, mingling, standing awkwardly together because when is there time to actually talk to each other--nonetheless develop any friendships. or, acquaintanceships.
discluding you and peter, of course.
because, as you've recently become aware, he's your best friend.
he's your best friend when he's curled up on his couch and eating all your popcorn and laughing when you choke in the middle of the movie, but handing you some water anyway, eyes betraying whatever sarcastic comment he was about to make.
he's your best friend when you're eating lunch together, contemplating the benefits of pulling the fire alarm at one in the afternoon.
he's your best friend when he sends you memes over email, swearing that they're going to make you laugh.
he's your best friend when he's throwing things at you from across the office, earning the two of you some nasty looks from the same coworkers in the room now.
he's your best friend when you want to kiss him.
when you want to lean in just a little bit closer and confess everything to him; allow yourself to be uninhibited by his smiles and eyes and laughter and voice.
he's your best friend, and sometimes, you wish he wasn't.
because it just makes it a little bit harder.
not so easy to stop noticing all the amazing, wonderful, significant things about him when you're spending each weekday with him and listening to his voice over the phone every weekend.
not so easy to stop loving him when he's just...
he's your best friend.
even now, standing too close to you, whispering in your ear.
"do you think they're all robots?" he asks you, gesturing towards the group of people.
"i think we would know by now."
he looks severely judgmental. "look at them," he points, "they're all just standing there. perfect posture. great smiles. well manufactured."
"i'm sure some people think that about you too, peter."
he looks at you, offended.
"oh wait," you say, shaking your head. "you've got the posture of an eighty-year-old, so, probably not."
"i do not."
"ninety."
"we are the same age."
you raise a brow. "there is no proof of that."
"besides our birth certificates."
you wave a hand. "i'm still young," you say, "you're getting up there."
"weren't you the one complaining about 'wasting your life away sitting at a mindless--'"
"that proves nothing."
peter laughs. takes another sip of his punch and winces.
you look around. anything to avoid his face. and his stupid attractiveness.
why you're here, you're not quite sure.
"wait," you say, grabbing peter's shoulder. "i think there's a real person here."
"really? where?"
"nancy."
you gesture towards the woman standing alone, staring at peter like she's going to demolish him in a second. looking at peter like he's an actual greek statue--not too far-fetched--and she'd like to destroy him.
it might make you laugh if you weren't severely irritated.
"nancy from i.t.?" peter asks, looking around.
"yes."
"the same nancy who gave you attitude and then made the two of us go through files all night?"
"yes."
"wow," his eyes land on her, and you watch as she looks away from him, cheeks flushing. "i think she was staring at you."
you laugh.
"no, really. her hatred is being fueled."
"she wasn't staring at me, peter."
he raises a brow, looking down at you. "uh, i'm pretty sure she was. maybe you didn't see it but she had evil in her eyes--"
"she was looking at you."
"what?" he looks back to her, back to you. shakes his head. "no she wasn't."
there's just something about his eyes.
"yes, she was."
"what did i do to her?"
you laugh. "she was admiring the view."
peter's brow furrows, and you take the time to admire his eyelashes, the light hitting the side of his face.
"what does that mean?" peter asks because he's completely oblivious.
and adorable.
"pretty much everyone in this room has a crush on you, peter parker. you're a handsome guy."
"you think i'm handsome?"
you use the time to take a sip of your drink. to look around the room and admire the disco ball on the ceiling. how they got that up there, you're not sure.
peter swallows. "everyone in here?"
"yup."
"even clive?"
you laugh. "clive is well beyond a crush. i think it's considered more of an obsession."
peter smiles. he nods, pleased. "good. i feel the same."
"i'll be sure to let him know," you look down at the floor. try and get the coffee stains out with your foot.
it hurts a little bit to look at peter right now.
to stare at his face and understand that it means nothing.
smiles and laughter--they're yours but not for you.
and it's fine.
you're perfectly alright with that.
you clear your throat. "you should go talk to her."
peter looks up. "who?"
"nancy."
his lips purse. "why would i do that?"
"she likes you."
"she was mean to you," peter frowns, eyes right on you.
looking at you the same way he did that first day. like you're crazy.
like he can hear the words you're saying but they still don't make sense. like he can touch your skin but can't feel it.
you shake your head. "it was nothing. she might be nice."
"why are you trying to set me up with nancy?"
you sigh. "peter."
"are you trying to pawn me off to someone else? because i'd really rather go with clive..."
"i don't--" you sigh again. bite your lip. look down and imagine the ground isn't there. "i don't know. just..."
peter nudges you with his shoulder. "hey. this is lame."
you snort. "i told you so."
there is music blaring in both of your ears. it's gotten increasingly louder in the last thirty seconds.
if you looked over you might see people dancing. you might actually see your coworkers getting along.
but you don't look over. you don't dare take your eyes off peter.
"wanna go somewhere else?" peter asks, with a bit of a smirk.
and then you follow your best friend out the doors, not bothering to look back.
*
peter has always considered himself to be fairly strong.
after a difficult childhood, a difficult teenager, a difficult life--he thinks that he's grown well. that as long as his feet have remained firmly on the ground, then he must be doing something right.
he must be on his tiptoes now.
"hey," you say, arm locked in his, so close to him that he can smell you. "there's a diner open. wanna get shakes?"
he can feel you.
"shakes?" peter winces.
"peter parker, if you're about to tell me that you don't like shakes--"
he laughs. pulls you towards the shop. holds the door open for you.
he tries to fall back on his heels. tries to remind himself that strength doesn't mean anything. that he could hold you up for as long as you needed. that he would hold you up forever.
he plants his feet in the ground and digs his toes into the soil.
he smiles at you.
"i love shakes," he says.
and what he really means is.
i love you.
*
"it is two in the morning," you complain as peter rubs his hand together, looking like a child.
excited and lit up and far too awake for this early in the morning.
"i thought you were young," peter says. pulling you along.
his hands are cold.
and still, you don't really mind.
he's holding your hand.
"i am young. and old enough to not want to freeze to death on some swings right now."
"y/n," he chides as if you're being ridiculous. "when was the last time you played on a swing set?"
"probably when i was five."
peter points at you. "exactly. you don't remember what it's like. the joy of feeling like you're going to fall off--"
"and die."
"i won't let you die."
"peter," you say, dryly.
but you're smiling at him.
and as long as he keeps holding your hand, you think, you might follow him anywhere.
*
when peter notices that you're shivering, he offers you his jacket.
but you don't take it.
"i've seen you in the office," you say to him, the words teasing. "and i know that you're the one always turning the heat up."
"it's cold in there!" peter protests, following you as you lead him to the edge of the world.
as he tells himself that it's nothing.
nothing at all.
expect wanting to keep you awake, to keep you smiling, to keep you from falling on your face, and to keep you in his arms.
you don't take his jacket, so he must resort to the next best thing.
slinging an arm around your shoulder so he can nuzzle his nose into your neck.
"peter!" you squeal, squirming away from him.
but his hands are wrapped around your waist, holding you close.
and he's definitely not taking the time to breathe you in and imagine kissing your skin right where it's most warm.
"are you cold now?" he asks, trailing his nose up your neck, feeling you shiver beneath him.
"no."
"are you sure?" his lips are at your ear.
his grip is weak, barely even there. but he can feel how heavy you're breathing. he can see your breath in the air.
"i'm perfectly content, thank you."
you only stutter a little bit. only sound a little bit shaky.
"you can still have my jacket," peter tells you, lips close to your jaw, nose by your cheek. your skin is soft, smooth.
"i don't want your jacket."
"it's warm."
"so am i," you claim, but you're leaning into him. just a little bit.
peter pretends that it means nothing.
and when he walks you home, you snuggle under the jacket with him.
the pounding in his chest is nothing more but a simple reminder.
he's strong enough to live with it.
to hold you this close and have it mean nothing.
*
there's this thing.
it's been there for a couple of weeks.
pressure on your chest, an unrelenting reminder that you need to do something.
and you ignore it, for the most part.
tell yourself that it's nothing significant.
but looking at peter now--peter with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes and small smile and eyes and--you can feel it.
trickling down your throat, a gentle river, swarming at the bottom of your stomach.
you take a breath in.
"that was a lot more fun than last year," you tell him because it's only the truth.
his smile widens. "i was right."
you point a finger at him. "the party was lame," you clarify. "but the company was good."
"just good?"
he's got dimples.
dimples that you might drink out of, given the chance.
you shake that thought out of your mind.
"getting cocky, parker?"
his eyes are on yours, swarming your face. "i can tell when you're lying."
the smile on your face feels almost numb.
and you don't say anything back to him.
the pressure enhances, builds and falls, and pounds on the doors to your heart, swearing that it only needs a place to stay.
you've always been too kind.
been too forgiving.
loved a little bit too much.
"okay," peter whispers, taking a step back from you, hands leaving yours. "you should go inside."
"why?" you ask, even though you know the answer.
"it's cold out here."
"i'm not cold."
he smiles. brushes the side of your face with his finger. "liar liar," he says, softly.
his fingertips make your whole body fall apart.
you might be ashamed if you weren't so completely invigorated with him.
"are you going to be okay getting home?" you ask, just to break some of the silence.
tear your heart apart vein by vein.
"i'll be fine."
"it's late," you protest. "you could get hurt."
"i appreciate your confidence," he's smiling at you, but it's not enough.
"peter," you sigh.
his hand falls to your chin, tracing a line up your jaw. "hey," he whispers. "i'll be fine."
"hey," he says to you, again and again.
the pressure increases until you can barely feel anything at all.
and here's the thing about peter.
you can't stop looking at him--from that very first day.
and you haven't been able to stop loving him for months since then.
"i've got to go," he whispers, but you both know that he doesn't really mean it.
"peter," you say.
he stares at you. his eyes flick from every inch of your face, every small spot, every secret that you have written on the skin there.
he's close enough that you can feel his breath.
that you never want him to move away.
and you should really turn and open the door.
you should really go inside and forget about all of this.
you should pretend that this means nothing for just a moment more.
but.
"peter," you whisper, one last time.
"yes?" he answers back, right there. so close to you.
and his eyes stare back at yours. they have answers. they have so many questions.
"you need to kiss me."
and then, he does.
*
"what?" you whisper to him, walking down the hallway, taking your jacket off, bag in hand.
peter is pretending that he's not trying to slip his fingers in between yours.
he's pretending that this is exactly how it's supposed to be.
"we should've taken the day off," he says.
"we just had two days off."
"not long enough," he swears, whispering so that only you can hear. "i want a lifetime."
"let's start with this week."
he laughs. he's far too close to you.
fraternization is forbidden.
"this is weird," he says. "i want to kiss you."
"you can kiss me at five."
"but i want to kiss you now."
"join the club."
he smiles at you, and finally lets your fingers slip from his. he watches your eyes, so sure on his that it almost makes his knees buckle.
"i'm going to hold you to that," he says.
"good."
and then you walk to your desk, putting your jacket over your chair.
peter is staring at you, but what else is new?
you look up, just so you can smile at him.
with the lips that he's tasted. the hands that he's felt. the girl that he's spent the last two days with, and also can't get enough of.
he wants to run over to you. he wants to kiss you just one last time.
and, if the look on your face means anything, he's pretty sure you feel the same.
he pouts.
you laugh. point at the clock.
he stares some more.
and really, it's not like he got a lot of work done before anyway.
*
my masterlist here.
tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah
#peter parker#tasm peter parker#peter parker x reader#tasm peter x reader#tasm!peter fluff#office au#the amazing spider-man#The Amazing Spider Man#the amazing spider man imagine#peter parker imagine#tasm imagine#tasm fanfiction#spider-man#spider man#Andrew!Spiderman#andrew peter parker#andrew garfield#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader#andrew!spiderman imagine#andrew!peter fanfiction#andrew!peter x reader#andrew!peter parker#marvel fanfic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
sugar and vice, pt 5 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]
summary: what is the appropriate amount of time to forgive your kidnapper?
words: 3.9 k
warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. allusions to violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. 'only ten one bed oops' trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. nudity. extremely toxic relationships.
a/n - as many of you pointed out in the last chapter, this version of Peter is darker and messier than TASM canon. expect him to make a lot of mistakes before he becomes a changed man. if he changes.
18+. you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't remember watching an episode of pop up [music] video on a television network, then keep it movin'.
Back to Part 4
Part 5
She awoke to darkness. Her whole body felt sore. Head throbbing from the onslaught of tears. She felt like a ceramic pot that had been roasting in a kiln for hours.
Stirring from her dreamless sleep, she glanced left and right. Her hands were free of the bindings. Brow curled, she looked over at the closed door, pondering if her captor had snuck into the room while she was out.
Honey sat up with a start, blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes. She reached for her wrists, finding nothing but an oily residue left behind. Still puffy from the duct tape rash, her skin was sensitive to her touch, but otherwise unharmed.
She glanced up at the closed door. Her stomach churned. She fought the instinct to curl up and hide beneath the bed. The memory of Peter’s fierce gaze lingered, a raw burn in her mind.
Despite her logic telling her that she was the victim, she still felt conflicted.
She had been kidnapped, sure— and she needed to do whatever was necessary to survive. Strangely, she still felt guilty for taking a swing at him like she did. As soon as her fingers touched the rock, she slammed it into the side of his head, without much thought.
“What are you, stupid? It’s a wonder you even make it home alive each night!”
She couldn’t quite name what came over her. She dealt a blow to his temple that could’ve killed him. Surprised that it didn’t. And then what would that be like? Could she really find it in herself to kill another human being? Not to mention, she’d be alone in the woods with a dead body, with no clue where she was.
The thought made her queasy, twisting her stomach into a pretzel. She could’ve just run away, but when it came time to do so, she froze. Typical.
While she was hiding, she watched and listened quietly to his rampage below. Rage was one thing she expected, but not the misery she witnessed. The look she found in his eyes was something else entirely. Heartbreak and relief, like he would burst into tears at any moment.
It made her heart ache to witness it.
And then she hit him with a rock. Like some kind of cavewoman.
Brilliant idea, she thought disdainfully.
“You need to slow down!” More bitter thoughts flooded her, this time with the voice of her mother. “Always talking too fast! Always moving too fast! You do without thinking. No wonder you mess everything up.”
Her eyes grew heavy with melancholy and exhaustion. Despite the darkness wrapped around her, she felt like sleep was out of the question.
A strange melody crept up through the closed door to her room. Voices. Percussion. Music. Upbeat and entrancing.
There wasn’t a clock in her room but she had figured it was the middle of the night. Why would Peter be jamming out in the middle of the night?
Her stomach twisted again. The thought of coming face-to-face with him gave her chills. She rubbed her wrists idly. She could feel bruises there. She was afraid to leave the room. But she was also starving, and lamented not having at least one sandwich before her daring and ill-conceived escape. She was also miserably dehydrated, as every bit of moisture had leaked through her swollen eyelids.
And she had to pee. And that was now all she could think about. Her room thankfully had its own bathroom. Swinging her still-booted feet over the edge of the bed onto the floor, she tiptoed to the bathroom and relieved herself.
She thought she heard singing. Bad, out-of-tune singing. Creeping to the door, she placed her ear against the cool surface, trying to identify thes source. Out of curiosity or courage, she twisted the handle and peeked her head around the frame.
By the time she reached the bottom step of the staircase into the living room, she had a full view of the area and Peter was nowhere in sight. The one person who was in the room (and the source of music) was Miles, as he sat at the kitchen bar and dangled a pizza slice larger than his head above his mouth.
The music was echoing across the room from a tiny portable speaker on top of the kitchen bar. In his own world, the teenager’s head bobbed as he blew steam from his pizza, then took a giant bite.
She watched curiously as she approached from behind. The giant decorative clock built into the great room wall confirmed that it was incredibly late. Or early. One wouldn’t know it from Miles’ energy, or the volume of his jam session. She looked left and right, expecting to find more people, but saw no one else.
The flow of the music was broken when she accidentally walked into a low-height side table, her knee knocking to the corner. The lamp on top of the table jolted and Miles spun around in the barstool, letting out a piercing screech that could best be described as falsetto.
Honey responded in kind, letting out a shrieking Ahhhhhh of her own. Miles curled himself up on the stool, pulling his palms and one leg up defensively. “Sorry!” she blurted, as he clutched his own chest. “Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“You scared the crap outta me!” Miles said, his panic ebbing.
“I didn’t mean to—wait, is that how you really scream?”
“What about it?!” Miles exclaimed indignantly. “Not the point! You’re the one who’s creepin’ up on people like we’re in a horror movie... Crazy... La Llorona stuff!” The pitch of his voice normalized as he took a deep breath, frustration subsiding. “I dead-ass almost punched you in the face—I don’t mess around!”
“Sorry, sorry...” Honey babbled, her face twisted in a grimace. “I, uh, didn’t mean... to, uh... Llorona...”
“It’s fine!” Miles sighed, his heart rate slowing. It didn’t sound fine. “It’s over—maybe let’s just not ever mention this again, okay? To anyone? Especially not to people I know.”
Honey nodded her head in agreement, motioning that her lips were zipped and she was ‘throwing away the key.’
A few awkward moments of silence passed between them as he reached over and turned down the music on the speaker. He straightened out his zip-up hoodie uncomfortably. A small smile crept up on her face. She found his reaction endearing, and not at all what she expected from—whatever it was they were involved with.
“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Hi.”
Miles gave her a sheepish look. “Hi.”
There was a mountain of awkwardness between them. She looked around, then pointed at the massive box of pizza. “So... post-midnight snack?”
“Oh,” the teenager responded, looking back at the pizza. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re probably hungry.” He reached for the box, opening the lid. “Here, have some. It’s Lucia’s. There’s plenty.”
“Lucia’s?” she exclaimed, pondering the distance between wherever they were to downtown Flushing. She moved to the box, peering inside. “I like Dani’s.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect. This pie heats up better,” Miles remarked, taking another bite of his slice.
“Yeah?” Her eyes slid over to Miles. “How fresh is it?”
“Boss said to bring Lucia’s. So I did.” He shrugged his shoulders idly, placing his attention back on his slice of pizza. She slumped with a huff, having been dismissed.
“Boss,” she repeated, a chill going down her spine. “You mean Ben. Or...Peter, I guess,” She glanced around the mostly empty kitchen and living area, almost as if saying his name would summon him like Bloody Mary. “Is he here?”
Miles smacked his lips, wiping his mouth. “Nope, just me.”
There was a pleasant calmness in his demeanor. It seemed to her that he was the only normal person that she’d met since being pulled off the train. The only person that treated her like a real person. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to show her kindness... or at least, what his mind perceived as kindness.
She rocked forward on her toes, suddenly interested in the fibers of the cardboard box. “Is he... Is he okay?”
Miles avoided looking at her, and she wondered how much Peter had told him about her escape attempt. She wondered why she felt suddenly embarrassed by her actions. Ashamed even. What did that say about her?
“Didn’t say much,” he replied. “Said he needed to take care of some stuff. Told me to hang out in case you needed anything.”
Something burned in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “That was nice,” she stated in earnest. “I guess.”
“He’s pretty cool,” Miles nodded, matter-of-factly. “Nice guy.”
She bitterly scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He didn’t respond. He was skilled at avoiding her provocation despite how badly she wanted to start a fight. Passively, he devoured his pizza in record time, then reached over the box to grab a paper plate. It looked sorely out of place compared to the grandeur of the kitchen.
“Wan’some?” he asked. “I also brought soda and stuff. Boss said no TV, but we can watch a movie on Netflix or something. Or we got a Switch. You ever play Smash Bros?”
It took her a moment for the implications to sink in. “‘No TV?’” she repeated with a growl, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What are we, children?”
She snatched the paper plate from his hand and reached into the box, grabbing herself a slice of pizza. Without further protest, she bit into the pie, savoring the taste. Lucia’s was superior, she recognized.
“He said to get you whatever you needed,” he answered, paying her complaints no mind. “The whole house is free range except for the office. But everything else is cool. You can use the gym. There’s a library. The sauna. A pool, if you wanna check that out, too.”
She blinked at him, nearly choking on her pizza. “This place has a pool?”
“Heated,” he wiggled his eyebrows enticingly.
She glanced down, conniving. “What about a computer?”
Miles shook his head. “Don’t know about that.”
“Could I borrow your phone?”
“No can.”
“C’mon,” she pleaded, her voice gentle. “I’m not gonna call the cops. Just wanna check in with my mom.”
“Can’t bring phones out here,” he shrugged apologetically. “It’s a rule. Phones can be hacked and traced. All you need is a sus text like ‘Hey, I’m here,’ or ‘We issued you a refund for $600,’ and you click on the link and boom. They got you.”
Honey peered at him suspiciously, “Who’s they?”
“No clue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your ‘boss’ sounds pretty paranoid if you ask me.”
“That actually wasn’t his rule,” Miles explained conversationally. He leaned back in the barstool in a way that made her anxious. “That was Peni. She’s our tech nerd.”
“Peni?” she repeated.
“Yeah, she’s like—a genius.”
Her pizza suddenly became too chewy. “So I’m just a prisoner?” she huffed.
Miles looked over at her for a few moments, considering her. He let out a quiet sigh. “I know it’s a lot,” he said kindly, then added with consolation. “Pete’s a lot. Sometimes.” Stone-faced, she stared back skeptically. “But he’s a really good dude. Just... he worries. He wouldn’t do all this if he didn’t care.”
She glared at him through lidded eyes. “Do you hear yourself right now?” she spat. “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Do I need to call Child Protective Services?”
“Hey, not cool. M’not a child,” he bristled, offended. “I’m sixteen.” She stared at him with a raised brow, watching as he stuffed another slice of pie into his mouth. “Wan’some Mountain Dew?”
She blinked. Several times. Then resigned herself. “Sure.”
The eerie indigo and orange glow of civil dawn peeked through the bay windows of the great room. It was silent except for soft snores. With weary eyes and a suit jacket which had been wrinkled by physical exertion, Peter wandered into his house even more of an alien than when he’d left it.
The sort of activities in which he’d participated in earlier that night did that to him. It made him a stranger in his own home. Even more in his own skin.
He paused briefly and took a moment to gaze upon the lanky teenager sprawled out on one of the leather couches. Jordans crossed. sticking up over the sofa arm. A Nintendo controller rested on his chest as he dozed deeply, film forming in the corner of his open mouth. The sight made Peter crack a bittersweet smile. Nostalgia accompanied by an ache of longing. Somewhere beneath Miles’ oversized clothes, there was a good kid who wasn’t all that different from Peter.
Who he used to be.
His eyes roved across the room to the opposite sofa. Honey was curled up like a cat, still in the blouse and jeans that she arrived in. Her hiking boots were placed neatly next to the couch. The snuggly sight of her made his heart leap into his throat. Her upper body expanded and deflated in a steady rhythm like ocean waves, and the action both entranced and haunted him. The bittersweet feeling in his chest soured and blackened, until it became a guilt-ridden tumor wrapping tendrils around his heart.
He had been so cruel earlier. He erupted into a fit of blind rage. A brute. The kind of anger that made people want to turn their heads. Anger that if Gwen were still alive, she wouldn’t be able to look at without being sickened. He was the sort of person that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would cross the street to avoid.
He thought he’d lost her too. And he was terrified.
No wonder she was scared. It was his fault, to think that she could somehow see him as something other than a monster. Now, there wasn’t much hope in changing her mind.
Peter felt his eyes burn as he peeled them from her lithe form. He glanced down at his hands, observing the deep crimson stains in his skin. Rusty-brown spots soiled the wrinkled cuffs of his dress shirt.
He’d have to throw it out, he mused. There’d be no getting those stains out. No matter how much time he put into scrubbing. No matter if he flayed his own skin off his bones, the blood would always be there.
His heart rate quickened. He felt bile rising in his throat. With alarm, he disappeared down a hallway, tucking himself swiftly in a washroom.
When he returned, he was shirtless. His forearms were bright red, stinging with how hard he’d scrubbed. Head down, he crept quietly towards the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the upper level.
He paused at the sofa, glancing down longingly at the woman he would never deserve.
The woman that would never forgive him for how he acted.
Never forgive him for what he was. The thought made his lower lip tremble.
He didn’t deserve her. This was an undeniable fact.
But regardless, she was still his responsibility. His to protect. His to keep safe.
His to keep.
His shadow fell over her as he reached down and gently lifted her from the sofa. Effortlessly, he carried her weight like a towel over his arm, or a down-pillow in his hands. Ascending the staircase with her tucked against his chest, he didn’t miss the way she huddled closer to his warmth. She sighed against the skin over his heart in a way that made gooseflesh rise.
Gently, he ferried her, like a small boat on a glass lake. He strode past the door to the room that she had occupied and continued down the hallway, headed to the southern-facing end of the house. He approached the heavy oak door to his bedroom and used his toe to push it open. The action barely disturbed her at all. Like floating on a cloud.
Moving through the bedroom darkened by blackout curtains, he drifted across his room and rested her body on the silk surface of the California-king bedspread. Delicately, he placed her head on a 1000-thread count pillow void of any scents other than his own. He hoped that it would smell like her shampoo by the time she woke up.
He stepped back from the bed, listening the pulsation of her heart. Studied the pace of her breathing. Fixated on her soft features as she floated in her slumber. A familiar pang reached his chest as he watched her, hesitating for only a moment more before he padded to the other side of the bed.
She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling the softest pillow she’d ever laid on, and shuddered comfortably as two arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself pulled back and was cradled by a firm form shaping her own. It was warm. She was warm. The breath on the back of her neck was warm.
Her eyes shot open, a small gasp catching in her throat. Rapidly, she blinked through the murky twilight of the foreign bedroom, her heart spiking.
“Don’t,” she heard a deep, raspy voice whisper in her ear. She went rigid, recognizing the owner of the voice and the body pressed up against hers. Alarm flooded her.
“Please don’t,” he said softly, with a tone that sounded shockingly broken. She was frozen. Stunned. By fear or surprise, or both.
Another murmur, “Stay with me.”
It was a whimper shaped like a demand. With it, she swore she could feel a tremble in his grip. He buried his face in her hair, his bearded chin tucking into her shoulder. His arms locked her into an impenetrable grip.
Instinct was screaming at her to break the hold. Told her she needed to fight. Or run, as far and fast as she could manage.
It wouldn’t be very far. The previous afternoon he proved that he was more than capable of bringing her back.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The way the air from his lungs ghosted over her nape made her eyes flutter shut.
His arms were heavy. Firm, but not painful. Solid, not tight. She imagined the hearty limbs of the oak in the backyard of her childhood home. Three seasons out of the year, she’d scale into its arbor, hiding from her troubles. She once wanted to build a home there.
She should fight. She should run.
There was a monster in her bed. She was in a monster’s bed.
And yet, sleep took her soon after. The most peaceful rest she’d had in ages.
When she emerged from her rest, she was alone again. Harsh daylight flooded into the bedroom she hadn’t had the chance to see. After a moment of confusion, she turned around to see the other side of the bed unoccupied. The blankets undisturbed. She glanced down at her own clothes. Though wrinkled and dirtied from her tree climbing adventure and attempted escape, they were intact.
She was surprised, but even more surprised at the strange mix of... anxiety?
When is the appropriate amount of time when you’re forced into your kidnapper’s bed for him to... you know... make a move? Was it her? Was she awful, or even worse—did she smell bad?
The line of self-conscious questioning and odd disappointment frustrated her further. She sighed, silenting cursing her own stupidity, shaking the thought from her mind.
Someone once told her that if life was a horror film, she’d be the first to die. It would’ve offended her more if she wasn’t wrapped up in the notion that if life could be a horror film, how would any of us know we were in one?
Her mother answered— ”Stupid, stupid girl.”
Attention now turned to the surroundings, she came face-to-face with another real-life magazine spread. A dream bedroom. The coziest jewel of this particular dream home.
Although it was a modest size, it didn’t feel that way. The primary bedroom was decorated with a soothing blend of alabaster stone, exposed beams of reclaimed wood, and snuggly linen tones. Vaulted ceilings lined with ash. A winding, black iron chandelier dangled over the four-post bed she laid in. A stone fireplace stood opposite from the bed, accompanied by an overstuffed linen chair. Just as in the other rooms, a double-height window accented with floor-to-ceiling drapes towered over the room and revealed the breathtaking mountain landscape.
She sat up and gathered her jaw up off of the bedspread. Wiped drool from her lip. The room was charming and warm, like fuzzy socks and sherpa blankets. Marshmallows melting on hot cocoa. It wrapped around her, like a hug.
Like her visitor last night.
She yanked her eyes off of the rustic-contemporary decor, searching for Peter, as if he would’ve somehow camouflaged himself into the space. Placing her socked feet down on the blessedly toasty hardwood, she peered around curiously. The gentle roar of water running caught her attention as she wandered to the other side of ithe room. An open doorway led into another massive space, one side lined with wardrobe cabinetry and the other half of the room obscured by a wall.
Idly, she followed the path through what she recognized as a closet larger than her apartment, rounding the corner of the freestanding wall. Clouds billowed around her, as she gazed open-mouthed at the primary bathroom. Sunlight poured in, lighting up the space, bouncing off of white marble and black obsidian glass tile—
And Peter Parker.
Steam wafting off of his nude form, hot water pouring down his backside. She paused midstep, eyes like saucers. Felt the blood rush to her face. Panic swallowed her. She imagined this is exactly what deers must feel right before getting plowed by an F-150, blinded by headlights.
Except that she was blinded by his wet pale skin, the way the steam rose from it, like he was the source of heat. The smattering of freckles spread faintly across his shoulders. His palms were flat against the backsplash as he bowed his head into the stream of water. His dark locks slicked back by a cleansing cascade.
She followed the current down the curve of his shoulders and the peaks of his spine, down to the dimpled valleys of his lower back, and that breathtaking canyon ridge that dips down in a V at his hips— whatever that’s called— and never in her life would she see herself as an ‘ass enthusiast,’ but her mouth was watering now, maybe from the lack of hair on his body (his skin was so buttery smooth, what was his skincare secret?) or the subtle curvature of his shapely cheeks—
Aimlessly, she collided with a freestanding towel drying rack, sending it clamoring to the tile floor. To her ears it sounded like the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade falling down a staircase into a pile of cookware. She didn’t bother to see if Peter could hear the racket.
Like Icarus into the Sun, she hurled her own body back into the closet before she could be seen. Landed hard on the carpeted floor with a thud. She scattered, scrambling like a crab, on her hands and knees until she could get to her feet and bolt from the room.
In a frenzy, she rushed to ‘her’ bedroom, the one nearest to the stairs. She didn’t breathe again until the door was slammed shut and she rested her weight against it. A fire raged beneath her skin, her face aflame with embarrassment. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, groaning with mortification, sinking to the floor.
At what point is it acceptable to creep on your kidnapper in the shower?
Continue to Part 6
a/n - I've gotten such overwhelmingly amazing feedback on this. thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!
don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!
thank you so much, angels!
#Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes! sugar and vice#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker au#mob peter parker#mafia au#mob au#peter parker x oc#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x oc#andrew garfield au#andrew garfield peter parker x reader#andrew garfield spiderman#andrew garfield x reader#peter parker andrew garfield#andrew garfield#the amazing spider man#the amazing spiderman#tasm au#tasm smut#tasm spiderman#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter smut#andrew garfield smut#slow burn
520 notes
·
View notes
Text
Look, well all know Andrew reads but GUYS (and I cannot emphasise this enough)
These are library books. He…he goes to the library.
This is the purest and most adorable thing. My entire world has been flipped and I can now see the horizon.
(I know these pictures are old but still I love it)
#Andrew Garfield#andrew garfield reads and I love it#andrew garfield my beloved#andrew garfield au#rancid rambles
107 notes
·
View notes
Text
when deadpool takes care of spidey's injuries and asks him "who hurt you?" before going fucking berserk mental on a serial killing rampage
(FIC IS IMPERFECT STRANGERS BY OPRIME ON AO3 A BLESSING ON THIS EARTH: X )
#THIS IS ABOUT A VERY SPICIFIC SPIDEYPOOL FIC#CALLED#IMPERFECT STRANGERS#iTSOSOSOSSOOGOOD#ITS A ROOMATES AU#GOD IM FUCKING IN LOVE WITH IT#BY THE AO3 AUTHOR#OPRIME#ITSOSGOOD#spiderman#the amazing spider man#peter parker#deadpool#wade wilson#spideypool#spiderpool#mcu#andrew garfield#ryan reynolds#muggy posts
949 notes
·
View notes
Text
pov the squad is queer and unhinged
#this is my excuse to have andrew garfield as barry allen sjsjs#bruce wayne#batman#barry allen#the flash#diana prince#wonder woman#hal jordan#dc#twitter au#clark kent
753 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Favorite Bartender
bartender!Peter Parker x gn!reader
Word count- 4.3k
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), no powers au, bartender Peter, lounge band performer reader (I left it vague so you can imagine singer or plays an instrument), mutual pining, flirting, fluff, romance, drinking, praise, bar isn't described so you can imagine any type, background reader x Flash but I just used him in name only cause I needed an ex, no use of y/n
Notes- Starting my Year of AUs with an idea I've had in my head for over a year! It took me a while to come up with more than just vibes for this but I'm happy with how this turned out! Inspired by the gif below. Enjoy!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up of date on when I post new things!
~
A smooth melody floated through the air as Peter shook the mixer in his hands. The clinking of the ice added to the music as if they were meant to be played together, and Peter smiled at the patron as he put on a little show. The woman who sat at the bar gave him a flirtatious grin in return as she watched him pour her drink into a glass.
“One Manhattan for the lady,” he said smoothly.
“Thank you, handsome,” she winked and gave Peter an extra tip… and her number on a napkin before she walked away, glancing over her shoulder one last time before she rejoined her friends.
Peter smirked before he tactfully slid the napkin out of sight, never to touch it again.
He never expected his life would turn out this way. Peter Parker had always worked hard and excelled in school. He found his way with the help of a scholarship to a top college to study more of the science that he loved so much. And from there, he got into a grad school where he perfected his craft and applied for research grants. However, life came crashing down around him when he didn’t get it and all over work opportunities fell one by one like dominoes. It was a hard time for Peter, and it took him some time to climb out of his hole again.
Following his Aunt May’s advice, Peter learned a new craft to earn some money while he figured his life out. And that was how he ended up bartending… for the last few years. The money was decent, and after some disasters with spilling drinks and shattering glasses, Peter became quite skilled at it. He and May exchanged stories about their work often too, and her words always provided comfort for him.
“You’re not a failure just because you didn’t end up where you thought you would, Peter,” May told him on several occasions, “I love you and I’m proud of you.”
“I love you too, May,” Peter would reply meekly.
But what really kept Peter tethered to the bar was you. You had started about a year after Peter did, and he was captivated with you from the moment he first saw you. Swallowing his nerves, he mustered up the courage to say hello and introduce himself. When you gave him your name and said you were there to audition for the house band, Peter’s heart fluttered in his chest.
“Here,” he slid a glass of sparkling water your way, “On the house,” he winked as he hoped he hid how flustered he actually felt.
“Thanks,” you raised your glass in a cheer and drank before you went and nailed your audition.
Peter loved to watch you perform several nights a week. And he felt lucky that he got a prime seat for the show. At times, he almost forgot about the customers who were waiting for drinks when you were on stage. And as you swayed to the music that filled the room, Peter would sometimes drop his glass as he [aid more attention to you than what was in his hands.
Over the months, the two of you even started to become friends, talking occasionally whenever you came to the bar for some water or whenever you both saw each other in the break room.
However close you seemed to Peter, though, you were just out of reach. He remembered the day a man came to watch you, seated right up front the entire time you were on stage with the band. Peter’s instincts told him who he was, but his heart still dropped when you introduced him as your boyfriend.
“Peter, this is Flash,” you introduced him as you hung on his arm.
It took everything within him to not let the heartbreak show on his face, and Peter extended his hand with a taut smile, “Pleasure,” his words held no genuine emotion.
“That’s a strong grip, Pete,” Flash responded, shaking his hand, “Good thing you’re here to watch over my baby at work,” he continued, telling Peter about how much you’ve spoken about him.
As Flash rambled on, Peter’s eyes drifted to meet yours where he noticed your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He wondered why that was, but he also decided to interrupt your boyfriend with, “How about a drink for the happy couple? On the house,” he raised his mixer and a glass with his trademark smile on his face.
You breathed in relief, “I’d love one.”
Watching as Peter spun a glass in his hand and poured from a liquor bottle from the other, you were captivated. You loved to watch him mix drinks as he put on almost as much of a show as you did when you performed. Peter lifted the liquor bottle up, allowing the liquid to frame his shoulders like a rainbow before he lowered it back down. A perfect pour. Peter then covered the mixing bottle and shook it diligently, smirking at you while he did so. The look on his face made your heart flutter- something Flash hadn’t been able to accomplish in a very long time.
The truth was you were enamored with Peter. From the moment you met on your audition day, you felt a spark unlike anything you had ever felt before. His kind way, his handsome smile, the way his hands nimbly worked the glasses along the bar, it all made your skin tingle and your face warm. You couldn’t say anything, though. You were still with Flash, more out of comfort and convenience than true love at this point. So, you just enjoyed the time you spent with Peter at work, burying your feelings deep down every day.
As Peter poured the two glasses and slid them towards the two of you, you couldn’t help but grin widely at him. Next to you, Flash was oblivious as his eyes never left the drinks.
“My compliments to the chef,” he raised his glass towards Peter, who gave him a weak smile in return, “Thanks, man.”
“Thanks, Peter,” you agreed as you took a sip, “It’s delicious.” It was just the drink you needed at the moment, and you wondered how Peter knew.
“Later,” Flash guided you away from the bar to mingle.
Looking over your shoulder one last time, you and Peter locked eyes and your heart fluttered in your chest. Peter kept the fake smile on his face until you were out of sight, and he felt his entire self slump down in disappointment. His heart ached in his chest as Flash put his hands all over you, treating you more like a possession than a person. But, he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, and he didn’t want to complicate anything by telling you how he really felt. So, Peter took a deep breath and donned the mask once more as he was flagged down by a fresh wave of patrons at the bar.
*
Even though Peter couldn’t call you his, he could still enjoy the time he spent with you. And he found that the bar always felt brighter whenever you were there. Whenever your eyes met his, he couldn’t help but smile, and there were times where the flutter in his chest almost felt like a heart attack. Peter would take any time with you he could get, and he truly valued the growing friendship between the two of you.
Every night before you took the stage with the rest of the band, you always stopped by the bar and got a sparkling water from Peter. “My favorite bartender,” you would always say as you tripped your glass towards the identical one he held.
“It’s bad luck to drink alone,” Peter would quip with a mischievous smirk as he poured himself his own glass. He cheered it with your own and together the two of you would drink in unison. From the first night he did that, it became a tradition for the two of you, and something you both secretly looked forward to.
One night, the bar was unusually slow, and there weren’t many customers inside. The band took a break from performing, not wanting to waste the energy, and you went right to the bar. “How about something a little stronger than sparkling water, tonight?” you couldn’t help the subtly flirtatious tone in your voice.
“You sure about that?” Peter replied with his own coy tease in his tone.
“I’m positive,” you shimmied your shoulders.
“Alright, you asked for it,” Peter smirked back as he mixed something new for you. It was a beautiful color, and another perfect pour. Peter was just glad he didn’t drop a glass every time he glanced in your direction as you watched him intensely.
“To a slow night,” you raised your glass to him.
“To a slow night,” Peter agreed as he clinked the glass he poured himself with yours and you both drank.
As the hours passed, you and Peter continued to talk and drink at the bar until the last customer left. The manager decided to close early since it was so quiet, and the two of you stumbled towards the back to gather your things. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter as you lost your footing for a moment, but Peter was right there to catch you.
“You alright?” he asked in a soft voice.
Looking into his eyes, you felt time stop for a moment. Everything else faded away, and all you could think about was Peter. His arms wrapped around you, his soft eyes looked deep into yours, and his lips looked so… kissable. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in closer. Your eyes started to flutter shut as your lips ghosted over his. Feeling his breath against your skin was like a jolt of electricity to your entire system.
Peter breathed your name as he made no attempt to stop you, as much as he knew he should. It was the moment he had wanted for so long, and it was right in front of him. The alcohol buzzed in his system, clouding his judgment slightly, though he knew neither of you had enough to be fully drunk. You knew what you were doing, your inhibitions were just down at the moment.
Just before your lips were about to touch, though, something snapped in you and you gasped as you jumped back. “I…” you cleared your throat, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that,” you stammered as you closed in on yourself.
“It’s ok,” Peter rested his hands on your shoulders, “Hey, look at me,” he waited for you to meet his gaze before he continued, “You’re ok. We’re ok.” Conflicting emotions ran through his head- Peter wanted to kiss you more than anything, but he also didn’t want you to regret kissing him. So, he pushed his own wants aside and looked after you instead, like he always did.
Somehow, you knew what Peter meant with just those words, “We’re ok,” you echoed.
Peter proved it the next night when you both came back to work. He poured you a sparkling water and one for himself, cheering you as if nothing happened the night before. You wanted to apologize again, but something in you said that he knew. And everything fell back into your usual routine again.
*
But everything changed the night Peter found you in the back, alone and crying as the bar was closing down.
Immediately, he went on alert and was ready to help you no matter what. He gasped softly as he rushed over to you and sat next to you, “Hey, hey,” he cooed softly, “What’s going on? Are you alright?” Peter hated seeing you like this.
You looked up from where you held your face in your hands, and the sad look in your eyes made Peter’s chest tighten. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be crying at work…”
“Hey,” Peter pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I won’t judge,” he tried to make you smile.
It worked, and you gave him the brief hint of a laugh before your face dropped again, “It’s over with Flash,” you confessed, “He…” you choked back a sob, “I caught him with someone else yesterday.”
Anger flashed across Peter’s face as he tightened his grip on you and murmured your name, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. You deserve better than this… Than him…
A few more tears fell from your eyes, but you stubbornly tried to hold more back, “I shouldn’t even be that upset,” you almost sounded bitter, “Considering I almost kissed you the other day,” your voice was so hushed you weren’t sure if Peter even heard you.
“Hey you did nothing wrong,” Peter cupped your face, “Nothing happened, and it was my fault anyway…”
You looked into his eyes and the world stopped around you. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. All you cared about was him, and the warmth of his hands. Truthfully, you hadn’t felt the same about Flash in a long time, but you stayed with him more out of comfort than anything. At the same time, though, being cheated on definitely hurt you to your core.
“Pete…” you breathed as the whirlwind of emotions made your head spin. Before you could stop yourself, you felt your body leaning more toward him as your eyes glanced down at his lips.
Peter whispered your name as he brushed your cheek with his thumb. Everything in him told him to push you away, that you were too vulnerable right now. But, he wanted this more than anything. He wanted you. He wanted to kiss your problems away and make you feel safe. He wanted to make sure you were never hurt again, since he would never do anything to hurt you. And as Peter felt your breath against his skin, he found that he was about to give into his selfishness for once in his life.
But, before your lips connected, the door slammed open and Flash, your now ex, bellowed your name. “What the fuck are you doing?” he screamed at you as he stomped over, “We didn’t even officially break up and here you are about to fuck your coworker?!”
“You cheated,” Peter interjected before you could reply, “I’d say that’s pretty broken up to me,” he stood strong as he placed his body between yours and your ex.
Flash puffed up his chest and balled his hands into fists as he approached Peter, “You think you’re tough now, nerd?” he scoffed, “What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t want to fight you,” Peter replied, holding strong, “But I’m not gonna let you do anything to…” he trailed off as he felt your presence behind him. Peter could feel you start to say something, perhaps try to talk him out of putting himself in harm’s way for you, but Peter didn’t care about his own safety. He only cared about yours.
“How cute,” Flash sneered as he shoved Peter back, making you both stumble.
Not wanting things to escalate further, you called for security, who rushed in and quickly escorted Flash out. Peter stayed in front of you, blocking the view of your ex, who was cursing and hollering as he was dragged out. You knew you heard some insults thrown at you in between the obscenities, and you couldn’t help but wince.
“Hey,” Peter turned to you once the room was clear, “You alright?” he asked as he placed his hands on your shoulders.
“I uhh,” you stuttered, unsure of what to even say. Taking a deep breath, you relaxed your tense muscles, “I think so,” you finally replied in a soft voice as your eyes dropped to the ground.
“Listen,” he tried to keep his own tone even for your sake, “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? He can’t find you there and I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
Your gaze snapped back up to meet Peter’s and the breath in your chest felt like it was pushed out of you. “Are… Are you sure?” you struggled to find your voice again, “I won’t want to put you out or anything…”
“You aren’t,” Peter cut you off before you could finish the thought, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.
*
“Home sweet home,” Peter gestured to the small apartment with an awkward grin on his face, “It’s not much but… It’s home,” he shuffled in, closing the door behind you both and locking it tightly, “What’s mine is yours. Help yourself to anything.”
You stood in the doorway taking in the space. Peter lived in a little studio apartment. It was older, but you could tell he put a lot of care into the space. The tiny kitchen had snacks all over the counter. On the other end, there was a small desk against the window next to a little tv and refurbished couch. The bed was in the far corner next to the door to the tiny bathroom.
“Aunt May must have dropped off some things,” Peter rushed to the kitchen counters and shuffled the snacks into drawers clumsily as he chuckled, “I actually try to keep the place neat, if you could believe that.”
For the first time that night, a smile lit up your face, “It’s fine, Peter,” you stepped further into the studio and sat down on the small couch, “It’s a nice place.”
“Hey,” he crossed the room and sat down next to you, taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything.”
Your eyes landed on where his warm hand held yours, and once more you felt the breath knocked out of you. It felt as if a jolt of electricity ran up from where your hands were connected to your heart, making it skip a beat. Meeting his gaze again, you spoke in a more confident tone, “Thank you.”
Peter smiled back at you, “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” his tone was soft as he squeezed your hand in his.
“Peter…” you breathed as you felt yourself leaning toward him as if gravity was pulling you closer, “Call me that again? Please.”
He exhaled sharply, the smile still lighting up his face as he leaned in too, “Sweetheart…” Peter cupped your face tenderly like he did before back at the club. As he felt your breath against his face once again, Peter murmured, “Can I kiss you… sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you whispered before your lips were pressed against his.
The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it sent a jolt through both of you. Months of buildup led to this moment as you both melted into the other. Heat quickly rose in the room as you started to cling to Peter, running your hands all over his body. Peter groaned into you as he did the same and soon the kiss turned more deep, more passionate, more desperate.
You broke away from Peter, breathing heavily as you looked into his eyes. You saw the same look on his face that you knew you had on yours- the same neediness was apparent on his face. As your eyes wandered across his body, glancing down between his legs for the briefest moment, Peter murmured your name.
Meeting his gaze again, you knew the question on the tip of his tongue, “Yes,” you breathed as you jumped on him.
This time, you parted your lips for Peter immediately, and you moaned into him as you tasted him on your tongue. Passions rose as the two of you clumsily pushed yourself off the couch and made your way over to his bed, never breaking apart for long.
Something crashed as you bumped into it, but you didn’t care. And neither did Peter, who completely ignored it. Nothing else mattered to him in that moment other than you. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and his wandering hands started to tug at your clothes while he shuffled your bodies over to his bed.
You couldn’t help but giggle as you felt his desperation, and you mirrored his actions by clawing at his shirt. The two of you only broke away from the kiss to remove clothing, not wanting to miss a second of the other. A trail of clothes led the way to Peter’s bed, and once your legs hit the corner, he grabbed you and flopped you both down.
Laughter erupted as you landed side by side on his small bed. Peter paused for a moment to cup your face, cradling it tenderly in his hand for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed before he kissed you again, maneuvering you so that he straddled you.
“Peter…”
“Do you need me to stop?” he asked, freezing in place.
“Never,” you smiled as you grabbed him and yanked him down, crashing your lips into his once more.
Peter’s laughter was muffled in your lips, but he also couldn’t help but buck his hips against yours. His cock, already hardening, rocked along your body, causing you both to gasp into the other.
“Do you trust me?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes… Please, Peter,” you begged in between kisses as you rocked yourself against his body to match his rhythm.
“I can’t say no to you, sweetheart,” he smirked as he dripped his hand between your legs, “Fuck,” he breathed as he cradled your body, carefully pushing a finger into you slowly.
The moan you let out went right to Peter’s core, and he groaned as he pumped his finger in and out a few times before adding a second, “Sweetheart,” he sighed, “You’re so beautiful like this,” he stammered as he sped up his thrusts with his fingers, “I’ve thought about this for so long,” he couldn’t help but confess.
Your eyes blinked open, “Me too,” you felt the heat build under your skin and your nerves burst into flames at your own confession.
“Well let’s make it worth it then,” Peter’s signature smirk lit up his face again as he pulled his fingers out and positioned himself at your entrance.
“I know you will,” you replied breathlessly, “Don’t make me wait another second, Peter. I need you too bad.”
All he could do was moan in reply as he pushed himself into you. Gasps and moans filled the room as Peter filled you, connecting your bodies together for the first time. The bed creaked as he started a slow and steady rhythm, rocking in and out of you to the tune of your cries of pleasure.
Brown locks of hair fell in front of Peter’s face as he fought to keep himself hovering over you, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. But every time he thrust fully into you, Peter lost himself in how good you felt. He breathed your name as his hips stammered, “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he groaned.
“You’re amazing, Peter,” you breathed, “Fuck…”
Emotions ran high between the two of you as skin slapped against skin. Peter picked up his pace and lost control of himself. Incoherent praises flowed from his lips as he felt himself engulfed by you over and over again. Fuck, you looked perfect underneath him like this, and Peter hoped that he could see this sight over and over again.
“Peter… Right there!” you cried out when he changed his angle slightly, “Fuck Peter you’re gonna make me cum…”
“Let me see it, sweetheart,” he cooed as he intentionally hit that spot inside you over and over again, feeling your inner muscles squeeze his cock every time he did so.
It only took a few more thrusts for you to fall apart underneath Peter, crying out his name and clinging to him tightly as you did so. Your eyes snapped shut as your mouth hung open, letting the screams and moans spill without inhibition. Your body trembled as the emotions caught up to you, and as you rode out your climax, tears started to fall from the corners of your eyes.
Peter groaned your name as he watched the display in front of him, and the emotions became too much for him too. He came without warning, his own orgasm hitting him like a freight train as he moaned your name and spilled himself deep inside you. Peter thrusted a few more times until he had nothing else to give, and when he couldn’t hold himself up any longer, he flopped down on top of you with an exhausted huff.
Once more, giggles erupted between you and Peter as you felt the warmth and weight of his body overtop of yours. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked in a soft tone as he cradled your face.
“Never better,” you replied.
Peter smiled at you as he slowly closed the gap between your faces, placing a soft yet heartfelt kiss on your lips as he pulled out of you. He swallowed the moan you let out, and he kept your body close to his as he made yourselves comfortable on his bed. Peter cradles you safe and secure in his arms, savoring the feeling of your warmth. It felt like a dream, but if it was, Peter didn’t want to wake up from it. And he certainly never wanted to let you go ever again.
“Just rest tonight,” Peter murmured to you, kissing the side of your head, “We’ll get your stuff from Flash’s tomorrow. I won’t leave your side, I promise.”
You just hummed contently, comfortable in his arms.
“You need anything? A snack? A drink?” he asked.
You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and with a smirk you replied, “How about I make you a drink this time?” your tone dropped.
Peter’s own grin beamed back at you, “I would love to see that.”
#faw a year of aus#x reader#reader insert#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker x you#andrew garfield peter parker#andrew garfield peter parker x reader#andrew garfield peter parker x you#tasm andrew garfield#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker imagine#peter parker fanfiction#tasm peter imagines#tasm peter parker imagine#peter parker fluff#the amazing spiderman#tasm spiderman#tasm fanfiction#tasm fluff#tasm fic
112 notes
·
View notes
Note
Imagine sucking frat peter off and him gripping your hair and calling you princess or baby and him stutteringgggg uuhuuuuuu
End Of Semester Stress (And Relief)
--genre + trope: SMUT!!! MINORS DNI 18+, NSFW, college!au.
--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x college!f!reader
--word count: 1.0k
--summary: stress has creeped up on peter. balancing the end of the semester and his frat has not given him a break. noticing his unease, you visit him at the delta chi house and give him some well deserved relief from this crazy time.
--warnings: SMUTTT, oral sex (m!receiving), a heated makeout, fluff, cum eating, reader has hair that can be put up in a ponytail, peter has a messy-ish boy room, slight hair pulling, language.
The end of the semester made Peter’s life a living hell, to say the least. Like any college student, finals have seemed to arrive sooner than expected. Not only his academic life but organizing end-of-semester events for Peter’s fraternity has consumed his entire life. He knew that the only way to forward was through, and that killed him.
The Delta Chi house was quiet this time of day. Most of the guys were in class, or making their way back from their set of morning lectures. The sunlight of the early afternoon danced on the water spraying from the sprinklers dancing on the front lawn. As you make your way to the front door and ring the doorbell, the face of a semi-familiar face greets you with a grin. There were no words needed as he turned back towards the stairs and shouted, “Yo, Parker! Your girl’s here!” Opening the door wider, you step into the familiar foyer of the house. Looking towards the stairs, you see a disheveled version of your boyfriend descend. There’s a moment right before he recognizes it’s you where his face changes from a deep pout to a satisfied smirk. Peter wastes no time before he makes his way towards you and wraps you in a bone-crushing hug, “Hey bug, what’s up?”
“Nothing, I just missed you today,” you reply as he pulls away to grab your hand.
Still holding your hand, he leads you up the stairs towards his room. Locking the door behind him, he takes a quick scan of his room like he hasn’t been in there all day. There were a few piles of paper located on his desk, some clothes on his floor, and his unzipped backpack lying on the floor near his door. “Sorry for the mess,” he starts sorting the paper on his desk into neater piles, “the end of the semester is killing me.”
You let Peter fix his desk before speaking, “It’s alright baby. It’s a lot, with finals and the frat, I don’t blame you.”
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty crazy,” he groans as he runs his hands across his face.
“Let me take your mind off of things, yeah?” you suggest, walking over towards him.
He finally sits down on the bed before he grabs the remote next to him, turning the TV on, “What kind of moving were you thinking-”. You cut him off with a deep kiss as you straddle his lap. His hands immediately make their way to your hips. You’re lost in his lips as you bring your hands weave their way through his thick brown hair. A smirk rises to your features as you pull away, a soft whine escaping Peter’s lips.
“Shhh,” you whisper as you caress his cheek, “be patient.”
Slowly crawling off of his lap, you sit on your knees between his legs. The second you reach for his belt, he reaches down swiftly to take off his boxers and pants in one fluid motion. Now that he knows what you’re doing, he can’t stand to wait another second of you not touching him.
Taking his still-soft cock in your hands, you bring the head up to your lips and lick his slit, rubbing the tip against your lips painfully slow. In your peripherals, you can see Peter’s head being thrown back as a lengthy sigh leaves him. His now, hard cock, aches to be touched. His head is now a pretty pink color. You admire his sluggish state for a second before pumping him a few times, still so very slow.
Just when he’s about to open his mouth to interject, you take him entirely in your mouth. Taken back by your sudden eagerness, he speaks, “Oh fu-fuck, baby…” This time it was his turn to push his fingers through your hair, pulling the messy strands away from your face, and gathering them into a messy ponytail for him to hold onto. As one hand holds your hair in place, the other is slowly brought down to hold the side of your head, his thumb gently moving back and forth as you slightly gag on him. A silent encouragement.
The only way you knew when Peter was close, was when he began to ramble. Mostly incoherent words are heard throughout the room, but sometimes a rare full sentence reaches your ears. “Oh my god, princess…I’m gonna,” he takes a sharp breath, “I’m gonna cum.” His words are so breathy as he’s right on the edge, that it makes your heart explode.
His hips snap forward as he cums, and the warm feeling of his seed leaks down your throat. You notice a deliciously sharp feeling fluttering throughout the skin on your scalp, Peter is gripping your hair as he starts to come down from his high. As you carefully rise from his cock, the pull on your hair loosens until his hand falls onto his side. Pushing yourself off of your now aching knees, you crawl back on the bed on top of him, caging him in your arms.
Leaning down to give him the gentlest peck on his lips, his honey-brown eyes fluttered open to meet yours. A satisfied smile creeps onto his face, “Where’d that come from baby?”
“You work so hard for others,” you push the hair off of his sweaty forehead, “ you deserve something sweet, especially after this crazy week.”
“Well…I definitely feel better, baby.”
Falling by his side, he reaches a hand over to pull your face closer to his and places a delicate kiss on your forehead. “Okay, now,” he mumbles into your skin, “what movie do you want to watch?”
For the rest of the day, you remain nestled into Peter’s side. The thoughts of finals and Greek life were placed somewhere far away in his mind. All of his thoughts are consumed by you.
--author's note: GUYS...thank you for these asks!!! i love them so so much! frat!peter is my weakness right now holy shit, i need him so bad...ANYWAYS! don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! my asks/inbox is open, so feel free to send anything!! im all ears for requests and if you just want to chat, im here for that as well!!! ok, ily bye<3.
#andrew garfield peter parker#peter parker#peter parker x reader#marvel#fluff#spiderman#tasm!peter x reader#college au#peter parker smut#tasm!peter parker#frat!peter
518 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
an-idiot-in-shambles-rambles
Rambling Idiot
neutruel
don't call it a comeback...
casualprofessoraliencroissa-blog
Untitled
katharina32sworld
Familienbusiness