Tumgik
#tasm peter parker x you
luveline · 5 months
Note
hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/
thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k
"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 
"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 
Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 
"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 
You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 
You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 
"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 
"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 
"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 
You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 
"You're Peter?" you ask. 
Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 
Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 
"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."
"What do I usually look like?" 
"Not so, you know. Daunted." 
"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 
"Oh, you think so?" 
You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 
"Let's get you to the car, baby." 
"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 
"Home." 
"Together?" 
"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 
"Thank you," you say shyly. 
You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 
He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 
"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 
"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 
"You're my boyfriend?" 
"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 
"You want to get married? To me?" 
Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 
"We did?" 
He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 
"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.
"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 
"I love you," you say quietly. 
Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 
"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 
You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 
Which reminds him. 
"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 
"What is it?" you ask. 
Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.
"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 
5K notes · View notes
keerysfreckles · 3 months
Note
kinda really into a bestfriends w/ no boundaries with tasm!peter 👀
andrew’s just seems the touchiest haha <33
touchy feely fool – peter parker (tasm)
Tumblr media
pairing: tasm!peter x bff gn!reader
warnings: use of y/n, no specific pronouns mentioned, PETER FLUFF!!!!!!!!
a/n: IM BACK POOKIES RAAHHH
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
"peter!"
"y/n!"
you laugh, "why are you being so touchy today? i have to study for kaminksy's test."
"you're the smartest student in our grade. everyone knows you'll pass," peter responds, not daring to move his arms from hanging loosely around your neck.
"plus, you promised we'd have our movie night tonight, since someone bailed last weekend," he added.
"not really my fault i got sick pete," you answer, gaining a small chuckle out of the boy.
peter rests his chin on top of your head, watching as you continue writing flashcards for biology.
"are you almost done?" peter whines.
you giggle at his impatience, "i have four more cards peter. think you can wait that long?"
peter lets out a grumble for an answer, before flopping backwards onto your bed.
twelve minutes pass and just as promised, you stand from your desk chair to face peter. the boy instantly lights up, "are you done?"
you nod, "yes pete, now what movie do you want-"
before you can even get your question out, you feel your body being lifted off the ground. you can't help but laugh as you realize peter's holding you by your waist and running down your hallway towards your living room.
"peter!" your laughter continues, until he places you on the couch. "was that really necessary?" you move any hair that got in your face from the moment prior.
"yes, it was absolutely necessary," peter simply answers, before kneeling down and looking through the dvds beside the tv stand.
"you're an idiot parker," you can't help but smile.
peter smiles, "your favorite idiot."
554 notes · View notes
flightlessangelwings · 5 months
Text
Ktober 2023 Day 25- Mirror Sex
Tumblr media
Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader
Word count- 1.1k
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), softness, voyeurism, lot of praise, aftercare, established relationship, no use of y/n
Notes- Oh this was was so fun to write!! And it's another personal favorite of the month as well so I hope y'all like it too!! And I purposefully made it a gn reader too! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!
Tumblr media
~
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter’s voice echoed in your ear.
You sat in front of him, your legs parted as he knelt behind you, fucking into you slowly. Peter’s strong grip kept you upright, and you leaned back to feel the warmth and safety of his embrace. As your mouth dropped open from how good he felt rocking into you from this angle, your eyes fluttered shut and you lost yourself in the pleasure that was Peter’s touch.
A soft whimper escaped your lips as you reluctantly blinked your eyes open, but you gasped when you focused and noticed what he wanted you to see. You weren’t sure when he set it up, but a full length mirror sat at the end of the bed, and it framed where the two of you were perfectly. Even in the low light of the room, you saw both your figures clearly.
“That’s it,” he cooed as he thrust into you once, “Look at how beautiful you are.”
You moaned loudly and closed your eyes once more.
“Uh-uh,” Peter gently grabbed your chin and forced you to keep your line of sight on the mirror, “I want you to watch.”
“Peter…” you whined as you blinked your eyes open again. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t move again until you did.
“See?” his tone was low as he kissed the side of your face, “Look how beautiful you are.”
You gasped when he thrust into you once, but harder this time. Your body almost jolted forward if it weren’t for Peter’s strong grip keeping you in place. As much as you wanted to close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of his cock inside you, you knew he would stop if you did. So, you kept them open and trained on his face as he watched you in the mirror.
“That’s it sweetheart,” Peter murmured as he rocked into you at a slow and steady pace.
Skin slapped against skin as both of you locked eyes in the mirror. From that though, you saw the fire that burned within his eyes with every thrust of his hips, and you felt the low mumble from deep in his chest against your back. You saw how his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat and it only made him more beautiful to you. And then your eyes trailed down both your figures.
Between your legs, you could make out the distinct shape of his cock whenever he pulled out from you. And then it disappeared inside you when he thrust forward again, burying it deep inside you. The added visual made you moan louder as you clung to Peter’s arms.
He gritted his teeth as he felt you clench around him, and then Peter’s eyes followed yours. He watched for a few moments as his cock appeared and then disappeared with his thrusts. Then, he made a low, deep sound you had never heard from him ever before. And it sent a pulse of need right to your core.
“Fuck,” Peter breathed, “Look at us,” he thrust once more, “Look how you fit me so perfectly,” he thrust again, filling you to the brim.
“Yes,” you murmured as your eyes glazed over, “Peter.”
“Look how beautiful you look like this,” he caressed your chin where he still held you while his other arm stayed around your body to pin you against him, “Look how well you take my cock.”
“Oh fuck,” you moaned as a chill ran up your spine from Peter’s words.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed.
You dug your nails into his skin, “Peter… Yes…” you moaned, “So good, Pete… I…”
“What is it?” he trailed a line of hot, sweet kisses along your skin, “Tell me,” he said as he met your gaze in the mirror.
“You feel so good,” you whimpered, “And I love watching you fuck me like this.”
“That’s it,” he turned your chin to kiss your lips for a moment, pausing with his cock fully inside you to taste you before he turned you back to the mirror, “I want you to see what I see when I fuck you,” his tone dropped impossibly low, “I want you to fall apart and watch yourself in the mirror.”
“Oh shit,” you cried out as he suddenly picking up his pace, pounding into you with fervor, “Fuck! Peter! Yes!”
“That’s it,” he purred again as he grunted, holding back his own climax.
The look on Peter’s face when his jaw clenched made you let out the most obscene sound and you felt your body heat up and your skin tingle, “Fuck, Peter… You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Cum, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Cum for me.”
“Peter!” you screamed his name as you fought to keep your eyes open as your climax hit. You trembled in his grasp as you came hard, your mouth dropping open to let out all the sounds that Peter loved to hear.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he watched your every expression in the mirror. He saved off his own orgasm for as long as he could, but from the way you looked so delectable in the mirror, he didn’t last long.
With a low groan of his own and your name on his lips, Peter came just as hard, His movements stuttered as he lost control as came deep inside you, filling you up. He too had to fight to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of the show the two of you put on for yourselves. Peter savored the gasp you let out as he filled you to the brim, and both of you exhaled sharply when you watched it drip down your legs.
A shiver ran up your spine as you felt both your releases slide down your skin, but you couldn’t move. You didn’t want to anyway, content in Peter’s strong grip. For a moment, neither of you could budge, both too entranced in the other’s eyes in the mirror. You still stayed connected together, and at the same time, your eyes both fell to that connection.
“That was so hot,” you breathed in awe.
Peter grinned widely and kissed your neck, “I told you to trust me,” he murmured in your ear, his eyes ever leaving yours.
“I do trust you, Pete,” you whispered as you broke the connection to turn and kiss him deeply, tasting him once more, “And I love you.”
He smiled against you, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he kissed the tip of your nose before he pulled away, “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”
“You always take such good care of me, Peter,” you sighed contently before you let out a gasp as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you,
Peter shot you and apologetic look in the mirror before he gathered you in his arms again, collapsing both of you down onto the bed, “I always will, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I always will.” 
419 notes · View notes
angelfic · 2 years
Text
— CHERRY RED.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader
summary: it's the hottest day of the year, your air conditioning is broken, and all you and your roommate slash best friend slash crush have are a box of cherry flavored popsicles and months of pent up sexual frustration each other
warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut lots of smut and, oh yeah, smut! praise kink, (mild) dom!peter, fingering, (brief) dry humping, ice play? popsicle play? also swearing, no use of a condom because mc is on the pill but use protection y'all. best friends 2 lovers, college roommate au
author’s note: inspired very much so by the sudden increase in weather :) my first time writing smut btw so apologies if it's bad, let me know what u think and happy reading angels! ♡
Tumblr media
“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” you practically yell in the middle of the freezer aisle, wincing when you spot the concerned face of a mother covering the ears of her toddler.
The apologetic look you offer her quickly turns sour when you notice the mother-daughter duo is the reason for your outburst. The reason you’re about to tear off the door to the grocery store freezer and snap it in two like a graham cracker.
They took the last box of lemonade popsicles.
You fight an internal debate, the dehydration from today being the record-breaking hottest day of the year almost swaying your decision not to snatch the box right out of the toddler’s hands, before reluctantly picking up the cherry flavored ones.
Oh well, you think, at least your roommate Peter gets his favorite flavor. It's a little hard to look on the bright side however, when your jeans are sticking to you from perspiration, clinging on like a second skin. Those, and the ill-chosen long sleeve shirt, are the reason you practically run to the self-service checkout counter in a hurry to get home.
You're just about to scan the box of popsicles when your phone dings with a notification.
spiderboy [14:44] bad news
you [14:46] pls don't tell me it has anything to do with our ac
spiderboy [14:46] ...
spiderboy [14:46] ok i won't tell u
you [14:46] parker
spiderboy [14:47] yeah our ac is broken
spiderboy [14:47] can't get a repair guy in til tomorrow
spiderboy [14:47] also we're out of ice
you [14:48] FFS.
you [14:48] i'll get some ice but istg if theres only one bag and that snotty little toddler has it i'm throwing hands
spiderboy [14:48] sorry WHAT.
Grumbling to yourself the whole way, you grab some ice from the thankfully abundant collection in the freezer and get out of there in record time. The ride home is so suffocating that once you get home to your shared apartment you barely spare Peter a glance, tossing him the bag of ice and popsicles.
"Hey," you mutter, having to look away from the sight of him in his black tank top, showcasing his arms. The image of his biceps flexing as he catches the frozen products with his eyes closed - spider-senses obviously - just spurs you to walk even faster to your room.
"Where are you running off to?" he asks, frowning slightly as he gets up to put the stuff in the freezer before they melt in your ac-less apartment. "Come hang out, I'm bored."
Fanning yourself, you laugh at his childish tone. "I need to change out of these clothes. They're like a prison. I only wore them 'cause they made my ass look good this morning."
You see him take a peek at your ass as soon as you say this and you roll your eyes before shutting your bedroom door.
"That they do!" he yells through the door and you slap a hand to your mouth to stop the snorting laughter from being let out, knowing he'll hear the unattractive noise with his heightened senses.
It's times like this, you think as you strip down to only your panties (no way in hell are you wearing a bra in this weather), that you're grateful to be in the know about Peter's biggest secret. Having been his best friend since the early years of middle school, it was only expected he confided in you as soon as he was bitten.
Now you're both in college, he's still Spider-Man and you're still the ordinary human best friend that's hopelessly in love with him.
Yeah, that one may have been a recent revelation, but what can you do! You've always had a little crush on him, but having lived with him for the first two years of college, not only are you even more aware of how insanely attractive he's gotten, but due to his increase in one-night stands since school, you're also aware of your... feelings. Particularly jealousy.
The flirty nature of your friendship definitely does not help matters.
You ponder the fact you've both had dates and flings and the like since high school, strongly alluding to the idea you and Peter will never be a thing, with a sour face as you throw on the least amount of clothing you possibly can - fuck double standards! If men can parade around shirtless in the streets, then you can wear the same tank top and shorts you've had since high school damn it!
Emerging from your room feeling only slightly less like a melted stick of butter, you immediately catch Peter's eye and he chokes on the chilled water he was previously chugging down.
You furrow your brows as he gives you a once over so slowly that you almost regret the outfit choice. And then you remember it's the 21st century.
"Don't give me that look!" you scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him. "If you can wear a tank top without a bra then so can I!"
He swallows and clears his throat, asking you hoarsely, "You're not wearing a bra?"
You raise a brow and fold your arms.
"Is that an issue?"
He splutters and his gaze dips down to your chest for a split second. "No!" he yelps, looking away to stare determinedly at the TV screen. "And stop making me sound like a misogynist, you know I'm all for freeing the nips and all that."
You laugh at the very true statement as you walk over to the freezer, bending over to forage around for the cherry popsicles. Your mouth twitches as you hold back a smile when he goes silent.
"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Peter."
"Wh- I was not looking at your ass!" he insists, and when you turn around to throw him an accusing look - and one of his favorite cherry popsicles - you see that he's scowling. "I wasn't. I was just noticing your shorts."
"And my ass, but whatever," you sing-song under your breath. "What about my shorts?"
Collapsing on the couch right next to Peter, you prop your feet onto the coffee table, facing your roommate to prompt his answer. "Nothing, I just... Aren't they the same ones you would wear 4 years ago in gym class?"
"Precisely, my web-headed friend." Grinning at Peter's growing scowl at the nickname, you unwrap your popsicle, tasting the lip-numbing treat while he does the same. "God, I've been sleeping on these. They may just be as good as the lemonade."
"I think you mean better," says Peter, pointing the bright red stick of ice at you. Sticking your tongue out in response, you snatch his water bottle and it's your turn to scowl when he chuckles. "Your tongue is bright red."
"It's the latest look."
You lean back, pressing the water bottle to your neck and moaning at the cold, frosty relief. The plastic soon becomes warm from the heat of your skin, so you eventually just unscrew the lid and pour tiny amounts of water directly onto your skin.
"Oh my God, that feels so good." Peter shifts in his seat and you glance at him to see his jaw gone slack as he stares the water bottle like it's offending him. You feel heat crawling up your neck and it definitely is not due to the heatwave. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"I literally feel like I'm watching a porno and I don't know if I would rather be the water bottle or you."
His words make your stomach jolt, but you hide it with a scoff, chucking the water bottle at him. Peter may have been bitten by that radioactive spider years ago, but his ability to catch things without even looking still bugs you to this day - pun intended. "Since the other way around is physically impossible, unless your powers allow you to transform into inanimate objects, you can be me."
Shrugging, Peter finishes off his own popsicle and you shudder at the way he bites the ice so quickly. Your own popsicle is still completely intact.
Speaking of your own popsicle, you decide to bring your focus back to that and pointedly ignore his own moans of ecstasy at the chilled water dripping down his neck.
If the heatwave doesn't kill you, this definitely will.
Since the sensitivity of your teeth won't allow you to bite, the artificial red of the popsicle that's bright enough to rival the red of Peter's Spider-Man suit starts dripping down your hand. Too preoccupied with licking the melted juice before it ruins your couch, you barely register the pause in Peter's own ministrations with the water, instead his eyes focusing on the way your tongue pokes out to catch the sticky liquid.
You lick a long stripe up the popsicle and hear a faint groan coming from your best friend. Ceasing your own movements, you try not to blush.
One thing you've noticed in the last few months is that Peter hasn't had a single girl over. Not that you're complaining, but it's surprising since he once confided in you that not only were his senses heightened, but... other things too. Thus, you can't blame him for probably being turned on by you right now.
He never had the same girl over twice, though. You selfishly did not mind this at all. Not that it would make a difference, you think, shaking your head to rid yourself of any ideas and focusing on your slightly disappointing popsicle.
Sighing, you glare at the stick. "This was good for like two minutes, but I'm still hot."
Running his eyes over your body like he did when you first stepped out of your room, Peter cocks his head. "You wanna try something?"
"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.
He rolls his eyes at your dramatics, plucking your popsicle out of your hand. "Trust me?"
"Well, you are my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," you point out, pretending think about it.
"Exactly, now shut up and close your eyes."
Doing as he says, you wait in anticipation.
After a good five seconds, you're about to open your eyes and ask Peter what's taking so long when you suddenly feel the icy cold wetness of what you assume is your cherry popsicle, running across the top of your chest.
Gasping at the cool sensation, you don't even have time to properly react before Peter licks the liquid off your chest.
You can't hold back the shudder that contradicts the normal bodily reaction you should be having in the middle of a heatwave, partly due to the fact your best friend just licked you, and partly due to the fact his tongue is surprisingly cold - presumably from the popsicle.
"Oh," you gasp, eyes flying open when the popsicle travels to your neck. Despite knowing what's coming next, you sharply suck in a breath of air, your hand automatically threading into Peter's hair as he laps up the red juice, taking longer this time to bite and suck at a particular spot on your neck. He chuckles when you whimper for a second time, his warm breath scorching your skin. "I-I don't think this skin-to-skin contact is particularly effective. Especially when you run like a radiator even in winter."
"Want me to stop?" Peter mutters, his hand coming up to play with the waistband of your shorts and your brain starts fogging up. That doesn't stop you answering him though.
"Don't you dare," you practically growl and you can feel Peter's smirk against your neck. He pulls away and ignores your noises of protest, but instead of moving away completely, he runs the popsicle across your jaw and up to the side of your mouth.
Painfully slow, Peter licks the trail of liquid from the bottom of your jaw and stops right next to your lips, so close that you can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone. "Peter, please," you moan, breathily, your hand sliding down his neck to grip at his bicep.
"Fuck," he groans under his breath and sits back in his seat, but not without pulling you up and over onto his lap, flush against his chest as he throws the popsicle onto the coffee table. Your lack of bra makes you even more sensitive and it doesn't help that you can feel how hard he is through your shorts.
Your whimper is immediately swallowed by his lips as he seals your mouth with his own, kissing you with enough intensity to literally set you on fire - as if the heatwave wasn't enough.
Peter tugs you closer as he kisses you until you're seated right on top of his clothed erection and then the worst happens. He grips at your hips and pushes his own upwards, making you gasp and he takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.
Continuing his assault on your lower lip as he nibbles and sucks until you're certain it's swollen, you grow more and more frustrated when he's stopped moving. You pull away for breath, feeling lightheaded.
"Why did you stop?" you whisper, still gripping the tops of his shoulders.
Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Peter slides his hands up your legs and annoyingly stops at the top of your inner thighs. "I want you to beg again."
You scoff. "Like hell am I going to beg ag- Holy shit," you whimper, falling forward when he rolls his hips again, just once before stopping. "Okay, please, Peter, please."
"Good girl," he mutters, looking up at you lazily through his eyelashes, but with an intense stare that looks like he wants to eat you. You moan at the nickname and his eyes light up at unlocking this new information before attaching his hands back to your hips and pressing your core against him yet again, until your legs feel like jelly.
"Uh-uh," Peter clicks his tongue, lifting you off of him before you can finish and laying you down on the couch. His hand slides under your tank top and up until it rests just below your breast. "You're not getting off that easily after parading around in those tiny, tiny clothes."
"Oh my God," you groan, arching up into his hand, embarrassingly turned on by him despite no proper physical contact. He leans over you and continues nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the swollen area every few seconds. "Peter, please."
"Please, what?" he teasingly asks, swiping his thumb across the underside of your breast, but keeping his hand there. "Use your words, princess."
Feeling like you're about to explode, or beat the shit out of your roommate, you tug on his hair in frustration making him groan and chuckle at the same time. The fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you. "Please... touch me already."
"Yes, ma'am." Peter presses his lips to yours again and moves his hand upwards, grabbing a fistful of your breast. You try to stifle your moan but it's impossible when he pinches your hardening nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Shirt, off. Now."
He tugs impatiently at the material and it's your turn to laugh at the scowl on his face. You pull the tank top up and over your head in one swoop and Peter doesn't hold back his groan, a tortured expression on his face. "Fuck, you're beautiful."
"Stop," you laugh nervously, shy all of a sudden as you try and hide your warming face.
"No, I mean it," he deadpans. The expression on his face is as serious as can be and he places his hands on either side of your face to make you look at him. "Forget giant lizards, you're the thing that's finally going to kill me."
"As much as I enjoy being compared to giant lizards, please pick up where we left off."
Peter doesn't need to be told twice. However, before he touches you he grabs the almost completely melted popsicle from the coffee table and grins mischievously as he takes a bite of the iced stick of juice. Throwing it back onto the table, Peter leans forward with the red block of ice between his teeth and runs it around your nipple.
"Shit," you gasp as the ice melts almost instantly, leaving only his tongue swirling around the hardened bud instead. At the same time, his hand moves down and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. "Off, please, take them off."
Taking your direct commands as a sure sign, Peter tugs your shorts down, taking your panties with them. He swallows roughly and looks up at you, pupils blown wide. "You're so fucking pretty. I mean it when I say your pussy is going to be the death of me."
Growing more and more frustrated by Peters fingers wandering around your inner thighs, but not actually touching where you want him to, you frown at him. "You're a whole lot of talk, Parker. When are you actually going to- Oh, fuck."
"What was that?" Peter asks, his lips brushing against your ear as he finally runs a finger up and down your slit, your arousal making it easy. Your breathing gets quicker and when he slips a finger past your folds and you find your hips moving upwards trying to make his movements go faster. "No words, princess?"
Peter inserts a second finger, allowing you to adjust before adding a third and starting to pick up the pace as your moans and whimpers continue to escape you. His fingers get faster and faster, the palm of his hand in exactly the right spot against your clit which makes your eyes prick with tears as you continue to arch into him. "Such a good girl... You gonna cum for me, baby?"
His words spur your climax to approach even quicker and Peter can feel it coming when you start to tighten around his fingers so he speeds up his movements. The feeling that tugs at you in your lower stomach quickly escalates until it snaps, pushing you over the edge and you let out a cry of ecstasy.
It takes you a minute to calm down and you would believe Peter if he told you that you blacked out for a second. "That was- You were- Fuck. I need you now."
Peter curses lowly at your words as you tug off his tank top, revealing his built torso that you've helped him stich up and disinfect a countless number of times. You fumble at his grey sweatpants, trying to pull them down along with his boxers, but his hand stops you right at the waistband. "Wait, wait. Are you sure you wanna do this?"
If it weren't for the fact that you could see how painfully hard he was through his sweatpants, you would think he didn't want you. Trying not to smile at how sweet your best friend is, you quirk a brow. "I'm definitely sure. Are... are you sure?"
"Are you kidding?" he deadpans. "I've literally wanted to fuck you since puberty hit. And I've wanted to kiss you everyday of our lives since we were 11. Like, romantically."
"You- What?" you choke out the the words, shocked at the sudden confession and unable to hold back the smile this time. "Are you serious?"
"We could continue to discuss my embarrassingly obvious crush on you. Or, you could let me show you by finally letting me fuck your brains out before I literally explode."
"I vote option two, please."
"Smart girl," Peter grins, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips and nipping at your bottom lip before tugging off his sweatpants.
And shit, if he isn't the biggest you've ever had.
"You're going to break me," you moan, one hand gripping Peter's bicep and the other flat against his chest. If it wasn't for his super fast healing, you definitely would be leaving scratches. He smirks as he presses the tip of his cock at your entrance, coating himself in your arousal to ready you.
"That's the plan," he says, determined. And before you can say anything else he enters you, slowly filling you up. The short, breathless gasps that leave you combined with how tight you are causes Peter to groan and grip the side of the couch. You barely register the seat cushion ripping from his super strength, instead focusing on the way he starts moving inside you. "Jesus- fuck, you feel amazing."
His constant praise and his now powerful thrusts make literal tears form in your eyes, your arousal coming back even faster than before. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stop your screams, but Peter doesn't allow this and he removes it, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "I wanna hear every sound coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours as I'm fucking you."
He emphasizes this statement with a particularly powerful thrust, bringing his hand up to circle your clit with his thumb and you can't help letting out a scream, the tears escaping your eyes as you start to babble nonsensical words. "Don't stop, please, please, please."
"Never," he assures you, panting as he continues thrusting into you faster, deeper and harder, your climax building at the same time as Peter's. "Shit, baby, you're gonna make me cum."
"Me too," you whimper, gripping his back to pull him impossibly closer to you as you let go, having to bite his shoulder to stifle your scream. "Peter, oh my God."
"Let go for me, princess," he murmurs, lips moving against your neck as you finish, his own thrusts starting to slow down and he shudders against you, the only sounds being both of you breathing heavily.
You stay like that for a moment, until Peter's body heat smothers you and you're wishing it was the middle of winter so you wouldn't feel relief when he gets up to shrug his sweatpants on. You watch him do so, unable to move and the sight of you makes him grin like an idiot. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's thinking; he just gave you the best sex of your life, the little shit.
He leaves your clothes and his own vest discarded on the couch, lifting you up in his arms bridal style with ease and carrying you into his room. Once he sets you on the bed, he collapses down next to you.
"So, you've had an embarrassing crush on me since we were 11, let's talk about that," you say, using every ounce of strength within you not to burst out laughing.
Peter scowls, but his expression doesn't match the way his thumb is rubbing circles in the side of your hip where his hand rests. "I was thinking we could talk about the praise kink you so obviously displayed."
"Shut up," you scoff, but there's no malice in your tone because he's completely right. "If it makes you feel better, I've loved you for the same amount of time."
"I bet I loved you first," he protests softly, kissing your shoulder.
Great, now you're back to feeling like a melted stick of butter.
"Hm, I'll take that bet. What does the winner get?"
"The winner gets to take his girlfriend swinging across the city," he smirks, knowing he's got you there when you gasp in excitement. Peter is way too protective over you when it comes to his Spider-Man life and swinging across the city is a very rare occurrence.
"I lose, you loved me first, now take me swinging!"
"Yeah, let's wait til you can walk again first."
Tumblr media
© angelfic 2022.
12K notes · View notes
peterthepark · 2 years
Text
ridiculous
pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader
tags: 18+ graphic smut, not much plot, nsfw brainrot, blonde and fratboy peter parker, unprotected sex, kinda public sex, bathroom sex, mentions of smoking and party drugs, swearing as always
summary: peter parker was ridiculous, especially with that new hair of his. but deep down, you wanted nothing more than to experience one night with the douchebag of a blonde.
notes: blonde andrew garfield has awoken something in me. enjoy, indulge, sin!!!! (not my gif) title based on ariana grande’s song “ridiculous” ;))
update: read part two here!
missing out? ➤ my masterlist - MINISERIES MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
Peter Parker wasn’t known to make appearances at parties, especially ones thrown by fraternities that weren’t of his own. But ever since that first-class asshole dyed his hair blonde, he made the effort to grace every single party on campus with his well-awaited presence.
No one seemed to complain.
Not even when he reeked of entitlement that labelled him as resident douchebag. Not even when he dripped of sex appeal each time he walked into a room, owning his new look as girls pined over him and whispered about their dirty fantasies behind closed doors.
Closed doors.
Maybe it’s all the cigarettes that were passed to you or maybe you actually had more than one edible tonight than you could recall. But either way, it’s a bit hazy when you try to remember the details of how you got into this situation.
Willingly stuck inside a bathroom with none other than Peter.
Key word: willingly. Meaning you’ve done this to yourself, knowing fully of the consequences that could happen between you and the boy.
There’s a comfortable and somehow respectable distance between the two of you despite the exaggerated size of the bathroom. The marbled floors are covered in golden swirls from the awful yellow tinged light of the vanity-like mirrors. The open window lets in a cool draft to soothe the warm air of the inside.
Peter takes a heavy drag of his blunt in the bathtub, long limbs outstretched in front of him as he peers over at you curiously.
“What?” You huff out, foot dangling over the sink counter while your knee remains propped up on the surface. A lopsided smile tugs at his lips. He shakes his head at you. “Seriously, what?”
Forty minutes ago, you had originally walked in to dry off after being thrown into the pool by your friends, not realizing that Peter was occupying the clawfoot tub until he piped up about you getting undressed in front of him.
He wanted time away from the noise.
You shared that same sentiment with him.
But, god, the tension was awfully, awfully sexual.
“You’re just cool, Y/N. That’s all.” His voice is muffled, a lisp forming as a result of the burnt joint hanging from his mouth. His ankles cross over one another, battered Chucks scuffing the expensive porcelain with black marks.
“And you’re saying that because?”
“Because I wanna fuck you, yet you won’t even give me the time of day.”
You laugh at his desperation, watching him lean over the side of the tub to look at you. His eyes wander over your bare legs, ingraining the visual of your thighs into his mind and how your underwear hugs your hips graciously beneath your oversized shirt.
There’s no subtlety with him.
“You’re an asshole, what else can I say?” You shrug casually, tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip when he blinks expectantly at you.
His half-lidded gaze is tempting, but you don’t want to give him that satisfaction he always gets to receive.
You didn’t have anything to prove. But honestly, you just wanted to test his self-control.
Maybe a little bit of yours, too.
“Then,” He taps a finger against one end of the blunt. “Why are you still here? Am I entertaining to you? Or are you looking for something more?”
You sigh. “Peter, if you wanted to have sex, you could literally go fuck anyone else.”
“Jeez, can’t you accept I’m just horny and I don’t wanna get up?” He whines, motioning with grabby hands at you. “Can’t you accept that, maybe, I just wanna fuck you?”
You gape at him, nose scrunching up in confusion despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “We barely know each other and you’re suddenly dying to get into my pants.”
“Do you wanna get in mine?” He sits up, dark eyebrows raised as his dilated pupils lock onto yours. You scoff dryly, acting appalled that he would even suggest such a thing. The issue is he isn’t wrong. He isn’t, not in the slightest. You take a swig out of your beer bottle before you hop off the counter and avoid any of his further questions by turning your back to him. “Is it the blonde?”
“It’s just you.”
“Does the blonde make me seem more of an asshole?” He drawls, studying the way you mindlessly nod in agreement.
You stand in front of the mirror, dabbing at your flaky mascara with a paper towel. “Sure.” The messy streaks on your face leave little to his imagination, a faded red gloss stained upon your lips.
“And how fuckable does it make me? Scale of one to ten?”
“Negative.”
He hums shortly. “Mmm, I don’t believe that.”
“Are you always this annoying?” You jeer at him, voice dripping with snarkiness and distaste. “Does the cocky attitude make up for whatever inches are missing down there?”
Peter can’t take his eyes off you, especially when your reflection stills to meet his clouded stare.
“Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”
He challengingly runs his tongue across his teeth. Your jaw clenches at the dilemma. The air is thick, too thick for you to inhale. The mirror feels like it could crack at any time beneath the weight of your glares, while the floor thumps beneath your feet to the beat of the fast music downstairs.
Even from across the room, Peter looks enticing.
His left arm has him propped up, tucked behind his head while the other waves the lit joint between his pointer and middle finger around.
His green sweatshirt rides up his belly, revealing the happy trail along his lower abdomen. His strong jaw advertises itself as kissable and soft, even with the dark stubble on his face that makes him look older than he actually is. His chest rises and falls steadily, a small cough escaping from him.
He watches you like a vulture ready to devour a meal.
You slowly turn on your heels, bare feet making their way toward Peter until your leg hits the side of the tub. You kneel, leaning your head on perched forearms as you gaze at him from the lowered angle.
His blinks are slower. The moons of his eyes grow foggy when you suddenly reach up to take the blunt between his lips. It leaves him easily, then his next breath hitches in his throat when you place it in your own mouth.
You suck your cheeks in, inhaling quickly before puffing out the smoke off to the side.
“I don’t wanna fuck you, Peter.”
The gesture is a telltale sign that you thought otherwise.
He grabs it back from you, taking a drag before he stalls and leans forward. His hand finds the underside of your chin, gently pulling your mouth open as his eyes bounce from the upper half of your face to the lower half.
You feel lightheaded when he shotguns the smoke into you.
Not from the drugs. Not from the drinks.
But from how close his swollen lips are to yours.
“Then what’s stopping you from leaving this room?” Your lungs are hot with Peter’s breath, skin slick with sweat and bones trembling with anticipation as he moves to hold you by the nape of your neck.
You swallow. “I’m gonna leave.”
His thumb runs across your earlobe.
“Okay, go.” His voice drops to a raspy hush.
You can smell him from here, the odd combination of musk and weed. The scent shouldn’t be this desirable, but you’re breathing him in and out like some kind of flavored cigarette.
And somehow, you can’t get enough.
“I’m g-going.”
You close your eyes when his forehead pressed against yours. His body is warm, fingers antsy as they trail down the side of your strained neck. Your hands rest in your lap, thighs squeezing together when you feel the soft button of his nose nudge against yours.
“I’m gonna try you again.” He sighs into your mouth, lips barely touching as he leans over the bathtub. “How fuckable does it make me?”
All self-control (on both ends) goes out the window when Peter forms a fist at the back of your head, pulling on your hair with enough force to have you looking up at the ceiling.
You gasp, not in surprise, but at how good it feels.
Peter likes the way you bite your lip.
“This is ridiculous.” You fight back a moan when his grip tightens, covering it up with shaky laughter that didn’t at all convince the blonde.
“Yet you still haven’t left, Y/N.”
“Maybe I just need you to make me.”
He inhales deeply, thumb running across your cupid’s bow as you survey him deliberately. He lets go of his hold on your hair, but you don’t distance yourself from him. In fact, you subconsciously shift closer, knees growing sore against the marble tile.
“Make you, huh?” He whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” His nose prods against your cheek. “If I kiss you, will that make you leave?”
You smile devilishly, using his own words against him.
“Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”
All at once, his hand flicks the blunt aside.
Peter’s mouth is heavily on yours, a combination of his saliva and the taste of marjiuana intermixing on his warm tongue. The kiss is noisy and wet — the stunning interaction of two horny people at a party desperately trying to fuck one another. You pull at the string of his sweatshirt when he nibbles at your bottom lip, making it tender to the touch before he attacks yet again.
His head is pounding. The bulge in his pants is aching.
But he can only think about how kissing you turns him on even further.
“Get in here.” He groans into you, eyes never leaving your body as he guides you into the empty bathtub with him. Your knees hit the bottom roughly while you straddle his lap, feeling his erection grow beneath your clothed mound.
The friction of his denim pants against your soft skin already has you grinding against him, stifled whimpers leaving you as Peter frames your face with both of his hands to better the angle of kissing you. His tongue is in your mouth, savoring you and nothing else as your chest presses against his.
“So far, do you think a kiss is enough to make you leave?” He pipes up in between pecks, running his lips down your throat.
He nips at your flesh when it bobs beneath his touch, suckling a darkened mark by your carotid. He wraps his arms around your waist, trapping your body on top of his.
“Dunno. How about we just keep doing this and see where it takes us?”
“Thought you didn’t wanna fuck me.” Peter laughs, the sound vibrating against his own sternum.
“Things change,” You hastily pull your shirt over your head. Peter tenses when you reveal your breasts to him, his grasp stilling at your side as if he’d never seen tits before. “I was trying to be dignified.”
He curses under his breath.
“So for my peace of my mind, you do wanna have sex?”
“Is this an attachment style thing? Why do you keep asking that?” You moan when his mouth latches onto your nipple, leaving your skin moist from the wetness of his tongue.
“It’s about consent.” He gazes up at you, adorably nestling his head in the valley between your breasts. “And the fact I wanna hear it coming from that pretty mouth of yours, Y/N.”
You lean back, resting your hands on his calves as he runs a large palm up your stomach. It settles around your throat, stroking the soft flesh until your words leave you with certainty.
“I want you to fuck me.” He inhales deeply beneath you, nostrils flaring while your jaw flexes at him in the dim light. “However you want it, Peter.”
“However I want it, huh?” He repeats, sitting up to rid himself of his sweatshirt. A whimper slips out of you when his bare chest is on display, his abs toned and stomach soft when you tantalizingly trail your nails down his lean torso. “I want it so many fucking ways, Y/N. Hard.” He leaves a hickey on your ribs. “Rough.” Another one just beneath your jaw. “Slow, so I can feel every part of you.” Again in the dip of your collarbones. “Fast, till you’re squirming on top of me. Begging me to make you cum. Would you like that?”
“So many choices,” You shift to settle between his generous thighs, fingers flying from the belt buckle to the button of his jeans. “Oh, how will I ever pick?”
“Just means you gotta try them all to know what you like.”
“And if I already know?” You tug the denim down his hips and past his bottom, letting it pool around his knees as you skim your lips over the crotch of his boxers. He leans his head back when you free his hardened cock from the material, your fist wrapping around the base of his dick.
“Fuck. Then use me all you want, beautiful.”
You pump him once, maybe twice, putting off the idea of actually how big he is in your grasp. He can tell you’re a bit surprised, judging from how your eyes widened when you first saw him and now, with how your breaths become shallow with each slow jerk.
You lock gazes, lips pressing together to grace a kiss to the throbbing tip of his cock. It twitches at your touch, then your mouth envelops him quickly. Too thick to fit, you use your hand to stroke whatever length remains.
“So pretty, Peter.”
“Mm… god, Y/N. Just like that, use your tongue — shit, there you go, princess.” He chuckles heartily, guiding his hips towards you as your head bobs up and down his shaft. “Suck me off. Wish you could see yourself right now.”
“You’re such a whore.” You whisper at him, batting your lashes.
“Me? You’re the one with my dick in your mouth.” Peter tenderly courses his fingers through your hair. “And frankly, I prefer the word slut when it comes to pretty girls having me down their throat.”
You lick the underside of his cock, nose following the visible vein that stops just below his tip. A bubbly giggle erupts from you when a string of saliva connects your chin to him, and Peter shares the laugh when he sits up to wipe at your jaw.
He uses the back of his hand, then playfully taps his thumbs against the corners of your lips. He pauses — even though he’s still obviously hard — to properly look at you: the redness in your eyes, the lust in your dark pupils, the sly smile you sport.
“I want you to eat me out.” You mumble, his calloused digits rubbing circles into your skin.
He kisses you short and fast, tasting himself. The act almost comes off as innocent, except for how he stares at you hungrily and hums thoughtfully at your declaration.
“Lay back.” Peter tosses you his sweatshirt, gesturing for you to put it behind your head as he crawls on top of you. He lifts your legs, placing each one on either side of the tub. You clear your throat nervously beneath him, the way his gaze trails down your inner thighs, following the curve of your calves, flickering back to the damp patch on your cotton panties. He kisses up your chest, whispering against your jawline. He smells your neck, moaning at your sweet fragrance. “You let me between your legs now and I won’t be able to stop.”
You meet his fiery eyes in the chaos of your moving bodies.
“Then don’t.”
Peter scoffs in amusement, pulling the blue fabric of your underwear off of you. “Atta girl.” He flings it behind him, landing on the windowsill. You laugh when he blows raspberries around your belly button, placing open-mouthed kisses on the suppleness. You writhe against him, hips circling to draw his attention to where you want him most. “Oh? Needy, are we?”
“Not needy. Just think you’re taking too long.”
“Slut.” He mutters playfully, looking down at you with a wide grin.
“Whore.” You fire back instantly, yelping when he hooks his arms behind your knees and bends down to spit on your cunt.
“My god, Y/N. You look fuckin’ delicious.” He uses his fingers to spread the drop of saliva around your folds, purposefully brushing over your clit to study your reaction. The visual of your lips parted in a pleasurable ‘O’ stays in his mind, almost on loop till he nestles a long digit at your entrance. “You’re practically drenched, princess.”
“Peter…” You sigh, knee jolting in desperation when he pushes it inside you. You cover your face, earning a soft click from Peter’s mouth that makes you rethink your previous actions.
“If you want me to eat you out, then I have to see your face.” He cooes. “After all, how will I know I’m doing it right if I can’t watch you moan?”
You nod feverishly, your façade falling apart in his grasp when he cranes his head to the side and swirls his hot tongue around you. His motions are slow, his eye contact unwavering as you guide his hands all over your body — up your hips, squeezing your breasts, your throat.
But the reality of being eaten out by Peter is cut short when a series of knocks echo at the bathroom door. You jump, nearly kneeing the blonde in the face through the process, but he immediately spreads his palm over your front and pushes you back down.
Quickly, he pulls the curtain around the clawfoot tub, keeping your heaving bodies hidden inside. He pinches his lips together, holding up his pointer finger in an effort of telling you to stay quiet.
Your long silence only allows the person inside, and you nearly squeal aloud when Peter abruptly suckles at your swollen clit.
Roughly, you pull on his blonde locks with an instinctive nature, squirming when he pries your legs further apart.
Your mind is caught in a twist, ears listening in on the walking interruption and at the same time, how Peter messily laps at your cunt with the filthiest look you’ve ever seen.
“You make a sound and we’re done.” He remarks. “Got it?” The toilet seat lifts up, the loud noise ringing through what should’ve been an empty bathroom. Never would’ve you imagined Peter hiding between your thighs in a bathtub while some stranger took a piss during a party. “You taste so good.” He whispers in your ear, replacing his mouth with his hand.
“Peter, someone is in here. I can’t — we cannot get caught.”
“I told you I won’t be able to stop.” He sticks his knuckle between your teeth, smiling in satisfaction when you bite down to stifle a cry of pleasure. “I may be an asshole, but I’m a man of my word, Y/N.”
“Peter.” His name falls from you as a warning, but your body clenches around him and tells a completely different narrative.
“Oh, Y/N. Your cunt is just so fucking loud, we might get caught.” His fingers are buried inside of you, curling against your spongy walls as he spreads you open. He fixates on the way you flutter around him, wondering how good it would feel if he shoved his dick inside of you right here and right now. “Once they’re gone, you can make all the noise you want.”
“I’m gonna cum.”
He shakes his head at you, eyes wide. “No, you aren’t.”
“Please.”
The toilet flushes, and Peter takes advantage of it to muffle your string of moans when he roughly pounds his fingers into you.
You’re squeezing around him, and he knows you can’t handle much longer of this.
“Shit, cum now. Cum right now.”
“Fuck, it’s so good. You fill me up s-so well.” Your voice quivers, bringing Peter’s face down into a kiss to stop yourself from making any more unnecessary sounds that’ll draw the stranger’s attention.
“Cumming all over my hand, that’s a good girl. Yeah, princess? Feel better?”
His tongue slips into your mouth, shutting you up. Your stomach tightens, and when the blonde pulls out to massage at your clit, you release all over him before the sink can even turn on.
Then, the bathroom door clicks shut, leaving the both of you all alone once more.
You let out a long groan, head resting back against the edge of the tub as you come down from your adrenaline-filled high.
You gulp aloud, breaths stuck in your throat as you touch your sweaty forehead to catch your bearings.
Your stomach feels wet.
“S-Shit, I’m sorry.”
You glance down at your body, then at Peter, whose face is flushed red. There’s a blush creeping up his neck, his ears tinted with embarrassment as he looks at the stringy white mess between his fingers and your belly.
Peter Parker just fucking came from eating you out.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You smile warmly, cupping his face. Suddenly, he looks shy, as if what he did wasn’t the hottest thing a boy has ever done to you. You make the effort to assure him, looking him right in the eye. “It’s cool. It happens. Just shows me that you enjoyed yourself a lot more than I thought.” He hisses when your leg brushes against his leaking cock. Shrugging dramatically, you teasingly run a nail up his shaft despite already knowing the answer. “Do you still wanna fuck?”
He smirks boyishly at the crude question. “Of course I do.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He restates, rolling your nipple between his fingers with a sincere chuckle. “M’gonna fuck you standing up, is that okay? Can’t really feel my legs right now.”
“Like I said,” You tug at his earlobe with your teeth, pupils darkening again. “However you want it.”
He helps you to your feet, careful that you don’t trip one another. You shove the curtain aside when he bends you over the tub. You grip at the porcelain, knuckles turning white when he spits into his hand and slaps it against your sensitive folds. A moan falls from you when he kneads at the flesh of your ass, pushing your thighs apart to get a better view of your cunt.
His cock pokes at your entrance, and you gaze over your shoulder at Peter to watch him guide his length into you.
Slowly, he pushes his tip in. He’s thick, pulsating from his unforeseen orgasm from earlier. Peter gauges your facial expression, taking your rapid nod as a step to go further.
“It’s so big.” You whimper, smiling in deep satisfaction when your folds grip around him. He studies the sight, gawking at how your skin erupts with goosebumps beneath his warm touch.
“Tell me you want this cock, pretty slut.”
“I want all of your cock.”
You inhale deeply when he buries himself entirely inside you, his pelvis pressing against the curve of your ass.
“I’ll go easy on you.” He whispers, gently kissing your cheek before a cruel laugh wrestles through him. “For now.”
He pins your arms behind your back, just above your tailbone where he can hold your wrists in place. He uses one hand to grab onto your shoulder for leverage, hips snapping into you vigorously as he utters a number of curse words into the room.
“Peter! Fuck, yes!”
“Your cunt is just milking my cock, princess. Look at this shit. Christ… Y/N, feels fucking amazing.” He trails his nose along your neck, biting your soft arms as he continues fucking into you. “I could destroy you. Destroy this cunt, make it all mine. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Y-Yes, please. Please.”
“Earlier, you fucking despised me.” Peter growls, his grip making red marks on your skin. “Now, you want every piece of me. Needy. So needy for me.”
“Oh, god. Fuck. I want you.”
“Want my cum? Want me to fill you up with this dick?”
“Yes, Peter. Fill me up — fill me up till I can’t walk, till I can’t think, till my insides are full with nothing but you.”
“Such a dirty fucking mouth, Y/N. Always knew you spoke like a slut.” Your thighs tremble around him, his handprints marking your ass from a harsh spank driven across your backside.
“Harder.”
He buzzes in enlightenment at that. “Like this?” You lurch forward, turning into putty in Peter’s arms. He holds you near to his chest, skin slapping against skin as he drills into you. “You’re close, aren’t you?” You nod, whimpering his name over and over again. “Aw, my little Y/N. Seems that I’ve already fucked you out.”
“I’m — I’m… fuck, baby. I’m cumming.”
“I know.” He smirks cockily when you turn your face up at him, pleading for his lips on yours. “I can feel you.” You force your mouth onto his, whimpering against his teeth when he pulls away. “No, I wanna see your face again when you cum. You look so gorgeous when you do. But you don’t know that, don’t you, Y/N? Has anyone told you how fucking hot it is when you fall apart?”
“You’re making a mess.” You gasp when you glance back at him, watching how his spill coats his own cock and your wet folds.
“Oh, you’re one to talk.” His hand wanders up your throat, fingers squeezing your pulse points.
You croak. “Cum inside me.”
“Fuck. Tell me again.”
He fills you up instantly once the phrase leaves your lips, his blonde hair falling in curls in front of his face. “Want you to cum inside me.” You kiss his face, features scrunching up in pleasure as he needily releases his load into you.
“God, Y/N.” He sighs breathily, mouth connecting to the crook of your shoulder as he suckles lazily at the flesh. “I think I need to lay down.”
You chuckle loudly, shuddering when he slips out of you.
“Yup, me too. Absolutely.”
The two of you settle back into the bathtub, sticky and disheveled as you tiredly lay your head on Peter’s chest.
His head hits the porcelain abruptly, a grunt vibrating through him when he rubs the painful spot. “Ow.”
You cover your mouth with a hand, laughing behind fingers that smelled of Peter. “Are you okay?”
“Dumb blonde things, you know.”
“Mhm, sure. That’s a thing for natural blondes.” You scratch his scalp.
He closes his eyes at the relaxing sensation. “You never answered my question, by the way.”
You smile softly. It’s genuine, judging by how the lines on your face deepen with pure fondness. “The blonde looks good on you, Peter.”
“You think so?”
You playfully ruffle the messy strands.
“You looked fuckable even when you were a brunette. But now, I think you look incredibly attractive.” You plant a kiss on his nose, touching your forehead against his before you pull away with a wink. “The douchebag look is kinda sexy.”
His eyes crinkle at the statement. You step out of the tub, collecting your underwear and your shirt off the floor.
“See you at the next party?”
You glance at him, pretending to tap your chin in thought.
“Hopefully we can fuck somewhere else. Maybe not a bathroom this time.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Y/N.” He watches you slip your shirt on, already missing the glow of your soft skin.
“And don’t be an asshole, Parker.”
8K notes · View notes
periprose · 8 months
Note
Okay I gotta request something JUST HEAR ME OUT
Black Cat!Reader trying to tell Tasm!Peter she's Black Cat while he tries to tell her that he's Spider-Man at the same time. Queue up Peter being baffled, while reader just doesn't believe him lol
Also I am loving Florence, it's so good and rich, I'm still only on chapter three but I want to kiss your Peter senseless- he's such a sweetheart🫶 Also I love youuu🥰
AHHH bby i love this idea and I love you!! (also thanks for the support on florence)
Tumblr media
/
Secrets are difficult to reveal.
They're especially terrible when you're telling something so tumultuous to your best friend, something that could either make him judge you severely or run away from you.
How do you confess that you're a thief? An villain turned anti-hero?
Even worse, Peter is someone you really love. Someone you know is too good for you- he would never feel the same way. But that's why you have Spider-Man, right?
You always knew it wasn't always going to be fun and games to be Black Cat. To be the very symbol of bad luck- it's a bad premonition.
You stare in the mirror. Peter will be here any second- he always climbs up the fire escape into your apartment's bedroom, and you told him you had something important to say.
There's a knock at your window, and you turn a little too abruptly.
Peter watches from the outside. He has a tentative smile, but he can see that you're worried, and you make the conscious effort to relax your face.
Peter himself is worried. He's about to confess something very important to someone very near and dear to him- he's Spider-Man, and not just that- he's having a sort-of affair with Black Cat.
He doesn't even know how it happened. First she was stealing wealth from banks, then a few months later she came with him with the notion to be good, and Peter always believes in someone redeeming themselves... but that doesn't mean she had to be so goddamn hot, all black leather and white fur, and Peter's just a horny dude who could not help but kiss back when she made a move on him yesterday.
And it was hot, it was good for him to take out some very human emotions by making out with her, but it wasn't everything. It wasn't you, and now he feels incredibly guilty. So he wants to come clean. Peter wants to let you know the whole truth, and even if that means you'll never like him again- Peter will never act on his unspoken feelings for you- he knows you deserve to know.
"Hey." You let Peter in, and he immediately walks in with an air of anxiety, hands already shaking as he paces around. "You good?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah." Peter shakes his head immediately. "No, not really. We need to talk."
"Oh." You give him a look as you sit on your bed. "You have something to say, too?"
Peter nods, and you think it can't be nearly as bad as what you're going to tell him.
"Okay. Let me go first- I've been hiding something from you." He starts, but you shake your head. "I haven't been around."
"I haven't been around, Peter." You tilt your head at him. "I... I haven't been telling you the truth."
"Just wait. I'm trying to tell you something important." Peter insists, wanting you to know the truth but you keep going.
"I'm a bad person, Peter." You murmur, and Peter stops, interest piqued. "I've been misusing our friendship- you wouldn't want to be friends if you knew my past."
"No. That's not true." Peter sits down next to you on your bed, feeling that he should comfort you before potentially breaking your heart. "I'll always be your friend. Tell me what's going on."
"Don't sound so sure." You grimace at him. "I... I'm Black Cat."
"Huh?"
"I know, it's so terrible. I stopped with all the stealing and killing, but... I'm still not sure if my so-called good deeds are enough to forgive me." You lean over your legs. "I don't... I work with Spider-Man every now and then, too."
"But-" Peter tries to interject, and you keep going anyways. He's incredibly baffled- it's not that you don't match the size of Black Cat, it's just that he's sure he would've recognized your mouth under her mask. He's fantasized about your lips long enough.
"He kissed me yesterday." You admit, and for some reason it feels like a slap in the face to say, even if you know that Peter doesn't actually like you like that. "And I've always liked you, Peter, so I just have to get this off my chest, because I feel so terrible. I'm sorry."
Peter is snickering.
"What?" You shove him. "I'm trying to tell you about my actual, serious pain, Peter, and you're just laughing-"
He loves this. He can actually be with you, no questions asked, and you have to be Black Cat- who else would know that Spider-Man kissed you? Peter feels a little bad that you're clearly agonized about it still, and he is laughing, but he can't help it.
"I was trying to tell you the same thing." Peter shrugs, as you hang onto his every word. "Okay, not the same thing. But that I'm Spider-Man."
You raise your eyebrows. "Really?"
"What do you mean, really? What's so shocking?" Peter asks, somewhat affronted, still finding it funny. "Do I not look like I have Spider-Man's build?"
"No, no. It just... feels a little too convenient." You give him a pitiful glance. "Maybe you could prove it?"
"Wow." Peter shakes his head, stifling a small smile. "Why would I lie?"
"No, Peter, it's not that you would lie. It's just... it's too obvious of a happy ending for me, and I-" You wince. "I don't normally have those."
"Oh." Peter knows about your past, your unhappy origin story, and he doesn't want to say anything to negate that truth.
So he simply thwips out a web towards your desk, planting your water bottle against the wall, and you don't look too surprised, although you do inhale.
"So that means- I was working with- and you-" You try to make a coherent sentence. "We... we kissed?"
"Tell me if this feels the same." Peter murmurs, half jokingly, mostly serious, and he pulls your face up in the same way you remember he did yesterday.
Knowing that you were the one in that leather black suit with the white trimming stirs something more inside him- yeah, he loves you and he's so glad to have you here now- but it makes yesterday even hotter in hindsight.
No mask this time. Nothing to get in the way of you dragging your fingers through Peter's hair as he presses his lips against yours, not hesitant at all. His lips are firm, plying against yours, and he inhales in a way that screams that he's wanted to do this for a while- even if he kissed you a few days ago, it wasn't like this- and it has you understanding he doesn't want to be gentle. He wants to finish what he started.
499 notes · View notes
siriuslysmoking · 4 months
Text
Movie Marathon with Peter Parker
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
A/N: Day 3!! My love for Christmas movies is showing in this.
Tumblr media
"Haaawt!" Peter pants out.
"Is it hot?" You smirk as you take a drink of your own hot chocolate.
"Nope," He huffs, "Freezing cold."
You smile as he sits down next to you. "What first?"
"Start with The Grinch, then Elf, then the Santa Clauses, ending with Home Alone." You smile at him.
"Sounds good." He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. "Good thing you took off tomorrow."
"Good thing." You lean against his chest, balancing mug against your stomach.
One movie through, you still sat up in attention and Peter dozed off slightly to your right. "SANTA!!!"
"Ah!" Peter wakes with a fright. "Jeez."
He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and mutters something about popcorn while walking around the couch, to the kitchen. "Be quick!"
He hums in agreement, tossing the popcorn bag in the microwave behind you.
When he sits back down you cuddle back into him, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, and put your feet on the coffee table next to your discard hot cocoa mug. "Thank you."
"You enjoy this, so I enjoy this." He smiles, kissing the top of you head.
"You smell like beef and cheese." You softly whisper to him.
"You're lucky I love you."
"So lucky."
-
-
Taglist: @bunnyweasley23 @arinexeisnotworking
133 notes · View notes
sincericida · 9 months
Note
Hey do you have any reblog drafts or saved links i can use on the wayback machine to find the "Velvet Haze" fic? I'm trying to find it since the author deactivated. plzzzzz helppp
Hello dear! I tossed and turned around and reviewed all the fanfic reblog tags, and found almost every chapter of this amazing fanfic called "Velvet Haze". I couldn’t find chapter 2, I'm so sorry. The others are here:
Chapter 1: Green Green Dress
Chapter 3: Sweet Disposition
Chapter 4: A Sufficiently Clear Admission
Chapter 5: Tortured By The Expectation Of Pleasure
Chapter 6: Pure Honey
Chapter 7: Definitely Absolutely Certainly
I hope I helped you in some way. ✌🏼
Tumblr media Tumblr media
271 notes · View notes
mareagirls · 1 year
Note
Hi! If you’re ever in the mood to write a sickfic I like this idea.
Peter and reader are on a date, but reader feels nauseous. But, reader doesn’t want to tell Peter because a: they’ve both been super busy lately between Spider-Man duties and college and/or work and b: because even if reader won’t admit it, being vulnerable and being taken care of kind of scares them. But Peter finds out/figured it out and wants to help and fluff ensues.
Anyway, it’s just an idea. No pressure to complete (obvi)! Hope you’re doing well and drinking water! <3
~🥧
 hey pie anon! i hope this is okay and i'm sorry it's months late! I forgot it was in my drafts :')
You realise something is wrong when you’re only a quarter of the way through your pizza and Peter is over half way through his.
You feel sick. Or at the very least least like you might be - nausea brewing uncomfortably in your stomach as you take small bites of your food.
Your boyfriend chats away opposite you, blissfully unaware that you've started to feel queasy, so you plaster a smile on your face and swallow hard. The two of you have been incredibly busy for the past few days between your work and his vigilante duties, and the last thing you want to do is ruin the first peaceful moment you’ve had together. You can tell how much Peter has needed a little normalcy. The thought of ruining it because you’re feeling a little off feels incredibly selfish.
Beyond that, you're not used to letting people take care of you, and though Peter has told you countless times that he likes doing it, you can never quite dislodge uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability that blooms in you whenever he does. Letting yourself be loved, allowing Peter to look after you when you're not feeling too well - they're processes. You've been trying to work on them for a while, but it's difficult. It always has been.
You’re just trying to rub at your chest discreetly when Peter looks up at you from his almost empty plate. 
"Everything okay?" 
"Yes! Yeah, everything is fine." Your reply comes out wobbly and you only realise afterwards that you’ve made too much of an effort to sound alright. You smile at Peter through gritted teeth and try foolishly to convince yourself that if you pretend the nausea doesn't exist, it'll go.
Peter doesn’t look like he believes you for a second.
"Are you sure? Do you not like your pizza?" He pushes his own plate towards you as if it's the easiest thing ever, offering you his last two slices. "Here, baby. We can swap."
The tender easiness in the gesture very nearly makes you want to cry. Peter Parker might just be the loveliest boy you’ve ever known.
"No, Peter it's okay. My pizza is good,” your hands shifts slightly to rub against your abdomen, Peter tracks your movements cautiously. “I'm just kinda full I think.”
Your boy raises an eyebrow at your barely eaten pizza but nods, never one to push you for explanations.
"I'll ask for the bill and a box to take the rest home. We can have the ice cream in the freezer when we get back. How's that sound?"
The thought of ice cream makes you feel queasy, but Peter seems so hopeful and he's looked so tired and sad in the past few days that you cant help but indulge him.
-
Once you’ve gotten the bill and packed your leftover pizza into a takeaway box, Peter takes your hand in his and guides you out of the restaurant.
New York City in the evening is a sensory nightmare, but your nausea does abate slightly thanks to the fresh air. You catch Peter looking down at you and stamp an awkward smile on your face.
"Home?" He squeezes your fingers gently.
Your stomach churns at the thought of having to go so far, but Peter is looking at you like you've hung the moon and the stars - the journey home feels a little more bearable with him by your side.
"Yes please."
"You okay to walk?" 
"I'm fine, Peter. I promise."
"No, you're not, baby. And that's okay, you don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don’t want to. Just let me take care of you."
You sigh, resigned. You don't even know why you tried to hide it from him. Peter can quite literally hear your heartbeat, of course he was going to clock that you're not feeling too well.
Peter keeps his body angled towards yours as the two of you walk, and you soon realise that he's shielding you the best he can from the light around you and all the bodies rushing past. It's a small gesture, one that he might not even realise he's doing, but makes your chest flutter pleasantly
Then, just as you think that maybe the nausea is easing up, another wave of discomfort overwhelms you and you stumble.
Fortunately Peter catches your wrist just before you can do any real damage, balancing your pizza box in his free hand. He helps you back up easily, his fingers a warm pressure on your skin.
"Woah. Hey, hey, sweetheart. Let's just stop for a second, hm?"
You are mortified, and very sorry about how inconvenient you're being but when Peter pulls you to a stop, you oblige. Tears swarming in your eyes, you make one last ditch attempt at snuffing out the discomfort by pushing your face into the soft sweatshirt your boyfriend is wearing. 
You feel him go still and for one horrible millisecond, you think he's going to push you away, but then Peter’s body relaxes and he presses you against him softly, almost as if he's afraid to hurt you.
You mumble into his chest. "I'm really sorry."
"It's okay, you don't have to apologise," his lips are soft against the crown of your head. "You're good. Let's take a moment, alright?"
You nod, sniffing slightly.
"We're nearly there. Just a few more blocks to go." 
Something like a whine gets stuck in your throat and Peter coos gently, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “I know. You’re alright, honey. I've got you.”
You straighten up after a few seconds, aware that this is not at all what he signed up for when the two of you left the house, and Peter frowns a little.
"You can lean into me, baby. You're not a bother."
And you do know, because he's said it to you countless times before in different variations. I like being there for you. You don't have to apologise. I'm here for you, it's kinda in the boyfriend job description.
Peter doesn’t have to repeat himself. When he nudges you closer, you lean in.
-
Once you’re at home, Peter lets go of you carefully, never taking his eyes off you as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pull out the keys to let you both in.
He places the pizza box on the microwave in the kitchen before following you through down the corridor, a hand ghosting the small of your back. When you reach the bedroom, he dims the lights.
You sit on the bed gingerly. Peter sits next to you.
"How are you feeling?" Peter asks.
You’re quiet for a while. Then, a small admission;
"I feel really nauseous Peter." You avoid his gaze. "It started in the restaurant. I don't... I don't know what's wrong."
Peter is silent for a beat. You take it as a sign that you've said something wrong.
"It's fine though. I'm sorry for ruining the meal. I know you were looking forward to this." your voice is hoarse. "I’m really sorry."
When you muster the courage to look up at him, Peter looks horrified.
"Baby, what are you talking about? You didn't ruin anything. It's okay." His hand comes up to brush at your jawline. "I got to spend time with my best girl. I feel like the luckiest guy alive."
You think he might be exaggerating just to make you smile, but there's real sincerity in his tone. "Do you want pain relief? Some ginger tea, maybe?"
Right now, you only want Peter.
"Can we just cuddle for a bit, please?"
"Oh, my girl." Peter is already pulling you down so that you're lying against his chest. "C'mere."
788 notes · View notes
reidslovely · 8 months
Note
there were two things that came to mind the first being peter yelling at her and he’s never done that before so reader trying to avoids him for the rest of the day and when she does interact with him she’s silent or acting almost robotic
the second one that came to mind was them getting into a fight and her trying to quit
i see your second thought being super plausible honestly, but let’s combine them. peter is very particular about his schedule and follows it to a t for the most part. the fight started the first or second week she works for him. all over a missed appointment and she swears she wrote it down, but peter is upset because he doesn’t have time for this meeting. he’s got lab time, and a presentation today. he doesn’t have time to meet with this potential investor today.
“what do you mean you missed a appointment!” peter yelled. the slight raise in his voice shocked her as well as him. he cleared his throat and left his suit jacket on the back of his desk chair. “can you not operate the shared calendar i swear doll it’s like you’re completely helpless sometimes.”
that comment strikes a nerve, and it doesn’t help she’s already on the verge of tears from him yelling. peter’s never made her feel so small. in fact he’s only ever been encouraging. and supportive of her she wasn’t helpless, she was learning the ropes of this company still. and her boyfriend being who he was didn’t help, everyone else just assumed she batted her eyes and but her lip to the position.
“well i’m sorry pete.” she jokes dryly lightly trying not to show her hurt. “we can’t all be a super genius”
“yeah but i expected better from you.” all over a calendar
he walks away annoyed. she doesn’t know if it’s with her or the situation but the tone of his voice alone makes her sick to her stomach. she brings him his lunch quietly and doesn’t bother to eat with him like she usually does. she keeps their interaction short and firm.
“doll can you make a call for me?”
“sure.” she nodded not even looking at him as she takes the paper.
“doll.” his voice sung out later, “will you get these filed for me?” he kissed her temple hands on her shoulders squeezing. she shrugged him off nodding.
“right away mr. parker.”
he was thinking of a way to apologize. sending flowers to her desk probably wouldn’t do much and may insight a few scoffs from other employees. not wanting to embarrass her he settled on waiting till they were alone in the building to formally apologize.
but she comes into his office a few hours later before they leave to go home with her two weeks in shaky hand.
“doll..what’s this?” peter asked reading over the paper, hand reaching out for her shaking one pulling her closer to him.
“i don’t wanna work for you. i’m..i’m scared it’ll ruin our relationship.” she mumbled out tears threatening her eyes. peter’s heart swelled in his chest feeling lodged in his throat. “and i really like being your girlfriend and i love you and i don’t..i don’t want you to yell at me over a stupid google calendar.”
“oh doll..no. i was upset earlier i didn’t mean it. i wasn’t even upset at you it was just time stress.” he sat her on his knee. arm wrapping around her waist holding her in place to look at him. “i wasn’t mad or disappointed at all. i know i said something really hurtful and i’m very sorry. and i’m even more sorry for yelling at you.” she sniffled as he spoke, her hand resting on his chest flattening out some wrinkles. he whispered softly to her his free hand rubbing her side.
“i want you here. okay? but if you want to quit i understand and i won’t stop you but i’ll be sure to use my words more carefully and i will never raise my voice again. i am so sorry and i’m going to do better.”
the care in his voice made it easy to believe him, that and his big doe eyes staring into hers assuring her this was the truth.
“don’t ever yell at me again and i’ll stay.” she bargains. peter laughed bobbing his head.
“deal.”
“and i want a raise. for dealing with you here and at home” peter laughed this time throwing his head back.
“i’ll talk to human resources about the ethical standards about that.” he responds standing her up off his lap. as he packs up his office for the night.
“m.j.’s your human resources officer i think she’ll agree with me.” you hummed turning the light off as they left the room.
194 notes · View notes
mrshipsmcgee · 1 year
Note
How do you think Peter would propose? I'd feel like he'd go all out but would also be so nervous 🥺🥺🥺
Abby HEY! I love this… so so so much. And I love you so so so much ;)
Warning: mentions of booboos and stitches and love, ew!
Tumblr media
- Peter Parker had bought a ring the day after your first date because he knew that there was no one else in the world that got him the way you did.
- He had told May about the ring after only two months into the two of you more than casually dating and May agreed on that fact that you two were seemingly made for one another. She had loved you from the very start. She knew it would be you that her Peter would spend the rest of his days with.
- Peter waited for a moment, a chance where he felt that the time was just beautiful enough - just magical enough to warrant a proposal to the person of his dreams. Even though he waited for the perfect moment, it didn’t come. Nothing felt right.. nothing felt quite good enough to ask you to marry him.
- And then one day the moment hit him.. not a by-the-book magical moment happened, but one moment filled to the brim with true love, full admiration.
- He sat bloodied in between your splayed legs as you stitch up his newest wounds. “Jesus, Pete,” you hiss, needle threading the twine between his split skin.
- he smirks, letting out a breathy chuckle as he watches you carefully tend to his wounds. “You take such good care of me,” he smiles as sweat drops down his forehead, his gut twisting into knots as he thinks of the ring in the drawer of his bedside table. He imagines how the rock would sparkle on your finger the next time you’d need to stitch him up.
- “Yeah,” you nod, “Maybe I take such good care of your dumbass because I love you - I dunno though.”
- He laughs - belly laughs, drawing your attention from the open wound to his honey eyes, “Well, I would have to say that I love you more.”
- You scoff, “No fucking way.”
- “Yes way!” He lets out a nervous giggle followed by a pained hiss.
- “Shit,” you reply, watching as his brows curve into a pained arch - “Don’t make yourself bleed more trying to say you love me more when you already know that I love you more.”
- Peter nods his head towards the beside table, nervously giggling through his pain, “That drawer says otherwise.”
- You open the drawer, a velvet box stared back at you. “Peter,” you choke, eyes darting back to his loving gaze.
- A goofy smile is plastered across his face as he bites his tongue, nodding toward the drawer, “Be a doll and hand me that box.”
- You oblige, sitting the box on his Spidersuit-covered thigh, not knowing whether or not to stare at Peter or the box.
- his glove covered finger opens the box, his eyes meet yours again.
- “Peter,” you whisper.
- “I’ve had this for a long time now,” he says plainly, eyes flickering as he licks his lips. “I’ve known since the first day that-that you and me were supposed to be together. I - I’ve wanted to do this for so long now that I don’t even know what to say.” He looks away, down towards the ring. “But what I do know is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I- I want to be the reason why you laugh.. and- and I want to take care of you.. start a life with you and start a family.. and grow old with you right beside me, calling me a dumbass and making fun of me until the day we die.”
- He holds the box in his hand, “Would you marry me?”
494 notes · View notes
luveline · 5 months
Note
hiiii jade!!!! could i please request something with peter with reader who’s maybe put on some weight recently and is insecure about it?? (totally not self indulgent at all) i totally get it if you’re not comfortable writing that stuff though so no pressure
hi lovely! ty for requesting. fem, 1k
cw for negative weight talk/ weight gain
Everybody gains weight during the holidays, you think, tracing your figure in the mirror. Though it's not strictly holiday season yet, it's edging toward the end of the year. Maybe my new year's resolution should be losing a few pounds. 
There's a thunk of the bedroom window being yanked open and footsteps across the floor. You tense until your hear Peter panting for breath, likely having swung to you at high speed, or fresh from a fight with an usurped criminal. 
You rush back into your t-shirt, knowing exactly what path he'll walk. He barrels into the bathroom, sees you at the mirror and smiles so wide his cheeks look fit to burst. "Hey," he says, peeling the suit off and exposing his boxers to you without shame, "hey hey hey. Can I persuade you in with me?" He nods toward the shower. 
"Not this time, Pete." 
"Too bad," he laments. 
You look away as he strips out of his underwear. The shower turns on and he takes you by the hips to move you out of his way with a murmured apology, near lost to the drum of the spray. Peter has moments where he doesn't know his own strength, but the majority of the time he treats you like you're something precious. 
"Stay in here!" he demands as he pulls the curtain shut. 
"I'm not going anywhere." You close the toilet and sit on the lid. "Tough day protecting the people?" 
"Apart from tripping into a deceptively large pothole, it was fine. Why won't you come in here with me? I wanna rub your shoulders." 
"You want me to wash your hair." 
"Exactly. So get naked and get in here. Don't make me beg." 
You really don't want to, and you're not going to, but it's not a big problem. Peter doesn't truly mind, he just loves you. "What do you mean, deceptively big? Like, knee height? Higher?" 
"Mid thigh, I'd say. The people of New York are never gonna let me live it down. One guy was recording me and said he was gonna put it on YouTube for the ad money." 
"Anything else?" 
He gives you the rundown, describing what perps he faced and an older man he helped use an ATM machine. You hum distractedly, pinching at the fat where it spreads on your thigh, sitting down as you are. 
He sticks his face through the curtain gap, hair slicked to his cheeks. "What're you doing?" 
"You told me to stay, so I'm staying." 
He's nervous for a split second, glancing back into the shower as though there's an answer there waiting for him before angling himself toward you fully, his naked chest dripping and shining in the bathroom light. "Okay, fine, we need to talk about something. But I want you to know that you forced my hand here. Okay?" 
"Okay." You nibble the inside of your lip, used to his theatrics. "What have I done?" 
"It's not something you've done. It's something you are. I can't even say it. I," —he pulls the curtain in front of his face, moves it aside again– "just need to tell you. Lately it's like you don't even realise how beautiful you are and I'm tired of it. You're radiant. Like, glowing." 
Your recent internal debate must show on your face, that doubt, because he gives you a steadying smile. "Really, really beautiful," he says more seriously.
It's easy to smile at him. "Thank you, Pete." You scoop his suit off of the floor. "I'll go scrub the tetanus out of this in the kitchen sink." 
"Wait–" 
He can't just get out with suds in his hair, giving you the perfect escape plan. You have ten minutes to yourself filling the sink with soapy water and steeping the fabric before he's out of the bedroom in pyjamas, trousers tucked into his socks and hair damp from ferocious towel scrubbing. "You're such a– such a– thing," he decides. "I'm telling you you're beautiful and you walk off so you don't have to hear it? What's wrong with you?" His voice slips into a kinder register. "You do know you're pretty, right? I'm not just saying it to say it." 
"I'm just feeling icky," you confide. 
"About what?" 
You want to tell him, you find. "You know how I've gained weight?" 
He doesn't need any more explanation. Peter knows you've gained weight, you've mentioned it to him, and it's visual, and he can likely tell whenever he decides to flex his strength. "What, and you think that makes you less pretty?" He puts a damp hand behind your neck to bring you forward. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, a little." 
He kisses you. His nose bumps your nose, his lips crushed to your as he holds you in place. Despite this, it isn't an overly rough connection. It's definitely not shy. "You're beautiful," he says in the space between your lips. 
"It doesn't suit me–" 
"It does. It really fucking suits you. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't look better." 
"Even when I was thinner?" 
"You look just as perfect then as you did now." His intensity fades and he encourages you back enough to see your face, his thumb rubbing a short line into your neck. His brows are furrowed, dark eyes darker for it. "Weight isn't a factor." 
"No, but you have to say that." 
"I don't. Not really. I'm sure there are a thousand shitty guys who'd tell you something different, but I'm not– I love you, the whole you. I like you like this." He grins. "Which should be obvious." 
You tsk at him, to his delight, his laughter boyish as he buries his face in your neck with a hug, kissing a messy circle up and into the soft line of your jaw. You trap him there without thinking, chin hooked down, squirming as he blows hot air into your skin. 
"I've been putting it on too," he says. "It's happy weight." 
"It's not happy weight for you, Pete, it's just more muscle." 
"It makes you happy, doesn't it?" he jokes, smiling and kissing and hugging you all at once. "Just like it does on you for me."
3K notes · View notes
keerysfreckles · 3 months
Note
tasm! peter parker who takes pictures of you any chance he gets.. and reader finds those pics with cute lil captions of whatever she was doing in that moment
pictures - peter parker (tasm)
Tumblr media
pairing: peter parker x f!reader
warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, pure fluff :)
a/n: I LOVE THIS SM OMG andrews peter will always have a special place in my heart <33
꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱
in the middle of impulsively deep cleaning y/n and peter's shared apartment, y/n was standing in peter's closet. he had a pile of clothes inside it that he was meaning to donate. y/n was in the process of grabbing all of the clothes and tossing them into a garbage bag. peter was somewhere in the apartment, but y/n was focused on her own task.
she looked around the closet once before leaving, to see if she sees anything peter hasn't used in over a year.
y/n stands on her tip toes to grab a pair of shoes on the top shelf that were worn out, and she knew peter hasn't worn them since high school.
standing back up on her tip toes, her hand flails around the space on the shelf slightly, as she tries to feel for any other things she can donate. however, her eyebrows furrow once she feels an unfamiliar box.
she grabs it at an awkward angle, before knealing on the ground and taking the lid off.
firstly, y/n's confused, once she sees the box filled with polaroid pictures. she rakes her fingers through all the pictures in the box, and notices they're all of her.
she giggled at the realization that peter was always taking her picture.
she lifted one, and saw it was of her decorating the christmas tree. the bottom was labeled with peter's messy handwriting, 'christmas 2019'.
she picked another one out of the box. her back was facing the camera, and she guessed she was cooking something, seeing a plate full of food next to her on the counter, as she stood in front of the stove. after reading the caption peter had written, she was right, it was when she cooked pancakes for her and peter.
y/n continued looking through the pictures. her heart only warmed after looking at them.
"y/n?" peter's voice echoed in his room.
"in here!" she called back, making peter walk into his closet.
"oh, you found those," peter kneels down besides y/n, with a shy smile on his face.
y/n looks at one with peter looking over her shoulder. he took the picture in front of the mirror, well y/n was the one holding the camera, as peter had his face buried into her neck.
y/n remember that day very vividly. it was the day peter asked her to officially be his girlfriend. they had just gotten back from their first date, and peter thought y/n looked absolutely adorable wearing his pajama pants, so he insisted to take a picture.
"this doesn't really look like cleaning to me," peter chuckles, noticing how distracted y/n had gotten.
"oh shush," she giggles, "what have you been doing this whole time?"
"i was actually cleaning the kitchen. just like you said you were going to go through donations, which clearly is going so well," peter laughs while gesturing to what y/n was doing.
peter kisses the top of her head, before standing up, "since i love you, i'll let it slide just this once."
y/n only giggles again, and waves goodbye to peter before he walks out of his room.
even though she knew she had more cleaning to do, she went back to her previous task, her smile never leaving her face.
405 notes · View notes
flightlessangelwings · 7 months
Text
Us Against the World
Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader
Word count- 4.4k
Dialogue prompt- “ hey! why don’t you try picking on someone your own size! “ Action prompt- [ DISTRACT ]: sender causes a distraction to draw the receiver’s attacker/s away from them.
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY), action, protective!Peter, food mention (reader makes salsa), Peter lifts reader, attempted harm to reader, the villain uses gas and chemistry to attack and reader is described as being trapped in a cloud at one point, reader interacts with kids briefly, no use of y/n
Notes- This month’s Year of Protectiveness is in honor of Andrew Garfield's birthday! I can't believe we're in August already! @yearofcreation2023 But this one was alot of fun to write so I hope y'all enjoy it! And I wrote it so that it could be read in the same timeline as Just Kiss Like Real People Do so if you liked that one, here is more with that pair but of course it could be read on its own! I"ll link it in the taglist rb if you want a refersher!
@flightlessangelwings-updatesis my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs!
Tumblr media
~
The city lights illuminated the way as Peter swung through the tall buildings of New York. The air was crisp so high up, and it felt refreshing after a long night of being Spider-Man. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it was late… well after midnight. And even though the villain he was chasing got away… again… all Peter looked forward to was coming home to you.
Peter expected you to be sound asleep in the tiny apartment, so he was surprised when the light from the widow shined like a beacon calling him back. His heart pounded in his chest and he hoped you were alright as he flipped his wrist to shoot a web towards the building and hurled himself into the window. Letting out a heavy breath, Peter ripped off the Spider-Man mask and closed the window behind him.
Just as he was about to call out your name, the sound of the blender filled the space. That combined with the intoxicating aroma of the spices and tomatoes told Peter exactly what you were doing. His stomach growled as he stepped out of the tiny bedroom and into the living space where you were occupied at the kitchen counter. 
He stood in the doorway for a moment and just watched you with a lovestruck expression on his face. Every time he saw you it was like the first time, and even dressed down in a t-shirt and shorts, you looked stunning to him. You were too consumed with putting the last touches on your salsa that you didn’t hear him come in. But, Peter enjoyed the view for the time being and his heart skipped a beat in his chest with the overwhelming emotions he felt towards you.
But, when you let out a startled yelp, Peter quickly jumped into action. 
You had turned around and were surprised when you saw him standing there. So surprised that you almost dropped the blender that held the salsa you had worked so hard on. But Peter was quick, and in a flash he jumped across the room and caught it before it hit the floor and splattered everywhere.
“Peter!” you exclaimed, “You scared the shit out of me! I didn’t hear you come in!”
“Sorry sweetheart,” he mumbled sheepishly as he set the blender on the counter, licking a drop that splashed onto his fingers after, “Wouldn’t want to waste any of your famous salsa,” he laughed softly, “But why are you up? It’s 3 in the morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged as you eyed him up and down. Ever since you found out that Peter Parker, your best friend, the person you had been in love with for years, was Spider-Man, it never got old seeing him in the suit. His long, toned arms, muscular body and especially the messy hair took your breath away every time.
“Everything alright?” Peter asked, concern lining his tone as he peeled the top half of the suit off and stepped closer towards you. 
“Fine,” you fidgeted as you felt your skin heat up under his gaze as your eyes dropped down to the floor, “Just thought you’d be hungry when you got back…” your voice sounded distant.
Peter looked at you with a softness and adoration in his eyes as he reached out and cupped your face, gently pulling you to look at him, “You know I know when you’re lying to me, right?” his voice was soft as his thumb brushed your cheek.
You let out a shaky breath as his eyes locked with yours, “I…” you trembled in under his hand, “I was worried…” you admitted.
“Baby,” Peter rested his free hand on your waist, holding you in his special way, “I’m fine, honestly. You know nothing would ever keep me from coming back to you, right?” he exhaled deeply, “I promise,” he took a breath, “You and me, remember?”
Tears filled the corners of your eyes at the sincerity in his voice and the confident look in his face. You knew he had been Spider-Man for a long time now, he had his powers and he knew what he was doing. Yet, you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved Peter, and sometimes you couldn’t help but worry as your mind went to the worst possible scenario. 
“I know,” you breathed. You opened your mouth to say more, but the words were caught in your throat as Peter reeled forward and kissed you deeply. Somehow, you were sure he knew what you were going to say, how much you worried for him. He said it in his kiss. 
“Sweetheart,” Peter mumbled between kisses as he backed you up against the counter, “As much as I love your salsa…” his voice dropped and his eyes darkened, “There’s something else I want right now…”
“Peter!” you couldn’t help but laugh at his insinuation, but you also felt a pulse of need through your body. You clung to his shoulders as your mind swam and your body warmed.
He let out a soft chuckle as his hands roamed up and down your sides, savoring the feeling of you under his touch. As much as it was a comfort to you to feel Peter’s hands on you, to feel his touch, it was just as much a comfort for him to know you were here and safe. Peter’s cock twitched as his hands dipped under the waistband of your shorts and in a flash he yanked them off of you, causing you to yelp in surprise.
But, before you could react to your shorts and underwear suddenly on the floor, you found yourself hoisted up onto the kitchen counter. Giggles erupted between you as Peter nestled himself between your legs… your bare legs. A low groan unlike anything you ever heard rumbled from deep in Peter’s throat as his eyes landed between your legs.
“Fuck…” he breathed heavily in a tone that made you shiver.
“Pete,” you sighed as you watched him drop down to his knees.
Immediately, you buried your hands in his hair as his hands ghosted along your inner thighs. Peter mumbled your name in a praise before he licked his lips and dove into you, causing you to scream loudly.
You saw stars as Peter worked you with his tongue, licking and slurping every sensitive spot with precision. You could tell even in your blissed out state that he was too desperate to tease you and take it slow tonight. Tonight was all about need; it was the need for both of you to know the other was here.
Tugging at his hair, you felt like your body was on fire from the way he worked you with his talented mouth. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure up your spine, and you were sure you weren’t going to last much longer. You arched your back as parted your legs more to give Peter more access to your body, an invitation that he immediately accepted. 
“Shit… Pete…” you moaned as you felt your body tingle.
Peter grabbed your inner thighs and squeezed hard as he intensified his motions, determined to push you over the edge in bliss. And from the way you screamed his name, he knew you were close.
It only took a few more licks of his tongue, a few more nibbles of his lips, one last nuzzle of his head before you came hard. Your head slammed against the cabinet as you screamed, your legs trembling under his strong grip as you gushed into his mouth. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as bursts of color clouded your vision.
As Peter coaxed you down from you high, you felt his movements slow before he reluctantly broke away from you. A trail of spit connected the two of you until he moved far enough for it to break, but in the corner of his mouth remained a shiny dribble of your release. Peter watched until you opened your eyes to lick it clean with a satisfied smirk on his face.
“Delicious,” he chuckled as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around you, “But I’m not done with you yet,” he tone dropped as he easily picked you up and spun you around.
“Pete!” you yelped as you wrapped your arms and legs around his strong body. No matter how many times he lifted you up, you never quite got used to his super strength, and it caught you off guard in the most wonderful way every time.
He quickly made his way across the small apartment and gently lowered you down onto the bed, handing you with tender care as he did so. Peter stood for a moment and admired the sight of you, spread out on the bed, naked from the waist down and a look of pure bliss on your face. Hastily, he ripped off his Spider-Man suit so he was bare for you, and the way you eyed him hungrily made his cock stiffen even more.
“Like the view, sweetheart?” he asked with a cocky grin.
“Very much,” you purred as you bit your lip and extended your arms for him. You loved when he got like this.
“I do too,” his tone matched yours as he hovered over you, “But,” Peter grabbed your shirt, “You’re overdressed.”
You burst into laughter at his antics and allowed him to take off your shirt, the only barrier between your bodies. The two of you let out matching gasps at the sight of the other, as if it was the first time all over again. At times, it felt like that for both of you. The wonder, the passion, the desire never got old so matter how many times you slept together.
“I love you,” Peter broke the silence with a breathless voice as he cupped your face.
“I love you too,” you replied in a dreamy tone as you mirrored his action.
In a flash, Peter closed the gap between your bodies with a heated and desperate kiss. He swallowed the moan you let out as you parted your lips for him once more. The taste of yourself on Peter’s tongue was just as intoxicating for you as it was for him, and you bucked your hips against his hardened cock in a wordless plea.
Without breaking away, Peter muffled a moan as he positioned himself between your legs once more, this time with his cock poking at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed himself into you, past the first ring of muscle and into your warmth to connect your bodies together.
The moan you let out made you break away from the kiss, and your cry of pleasure echoed in the tiny room as Peter entered you inch by slow inch. You heard Peter’s own moans as he felt you engulf him, and he rested his forehead against yours as he slowly bottomed out inside of you.
Together, the two of you laid with Peter on top of you. Heavy breaths filled the room as you stayed with your sweaty foreheads pressed together. You wrapped your arms around him and dug your nails into his shoulders, clinging to him desperately.
“Move,” you pleaded softly.
He groaned your name and compiled without another word. He started slowly at first, rocking in and out of you, savoring the moans and groans you let out every time he was fully sheathed inside you. It wasn’t until you let out a higher pitched cry that Peter picked up his pace; he found what he was looking for.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Peter moaned, “Shit…”
The bed creaked as Peter thrust in and out of you faster and faster. As much as he wanted to keep his eyes open, to watch every expression you made when he was inside you, he couldn’t. He knew he would cum too fast if he watched the way your mouth hung open and your body bounced with his every move.
But luckily for him, you also weren’t far behind.
“Fuck!” you screamed as you dug your nails into Peter’s skin, “I’m gonna cum… Peter…”
“Me too baby,” Peter grunted, “Fuck…”
Peter’s thrusts became fast and erratic as he chased his climax as well as your own. He pounded into you with fervor as you screamed and your second climax hit suddenly. Your inner muscles clenched around him as you squeezed him inside and out. That and your beautiful screams were just the final push Peter needed for his own orgasm, and with a loud moan of your name, he came deep inside you. But, he kept going, wanting to savor every second of your shared climaxes together until he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. 
Peter let out a deep exhale as he collapsed down on top of you. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as close as you could. Neither of you wanted to move, content to stay in the other’s embrace, safe and loved. For several long moments, no one spoke, and just the sound of slow, deep breaths filled the room as you felt the other’s heart pound against your bodies.
It was Peter who broke the silence first with your name in a low voice.
“Hmm?” you hummed as you ran your hand through his hair.
“You know I’ll always come back to you, right?” Peter said as he propped himself up on his elbows to look into your eyes.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, “I know,” you cupped his face the same way he did yours earlier, “I trust you… I just worry sometimes,” you admitted.
“I do too,” Peter breathed, “But I’ll always keep you safe, sweetheart.”
The truth was Peter always worried about you too. He was scared that someday someone would find out his superhero alter and use you against him. He was scared that one day you would get hurt because of him. He was scared that one day he might not get back to you in time… But, as much as you trusted him, Peter had to trust you too. Having no one else, it was just the two of you against the world.
“I’m gonna go shower then we can sleep in tomorrow,” Peter broke himself from his thoughts, “How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” you purred as you gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, “A day at home together sounds like just what we both need. But remember, the day after is that science museum day I wanted to go to.”
Peter let out a soft laugh as he tapped your face playfully, “I wouldn’t miss it, baby.”
*
“Looks like we came on a school field trip day,” you commented as you and Peter walked hand in hand into the science museum.
Children filled the space and chattered excitedly among themselves. The two of you followed close behind the class as you lost yourself in the exhibits. At one point, you broke away from Peter so you could play with one of the hands-on displays, and he couldn’t help but chuckle brightly at you as you were just as excited as the kids were.
As Peter watched you, a thought popped into his head: he was ready to marry you. He had never been more in love with you than he was at that moment as you laughed in fascination at the exhibit. He wanted to marry you for some time, but as he stared stupidly at you, Peter knew it was time for him to pop the question.
“Hey Pete…?” your voice broke him from his thoughts.
Peter suddenly found himself face to face with you, and he must have zoned out for a moment because you looked concerned, “Yeah?” he asked as he cleared his throat and tried not to look conspicuous. 
“Everything ok?” you asked as you tilted your head to the side a bit.
Peter just smiled back at you; you had no idea what he had in store for you, “Perfect,” he slid his hand in yours again, “Shall we check out that chemistry demonstration?” his tone was light, “You look like you’re having more fun than the kids are,” Peter joked.
“Shut up,” you giggled as you playfully nudged him.
Peter imagined that your hand would feel like with a ring on your finger as he fiddled with your knuckles. Yes, it was time, and everything was perfect. But, just as it felt like nothing could bring down his mood, a chill ran up Peter’s spine and he was suddenly filled with a sense of dread the moment the two of you crossed the threshold into the other room where the chemistry table was set up.
He stopped dead in his tracks as his heart sank and the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. The man behind the table was instantly recognizable to him; he was the one that kept slipping out of his grasp. And the feeling of dread was only made worse when the chemist looked up from his table and made direct eye contact with him.
It was like he knew.
“Peter?” you sounded even more worried than before as you tugged his arm.
Without a word, Peter dragged you out of the room and down the hallway towards the bathrooms. His heart pounded in his chest as his first thought was of keeping you safe and getting you out of harm’s way.
“Peter?!” you repeated more forcefully, “What’s going on?”
“Listen to me,” Peter grabbed your shoulders and spun you to look him in the eyes, “That guy… He’s…” he let out an exasperated sigh, “He’s the guy I haven’t been able to catch,” he finished in a hushed tone.
You gasped as your eyes went wide.
“I think he knows who I am too. Something just feels off,” Peter sounded more scared than you’d ever heard him before, “But I want you to get out of here, I’m going to stop him here and now.”
“What about those kids?” you asked as your breath came out fast and ragged, “We have to get everyone else out too,” you inhaled deeply, “Let me help you, Pete.”
His lips tightened as he paused for a moment before he spoke with a heavy exhale, “I’m going to create a distraction, and you help them out,” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightend, “But you promise me you’ll get yourself out of here.”
You nodded, swallowing your fear, “What kind of distraction were you thinking?”
At the same time, both your heads turned and both your eyes landed on the fire alarm that stood out on the wall. You looked back at Peter and he nodded at you, knowing exactly what you were thinking.
“I love you.” Peter’s words sounded more like an assurance than a confession.
You knew what he meant too: Stay safe.
In a flash, Peter pulled the fire alarm before he rushed around the corner to rip his shirt off, revealing the spider suit underneath. At the same time, you ran towards the children, who you headed screaming and panicking before you even reached the room.
“Quickly!” you shouted, “Outside! Now!”
The kids scrambled as they rushed towards the door and you ushered them out. But, as you did that, a movement from the front of the room caught your attention.
The chemist dissolved into a fit of rage, and you heard his angry mumbles to himself even over the fire alarm. Smoke billowed out from either side of him as he mixed his viles together and for a brief moment, he looked up and caught your gaze.
Everything felt like it froze as you locked eyes with him, and suddenly you knew what Peter felt. It felt like this man looked into your soul and read your deepest secrets. Your blood ran cold and fear pulsed through your veins as he suddenly launched himself at you.
You yelped and covered your head, anticipating an impact, but it never came. Looking up, you saw Spider-Man clinging to the ceiling, a shot of web tangling with the chemist and stopping him in his tracks.
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Spider-Man quipped as he flung another web shot at him and flipped over to stand in front of you.
“Spider-Man…” the chemist growled as he threw a bottle towards him.
Peter quickly covered you, protecting you from the impact as well as the few kids who still hadn’t gotten out. 
“Spider-Man!” They cheered together as they kept for joy- and relief- at seeing their favorite hero.
“Get out of here kids!” Peter instructed before he glanced at you for a moment. The two of you nodded subtly before he turned back to the chemist and launched himself at him.
“Come on,” you breathed, “Hurry!”
You pushed the rest of the kids out of the room, but before you yourself exited, you couldn’t help but look back. Deep down, you knew Peter put himself in danger as Spider-Man, but to actually see him fight in person, and so close, was something else. You felt fear, but not for yourself. Watching him take and deliver hit after hit honestly scared you. 
But you suddenly had something else to worry about.
“You!” The chemist roared as he gathered his concoctions.
“No!” Peter sounded more scared than you had ever heard him before.
Clearly, it was obvious to the chemist how important you were to Spider-Man, to Peter, and he took advantage of the opportunity. Before either of you could react, he threw something at you, and you found yourself surrounded by a blinding gas. 
You gasped as you covered your mouth and dropped to the floor. Faintly, you heard the grunts of Peter fighting him still, but you couldn’t see anything. You were sure if it was from the gas or just from the adrenaline but you felt more and more dizzy the longer you stayed in the fog.
I’m another flash, you heard an explosion and the building shook. You struggled to keep from falling completely flat on the floor and you scrambled to stay on your hands and knees, ready for anything. 
You heard your name in Peter’s voice before you saw his silhouette appear in the fog. You tried to call out his name, but your voice croaked. Reaching out for him your hand trembled until it finally made contact with his.
“I’m here,” Peter murmured to you as he yanked you close, “Cover your mouth and hang on,” his voice trembled, “I’m getting you out of here.”
All you could do was nod as you felt yourself lifted into his arms with his super strength. You covered your mouth as you clung to him with your other arm. A gust of air hit your face as you found yourself flung through the air as Peter flipped and flung your bodies out of the museum. Faintly, you both heard the kids cheering for Spider-Man and shouting excitedly. Usually, Peter would have stopped for them, but right now his first priority was you and your safety.
You buried your head in the crook of his neck as you felt the air get fresher and fresher as he fwiped through the buildings and landed you both in an empty skyscraper far away from everyone.
The moment he sat you down, Peter ripped off his mask and looked you over, cupping your face as he did so. “Look at me,” he sounded breathless, “Are you hurt?”
You immediately saw the look of pure fear on his face, and it made your heart sink. You were sure you looked a mess, and you felt sore but you didn’t feel hurt. “I’m ok,” you whispered. 
Peter exhaled your name in relief as he gathered you in his arms. “You’re ok, sweetheart,” he cupped the back of your head as he held you as close and as tight as he could, “You’re ok…”
You weren’t sure if his words were for you or for himself. Perhaps both.
“I’m ok Pete,” you whispered softly in his ear as you clung to him, feeling safe in his arms. All the fear and adrenaline slowly faded away and you felt calm and safe the longer he held you. With one deep exhale, you felt better and you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes while still remaining secure in his arms, “Did you really have to wait and pull a dramatic rescue like that?” you smirked softly.
Peter rolled his eyes at you, but at the same time he was relieved to hear you say that; it meant you were back to normal with your wits about you, “Sweetheart…” he breathed. The truth was he had never been more scared, especially with the explosion. He opened his mouth to voice that, but the words were caught in his throat. Peter grimaced at the thought of losing you and a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Sensing the change in tone, you tried to distract him, “Hey Pete?” you asked.
“Hmm?”
“What happened… To…?”
His grip on you tightened, “I think the mixtures he was using affected his mind… Made him so angry… He…Umm,” Peter trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud and upset you.
“Oh,” you whispered, unsure of what to say next. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for several moments as the breeze hit your faces. “Well, thank you,” you broke the silence, “For saving me.”
That brought a smile to Peter’s face. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, expressing all his emotions in the kiss instead of with his words, “You never have to thank me, honey,” he murmured against your lips as he placed a chaste kiss, “I’ll always protect you.”
You grinned against his cheek as your eyes fluttered closed, “And I’ll always take care of you too,” you hummed, “We made a good team back there though, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Peter chuffed, “You and me…”
“Against the world,” you finished the thought.
Silence fell over the two of you again, but before either of you could say anything, a growl from your stomach interrupted. You looked at Peter and both of you burst into laughter.
“I guess all that excitement made me hungry,” you chuckled.
“How about we get out of here then?” Peter said with a smirk, “I know a place that’s got the best salsa. We’ll pick up some tacos or something on the way too.”
You smiled brightly at him, “Sounds perfect…” you poked his chest, “Spider-Man.”
Peter felt his heart flutter in his chest. Oh yes, he definitely was going to find you the best ring he could and he was going to ask you to marry him as soon as possible. 
352 notes · View notes
liz-allyn · 1 year
Text
sugar and vice, pt 4 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]
Tumblr media
summary: Honey wakes up to a new life.
words: 5.8 k
warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. drugging. threats of violence. coersion. kidnapping. traumatic flashbacks. violence. blood. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.
you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if your parents aren't harboring a several hundred dollars-worth stash of beanie babies that are worth maybe $1 today, then this is not your jam.
Back to Part 3
Tumblr media
Part 4
When her eyes cracked open, she was staring at a chandelier made from antlers. She blinked several times, noticing that the ceiling was different from any of Peter’s other rooms. She was gazing up at a vaulted A-frame ceiling with exposed redwood beams. The peak of the frame opened to a glass wall where sunkissed blue-green needles of giant Eastern white pine trees billowed.
She groggily sat upright, realizing she was nowhere near the familiar Boroughs of the city. Her limbs felt heavy. Once again, she was alone and buried in another heavenly-soft bed. She was in a bedroom, but it featured no personal touches. It could’ve been a hotel room, or a vacation rental. 
She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and her bare feet touched the floor. She shuddered at how warm it was. Heated floors. A very, very expensive vacation rental.
Rubbing her dry eyes, she made her way to a closed door. It opened to a loft balcony, which overlooked the living room of a massive, two-story modern cabin. She gawked at the floor-to-ceiling windows, her breath catching in her throat at the splash of greens, yellows, and oranges from the trees lining the house. Beyond the thick treeline, she could see the smoky blue haze of a mountain range in the distance.
She stood dumbstruck, like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house. 
Not in Queens anymore, was all she could think.
“You’re awake,” his voice echoed from the lower level. 
She glanced down at Peter, hands in his jean pockets, wearing a thick cable-knit sweater. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, one that made her fret over the state of her bedhead. She felt ridiculous up on the balcony, like someone would start the monologue from Romeo and Juliet.
She bit her lip, pulling her eyes away. No good could come from seeing him as a Romeo. Even if he easily looked the part.
“So...” she began awkwardly, her cheeks flushed by his gaze. “Are we at Disney World or something? Did we check into the Wilderness Lodge?” She studied the rustic-meets-mid-century modern furnishings, idly rubbing the lace sleeves of her blouse. Her leather jacket had been removed and she honestly didn’t know how she felt about that.
“Sorry, Honey,” he said with a soft laugh that made her stomach weak. “No Mouse here. No gators either.”
Her cheeks pinched into a smile, before she remembered how she got there. The previous day’s events— Had it only been a day? How long was she out?— hit her like a truck. Her grin faded as she recalled her kidnapping. Her abduction. Her shameful, subservient soak in a stranger’s bathtub, followed by a dreary, restless slumber in his sheets. She’d been fed and given a good wash, like a stray dog. Dressed in clothes she could never afford. And had been drugged and taken to—
“Where are we?” she sharply questioned, anxiety chilling her tone.
Whatever smile Peter wore faded. “Not in Orlando,” he bit off.
He turned his back to her and crossed the enormous but cozy living room. Returning to his previous task, he crouched down in front of a soapstone, wood-burning stove in the corner of the room. He pulled the logs loose from a small bundle of firewood, and began loading it into the stove’s iron frame.
Frustrated, she huffed, glaring at the back of his head. Wondering what she was supposed to do.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Wherever here is?”
“Well, I’m building a fire,” he gave a haughty reply. “I’ve already tested the fuses, turned everything on, unpacked, changed clothes, and made coffee in the kitchen.”
“So you do know how to make it,” she muttered under her breath, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. It was quiet enough that there was no way he could’ve heard it.
“Lemme know if you want a taste,” he coyly replied, and it made her question whether or not he had. 
He hadn’t looked at her when he said it, and she was grateful because the innuendo was making her stomach flip. “I’m good.” She cursed the fact that her voice sounded more like a squeak.
“Well, since you’re wide awake,” he countered, in a teasing way that sounded too much like flirting. “Lemme show you ‘round the house.” He came to a stand, brushing the dirt and wood fibers from his hands. She found herself staring at the way his large palms glided across one another. 
It triggered the memory of those hands on her waist as he helped her into the bathtub. As he dressed her wounds. As he cradled her in his arms as he carried her away from her captors. As he cupped her face, wiping away tears, shielding her from the sight of a bloodied man who likely was dead because of her.
A chill went down her spine, her arms hugging herself tighter. “Maybe later,” she frowned, tucking her chin to her chest.
Silence settled for several seconds before she peeked at him from beneath her downturned brows. 
He considered her with pursed lips, silently observing. He shoved his hands back in his pockets. She bit her lip, and for a moment, she expected to hear another thinly-veiled insistence. 
“Okay,” was his calm reply. It surprised her. “But do me a favor instead. Go put on some hiking boots.”
“Hiking boots? I don’t have any—”
“They’re in the closet of the room you were in,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Grab a coat too. Meet me in the kitchen in five.” 
Without waiting for a reply, he strolled away. Once again, she had no room to protest.
Tumblr media
When she opened the closet door in the room she assumed was ‘hers,’ she found a decent, walk-in space with rows of clothes hung up. She found a pair of leather hiking boots that looked brand new, in a cubby space next to 18 pairs of other shoes for a variety of occasions and seasons. 
Curiously, she checked the size. She was surprised to find that whoever she was borrowing these from had similarly small feet. Looking up, she spotted a lightweight puff jacket— Patagonia, of course— hanging up among the other articles of clothing. With a sigh, she pulled down the coat and checked the size. Another lucky match. She felt odd putting on someone else’s clothes. An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind— how many women had Peter brought to this cabin?
It was a thought she didn’t like.
When she traveled downstairs, fully dressed, she found the kitchen. She could tell he had a particular style, not too far removed from the one in the penthouse she’d observed earlier. A Scandinavian take on rustic. Immaculately organized open shelving. Spotless stainless steel. 
Curiously, she opened the fridge. There were a few groceries. Eggs, milk, sliced cheese, lunchmeat, orange and apple juice. It was a lot of empty space save for a few basic condiments in the door. Mustard that had exceeded its “best by” date by several months. 
The more she studied the kitchen and its contents, the more information she gathered about the man currently occupying it. 
An extravagant house in the mountains with breathtaking views. A kitchen worthy of Thanksgiving Dinner and every holiday celebration of the year. 
Barren. Untouched. Lonely.
A few minutes later, Peter approached with the handle of a small cooler in his grip. A backpack thrown over his shoulder. She curled a brow at him. 
“Sure you don’t want any coffee before we go?” he asked. “I’ve got a tumbler if you wanna take it to go.”
“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously.
He shrugged his shoulders, a half-smile on his face. To her astonishment, he seemed...excited? Like a teenager going on a camping trip.
“Hiking,” he shrugged, like he was keeping a surprise. 
She stared at him like he had grown an extra arm.
“You’ll get a chance to break those in,” Peter added, pointing at her shoes. “‘Sides, it’ll be fun.” He reached into his backpack, inspecting the contents, mentally going through a silent checklist. She hadn’t moved a muscle when he looked back up at her.
“We outta get goin,’” he explained, disagreeing with her lack of hustle. “Sun’ll set in a few hours.”
She stared. Unnerved. Swallowed hard. She picked up her boot slowly, as if it was lined with concrete.
He started shuffling towards the door, before pausing and turning back to her. “Oh, one more thing,” he added. He locked eyes with her, smile never fading. “Lose the knife.”
She blinked. Her heart skipped. He watched her, eyes piercing like a hawk.
“Y’know,” he nodded nonchalantly, “the one you took from the butcher’s block?”
Her pulse started racing as she gazed blankly at him, rendered motionless. He jerked his head towards the butcher’s block on the counter, acknowledging that he noticed one of the knives was missing.
With wide guilty eyes, she glanced at the block, then back at him.
“Go on. Put it back.”
She felt like he was staring at her forever. Every second that passed, his eyes got darker. More challenging. More dangerous.
Eyes on the ground, she crept slowly back to the block on the counter. Pulling up her shirt, she retrieved the 8-inch steel butcher’s knife tucked in the waist of her jeans. She slid it back in its proper place, then turned towards him. Trepidatiously, she lifted her eyes off the ground. Peeking up at him, afraid of his wrath.
What she found was his eyes locked on her, a satisfied little smirk on his lips. He gazed at her with an expression that was either affectionate or amused. Either way, he made it clear that she was practically powerless in this situation. She posed no threat.
“Good girl,” he appraised, before turning and heading out of the kitchen door. “Follow me.”
Tumblr media
The hike through the woods was quiet, but not tense. At least not on his part. Peter led her on a path through a thick grove of trees. She was still shaken by being confronted about the knife. It was obviously a shock to her, but not to him. She couldn’t know that his observation skills were sharpened by years of people trying to stab him in the back, and not just metaphorically.
The trail was solid with only a few patches of mud. Luckily, the weather had been ideal for his plans. It wasn’t wet, or too terribly cold, especially with the sun positioned where it was. The increased blood circulation from the gradual upward climb helped. There was snow in the forecast but it wouldn’t start until tomorrow morning. They were lucky enough to enjoy one of the last days of fall before the winter would sink its teeth in.
Luck was not something he was used to, but he always seemed to find it with her. 
Peter felt his own heart begin to beat faster, but not due to physical exertion. He dragged his hand through his hair. His palms were sweaty. They were getting close. 
“Almost there,” he announced, trying to maintain his cool. Or whatever it was he was pretending to be. Many awkward years as a teen and even more awkward conversations with women proved that he was anything but cool. He’d always been a nervous wreck. It was pure luck that he’d undergone the changes in life to be able to talk to a girl, let alone have the confidence to ask them on a date.
And here he was again, feeling like he did in high school. He didn’t really know what he was saying, probably didn’t make any sense, and had no idea how to ask such a pretty girl whatever it was he was asking. 
His lack of practice was showing. It had been a long time since he felt this way about anyone. 
Not since—
“Are you taking me out to the woods to kill me?” his Honey blurted out.
He stopped in his tracks, turning to her with an incredulous stare. 
She stood several feet from him, ramrod straight, shoulders tense. 
“Really?” he breathed. More confused than offended. “That’s what you got outta this?”
She shrugged her shoulders, with that adorable anxious look on her face—the one she’d make when the wheels in her brain were spinning, and her mouth was moving a mile a minute, and all he could do was be hypnotized by the way her lips moved. “I mean... you’re you,” she softly replied, in her defense. “What else am I supposed to think?” 
He pursed his lips. The sting of her words seized his throat.
'You’re you.' He considered her meaning, heart sinking. A monster, she intended to say. He couldn’t keep the sorrow from filling his eyes and her expression changed. She looked apologetic.
It made him feel even worse. She was apologizing to him. He swallowed hard.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said sincerely. He held his chin a bit higher, and she considered his truthfulness. He turned back towards the path. “C’mon.”
Quietly, she followed.
A couple of minutes later, they arrived at a clearing next to a huge flat rock. It was from an elevated vantage point that offered a beautiful view of the valley through the trees. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the vista. With ease, he scaled the rock, setting down his backpack and the cooler. 
She watched him curiously as he pulled a blanket from the backpack and began laying it out on the solid surface. Once it was flat, he began pulling items out of the cooler. She heard the rustling of plastic, staring up at him curiously. He came to a stand and leapt down to her level with surprising agility. He extended his hand to her.
“C’mon,” he beckoned. “I’ll help you up.”
His Honey hesitated, as she always did, looking up at the rock, then back at him. His smile began to falter, worrying that she would refuse. She had no reason to trust him, after all. But slowly, she took his hand. He smiled, feeling his heart soar. 
He clenched her body to his, wrapping one arm around her waist. He used the hand to quickly scale up the rock again, in a move so quick and effortless it made her think he was a professional rock climber. Or a mountain goat.
He held onto her tightly when they were at the top of the rock. Like the night before in his bathroom, he found himself not wanting to let go. He stared down at her bright, beautiful eyes—soft, gentle, timid— and breathed in her air. The scent of his body wash on her skin. Mingling together in an aroma that made his heart flutter.
Sheepishly, she glanced away, not able to withstand the heat of his gaze. As if remembering what planet he was on, Peter released his grip and let her stand on her own. She looked down curiously, her eyes widening to the sight at her feet. 
Peter had laid out a picnic blanket and a delicious-looking spread complete with sandwiches, fresh fruit, cookies, charcuterie, and empty champagne flutes. The small gasp she let out as she observed the meal made his stomach flip. He was excited and terrified—not sure himself how she would react to his attempted olive branch.
She blinked up at him, astonished. 
He felt his tongue go dry as he stammered anxiously. “I, uh... thought we could have a late lunch?” She stared, stunned and silent. “Um,” Peter felt his fingers begin to twitch. He glanced around the space, swallowing hard. “Um, p-please... Sit.” He lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, crossing his legs like a kid. Slowly and hesitantly, she followed, mirroring his position.
He beamed at the gesture. He turned his attention back to the spread. “So, yeah—um, we got sandwiches. Uh, I did turkey, cheese, with tomato, I... I-I sorta forgot the lettuce. We can still get some though. Tomorrow, not now. Because... yeah.”
She gazed at him, her expression softening as he stumbled his way through the menu.
“Some other stuff here—crackers, salami, this sliced cheese I got at a Middle Eastern grocery. I don’t think there’s anything regionally specific about the cheese, though. I think it’s just cheddar and gouda...”
He worked to hide his flustered blush. She looked up at him with a soft gaze. He hoped she found it endearing, maybe even charming—and not like he was a dork. Which is how he felt.
He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Um, cookies—The good kind with the chocolate chip chunks that are really big. There’s also some raisin cookies because I accidentally grabbed them from a place thinkin’ they were chocolate chip, and then I got the chocolate chip cookies, but I had these oatmeal raisin ones, and nobody likes those when you think you’re getting chocolate chip, but maybe if... you had them... in addition to chocolate—”
He cleared his throat. Pictured the way his last serious girlfriend would grin at him when he was babbling. He relished the memory, and glanced up. She looked different. Not just in the obvious way, but not in a bad way. Her expression wasn’t judgmental, or annoyed, and she didn’t make him feel like a dork. She stared at him in silent astonishment, almost like she was marveling at him. Almost like he was worthy of her.
It made his heart flutter. “Anyway... uh... you can have whatever you want, um... I...” He swallowed hard. “Um, there’re also grapes. And, uh—” He glanced down into the cooler, his smile falling. “Shit,” he quietly muttered. “Damn it.”
“What is it?”
“The champagne,” he huffed in defeat, frustrated with himself. “I forgot the goddamn champagne.”
“Oh,” Honey said, gently. “It’s okay.”
He ran his palms down his face. “Nah, s’not okay—”
“No, really, it’s fine—”
“No, it’s not fine,” he groaned. “I didn’t bring anything else to drink. I-I didn’t think—” 
“This is—this is great,” she emphatically replied, trying to ease the pain of his embarrassment. It was another one of her kindnesses toward him.
“No, no, no, it’s—look, I got it.” He hopped to his feet and it made her nervously stretch her arms, as if she could somehow catch him if he slipped off the rock. “Don’t worry, I-I-I got it. It’s... it’s right back at the house, I can run back real quick—”
“Seriously?” she replied. “It’s... it’s way back there? I mean, you don’t have to! I promise, I'm not even thirsty. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“No, no, no, I already laid everything out. The food’s out. It’ll just take me 2 minutes. You should dig in.”
“Wha-what? Are you sure? I can wait for you.”
“Have a cookie,” he pleaded, filled with a nervous energy that had him scurrying down the rockface. “Don’t worry, just 2 minutes. Less than! I’m gone. Already gone. Be right back!” 
He took off in a frenetic jog, disappearing from her sight. She watched him, curious and confused at how he’d be able to cut down a 10-minute hike into just two. 
Honey glanced back down at the appetizing spread and the thought and care that went into each detail. When did he even have time to do this? She picked at a sandwich that was cut into an elegant triangle and wrapped with cellophane. Examined it.
Then, it hit her. She glanced back at the trail, eyes wide. Peter was nowhere in sight.
Tumblr media
He was surprised at how fast he could move through the woods, almost as quickly as he could navigate through skyscrapers. His mind was still churning over the picnic, scolding himself for forgetting something so pivotal. He grumbled about his forgetfulness, and about the awkward dissertation he decided to give about the cookies. He also neglected to bring anything else to drink. He should’ve remembered the moment she turned down coffee back at the kitchen—
He froze, dropping to the ground from the canopy. Both feet hit the dirt with a soft thud. His stomach plummeted even further. 
He glanced back at the trail behind him. Where he had left his Honey. 
Where minutes ago she’d questioned whether he was plotting to murder her, a thought so obscene it made him sick to his stomach. 
And just a few hours before that, he’d drugged her and brought her to a location so secluded she wouldn’t even know what state she was in, not having seen a license plate.
He’d left her. Alone. 
“Mother Hubbard!” he growled.
What a fucking idiot. A lovesick, bumbling dork.
At once his senses shifted into overdrive. Panic rising within him. An urgency overtook him, like a scream crawling up his throat. He was hurtling back through the air, cursing himself as he broke his body on every branch along the way. 
By the time he approached the rock, he landed hard enough to crack the surface. His fears were confirmed. The picnic blanket was abandoned. The young woman was nowhere in sight.
“No, no, no, no, no…” he babbled to himself, pulling at his hair as he scanned the clearing desperately. “Honey!” His voice boomed, a crack of thunder wrapped in frustration and fury.
No reply. Not that he should expect one.
He shouldn’t expect anything.
He shouldn't expect to see her ever again—not alive, anyway. 
His stomach lurched. The next time he would see her face, she’d be beaten beyond recognition. Her skull and body broken on the fists of Wilson Fisk, her blood staining the cuffs of one of his dress shirts.
“Honey!” 
His second shout came out with more desperation. Breaths exploding in short bursts. The trees were spinning. His heart threatened to break out of his chest. It felt like it already had. 
He dashed down the trail, eyes scouring the landscape. Senses were hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig. It was too much information to take in at once. 
She was gone, and he wouldn’t find her again until it was too late. Why would he think she’d stay put? Why would he think she’d stay with him a moment longer than she had to? He had her, and he lost her. 
She was gone.
—stay with me, Gwen, please—
“Honey!” he screamed with a flayed voice—shrill, broken, terrified. 
She had been terrified. Shaking like a leaf when he’d found her on the freezing concrete of the auto body shop. Scared of what had happened and what could happen. Scared of what Fisk’s men would do to her. Scared of what Peter would do to her.
Peter Parker, the monster.
He was trembling. He was about to cry—when had he started to cry what a fuckin’ loser— as he stared at the soft dirt and crushed leaves of the path he was on— Gwen’s broken body, spine smashed to pieces, blood spilling from her nose and eye sockets, about to be interred in the soil—searching desperately for footprints...
Katzenberg had been terrified, sputtering petty excuses through bloody lips. Half-dead, incoherent pleas. Desperate in a futile attempt to save his own life.
“It was nothin’ personal, I swear it.. I-I... It was all Kingpin’s idea—takin’ pictures... I-I-I’m not even into that sick stuff... It’s disgusting, what he wan’ed... Can’t even watch it on the internet, I gotta kid sista, y’know...”
Peter dug his nails into his palms. 
Honey had been terrified. 
Gwen had been terrified. 
Ben had been terrified. 
May had been terrified.
He was terrified. He knew Wilson Fisk and what he was capable of. Peter had seen with his own eyes the victims of Kingpin’s wrath. The gender made no difference. He left bodies destroyed.
He was going to be sick. In a fit of panic, terror and rage, he started stalking down the path, roaring out her given name.
“Your hands, Nicky,” Peter sneered as he approached his terrified captive. He was sobbing over his gag, fat tears, snot and blood streaking his face. “You put hands on a woman for the last time...” 
Peter gripped the hammer tight, brought it down onto Katzenberg’s knuckles. Then he did it again. And again. And again. One for each knuckle. One for the gash on his Honey’s forehead. Eventually, he quit counting.
Peter was cupping his face, nearly dropping to his knees in the dirt. The sun would set soon. It would be dark, how would he find her in the dark? He could barely breathe. Deep breaths.
“People are so lame sometimes,” Honey gave Peter this weird little face, like she was saying ‘bleh’ and gagging simultaneously. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.
They had been in one of those rare, magical moments where it was an odd hour of day and the shop was empty save for the two of them. It felt selfish, having her all to himself. Indulgent. It was an indulgence that made his mouth water.
Bright-eyed, body poised like a ballerina, she craftfully poured foam into his cup. He fell under her spell. The aroma of coffee and lavender flowed through his senses, and he felt himself relaxing as he sank deeper. Taken by the current. Longing to dive into her magic.
“Ugh, it’s the worst,” she said. Even her complaints were done with a smile. “Things get a little crazy in here—like that one time during the marathon when the street was closed down so the crowd could watch so we were just friggin’ blitzed, like DEFCON 1, and it was the Rock’n’Roll one, and y’know we’ve got that drag queen revue across the street, too—super fun by the way if you haven’t gone yet—but they constructed a stage on the street with like 100 giant speakers so that one of the queens could perform as the runners went by, and they turned the volume way up and everyone kept piling in here wanting coffee. Meanwhile I can’t hear any orders because Cher is belting it out.”
She giggled and the sound alone could break his heart. “S’anyway, that’s not the point—When it gets all crazy train in here, I just hafta close my eyes and think to myself ‘deep breaths.’ In and out.”
He took a deep breath, pulling his hands from his face. Inhaled the chilly air. Breathed in the scent of wet leaves and pine and the memory of coffee and lavender.
In and out.
In his mind, she was staring at him. Giving him that look that hurt to look at. Like staring at the sun. Burned his eyes and his soul. 
He’d take that image home with him, wired from the excessive amount of caffeine, and think about it when things were too overwhelming. Whenever he felt his anger building. Or when he was showering off his sins for the day and he’d let his hand wander to the part of him that burned the most for her.
In and out. Breathe. Listen.
He felt the tingle crawl up his spine. Then he heard it: a twig snap.
Before he could see it with his eyes, the picture was in his head. He bolted in its direction just as a crack rang out overhead. 
Honey was falling. She let out a squeaky shriek that Peter never wanted to hear. She was plummeting, her eyes staring up at the tree canopy. She was falling to earth from her hiding place in the tree above their picnic spot.
The solid rock beneath her rushed up. 
Impact. And another.
Peter gripped her body close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her like serpents. He’d snatched her from her free fall, catching her in midair and landing with a heavy thud. Chest heaving, his eyes shot to her face, searching for blood. 
Her eyes fluttered wildly, disoriented from her near-fatal fight with gravity. She sucked in breath, heaving in a gasp. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, dropping to his knees. It’s like his brain lagged behind his eyesight. The fierce sound of her pounding heart released him from his terror-striken state. 
When she made eye contact with him, his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, tears welling with relief. They stayed like that for a moment—he kneeled while he cradled her, fingers trembling against her skin. He searched her eyes—you stay with me—listening to the song of her pulse.
Her hand lay limply in the dirt beneath her. Fingers brushed the sharp rough face of a softball-sized sandstone. She gazed up at him, blind instinct taking over, and slammed the rock into the side of his head. 
He tumbled to the side, releasing his grip immediately. She hesitated, glancing back at her devastating hit—both shocked and horrified at her own actions. Then the panic set in. She flipped around and scrambled to her feet. She pumped her legs, running as fast as she could down the dirt trail away from her captor.
Suddenly, her feet were pulled out from underneath her. She came flying down, chest slamming into the dirt. She coughed as the air expelled from her lungs, tears filling her eyes from the shock. Reflexively, her legs were still moving, almost like a cartoon character. 
No! No! No, please, no! She was unsure if her screams were in her head or if she actually recognized the sound of her own disembodied voice. Kicking her legs, confused and frustrated  as it seemed they were bound in some sort of stringy—what the heck is this stuff?—material that wrapped around her legs like snakes. She kicked wildly to no avail, like her legs were tangled in blankets made of glue. She reached down, trying to free herself, snatching her hand back when she felt how sticky her binds were.
A shadow fell over her. Peter’s silhouette stood tall, back against the setting sun, as he glared down. Blood trickled from the temple near his ear. Eyes blackened with rage.
The sound she made was barely human, a pathetic yelp, as he snatched up her body and yanked her into his grip. Her legs were useless, so she used fingers, fists, palms, nails—anything to get him to release her. His hold was iron around her waist, throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. 
He marched down the path with her writhing desperately on his shoulder. A mix of blubbering sobs—please, nonono, please, somebody help me, please help!— and savage scratching. When she was able to angle her arm and drive her elbow in the back of his head, he whipped her body around to his front. The ease at which he tossed her made her feel infantile in comparison. A muzzled, declawed feral kitten, whom he could easily toss off a bridge into a river.
He was going to kill her. She knew it. She had screwed up badly, and now he was going to kill her. Her fight wore down, the overwhelming exhausting sorrow bearing down on her, and soon she was a weeping mess of desperate pleas. He said nothing, paused for nothing, and gave her no inclination of what was next. The way he gripped her prevented her from being able to see how infuriated he was, but she felt it in his muscles. Like osmosis his fury seemed into her and it made her shudder. 
There would be pain, she thought. She was certain. Her mind flashed back to his victim in the chair and her imagination pictured what he must look like right now. She imagined a torso floating in the East River, picked apart by fish. Head and arms buried somewhere nearby in concrete. 
She screamed, terrified. Begging desperately that someone could hear her. Praying for salvation. 
Sooner than she thought, he had kicked open the kitchen door and was carrying her through the living room. 
She could barely breathe through her sobs. “Please, please, don’t—I’m sorry, I’m sorry s-so sorry, please, don’t do this—”
He marched up the staircase and turned down the balcony to the bedroom she had woken up in. As he passed the threshold her fight came roaring back. 
“No, stop! Please, please stop! No don’—I won’t run away, I promise—!” 
He threw her, and her body was flying backwards. Landing hard against the mattress. The force of it silenced her for a moment as she struggled to catch her breath. Like a lion, he was on her. On top of her. His hands caught hers as she came up defensively to hit him. Wordless and possessed, he dragged her up to the headboard, his weight smothering her.
She wailed incoherently—Please don’t do this, I'm sorry, please— and was silenced by a sharp thwip. Her wrists flew to either side of her head, covered in the sticky gunk that restrained her legs. The sensation stunned her. Her body went rigid as he straddled her hips, pinning her hips down with his weight while her hands were unmovable at the sides of her head.
His eyes were the color of ink. The darkness in them threatened to swallow her. She went still, save for the uncontrollable heaving of her chest, as she peered up at his nightmare-stare with horror.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he glowered and hissed through his teeth. Her fear beckoned her to look away, but he gripped her jaw tight. Forcing her gaze into his. Pupils blown, blood trailing down his cheek like motor oil, he glared at her. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
It was more than a threat. It was a promise. She knew it. Her heart seized in her throat. She cowered beneath him, trembling and pliant. Silent as a mouse.
“And I swear to god—on my mother’s soul,” he breathed through his mouth, speaking so quietly it was nearly a whisper. “If you ever pull that shit again... I will.”
It was a horrible look he gave her after that. Chilling, to say the least. Something so intimately livid. It bordered on obscene. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, watching his body leer over hers threateningly. It wouldn’t surprise her if he reached up and snapped her neck. She was expecting it.
But he released her chin, withdrawing himself. His footsteps pounded like a hammer as he marched across the hardwood floor. The heavy door slammed, shaking the top story of the house.
With a trembling chin, she gazed up through wet eyes at the ceiling. At dust-covered antlers suspended by chains, swaying in the gentle draft. 
The sound she heard outside of her room was almost inhuman. A bellowing roar. It frightened her—of every fuckin’ little thing, always so frightened, scared of your own shadow, when would  she going to be done being so scared all the time?—and she squeezed her eyes shut. 
She wept as quietly as she could until sleep overtook her.
Tumblr media
Continue to Part 5
Reblog to be tagged!
Thank you so much for all the feedback so far! What did you think of this chapter? Let me know in a reblog, reply or ask! If you weren't tagged it's possible that I couldn't tag you, so check your preference settings on being tagged.
549 notes · View notes
peterthepark · 2 years
Text
extremely ridiculous
pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader
tags: 18+ graphic smut, rough sex, dirty talk, religious themes, partie, nsfw brainrot, blond peter parker, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, swearing, sexualized halloween costumes, daddy kink, some roleplay, fingering, oral sex, slapping and pain kink, mentions of anal, just pure filth with 9k words
summary: ever since the bathroom incident, you’re the first person that peter parker looks for in every party. halloween is sinful, but so is the way you look at him from across the room.
note: this can be a standalone fic but i recommend reading the first part here :) not my gif!!!
missing out? ➤ my masterlist - MINISERIES MASTERLIST
- inspo for reader’s costume! - my blonde ag/peter playlist
Tumblr media
It’s ridiculous how many times you’ve run into Peter Parker at a party. The artificial blond himself had gained an affinity for perfect attendance ever since the filthy, filthy bathroom incident that occurred not too long ago. What was supposed to be a moment to get away from the noise of hyper college students turned into a moment that generated even more noise (or from what Peter keenly remembers: joyous sounds of pleasure) between two spiteful, horny and marijuana-driven third years.
It’s even more ridiculous that you haven’t fucked since said incident. Every time you’ve seen him, nothing but a longing look and a courteous raising of a red solo cup is shared between you. Almost like you were acknowledging each other, instilling a challenge as to who would break first.
How could this be a competition when the two of you had already lost beforehand?
It’s not that you were chasing after him. God forbid you did. Dick is disposable, you know. But something about Peter and the way he absolutely devoured you that night, showed you what kind of gentleman he was, how he set this excessive standard for the next fuck and the fuck after that, made you want more. So much more. Maybe it was the blond, or maybe it was just the weed. Yet, nothing about what happened felt like a bad trip. It felt real, and you could still feel the high of having Peter’s lips on your body and his smoke residing in your lungs.
Honestly, he couldn’t look at a blunt the same way ever again after what you did to him. Blowing into his mouth like you wanted him. Wanted him more than a youthful one-night stand. Wanted him more than a simple bathroom fuck and tangled limbs inside a clawfoot tub in a house that wasn’t even yours.
Peter isn’t one to harbor feelings that last more than a few months, but he can’t stop replaying and rewinding the events of that night. Of you, more than anything — your moans, the hickies he was shamefully excited to wake up to the following day and subtly show off to his friends, how you dared to look him in the eye for the remainder of the party, even innocently smiling his direction as if he hadn’t just bent you over cold porcelain and fucked you till you couldn’t form words.
You’re the first person he looks for at every gathering.
Even now, in the chaos of this so-called “Flash’s Halloween Bash,” Peter scans the living room and foyer meticulously, squinting through the dim lights and tuning out the harmonious cheers at the beer pong table beside him. The infamous red solo cup in his hand has barely been touched. He’s been easing up on drinking lately — can’t have too many vices, recalling his roommate’s advice.
He’s come dressed as a priest, black button-down with the white collar and everything. The person wearing it is far from holy, but Halloween means he could be anything he wanted and no one could tell the truth from his method of pretending. Peter can’t exactly pinpoint where the inspiration for his costume came from, but he remembers watching a specific episode of Fleabag that he just couldn’t shake out of his head.
Peter turns his ‘trying to look for someone while trying to be subtle’ situation into a game, naming every character and every costume he’s seen in the previous years before due to a drought of originality amongst his peers. His friends have come as basic Halloween staples: sexy nurse, sexy lumberjack, his friend and his friend’s boyfriend as Chippendale strippers, and even a sexy rainbow Spider-Man — he’s used to it by now, in fact, it’s good for his ego. Good for suit design ideas, too. Especially now with the blond hair, the red and blue seemed a little overkill. He’s been meaning to don a black one.
There’s one costume in particular he hasn’t seen before.
Hello, sexy nun.
It sounds gross. He knows.
Then said sexy nun turns around and he’s met with an all too familiar face, a face that is practically ingrained into his list of hookups and knocks every other name out of the ballpark. He should’ve known, how could he have not when the outline of your body was basically embedded into his hippocampus?
In the blue-light hue of the room, you spot him the same moment as he spots you.
Peter feels like he’s in that bathtub all over again when smoke effortlessly escapes your bloody red lips and clouds into the stuffy air.
He wants to feel your breath against his mouth again. Hard and noisy, strained and needy. But again, it’s like you’re testing him and his self-control. He’s good about sex. He’s not addicted, but he may as well be when you shoot him a shit-eating grin and casually turn back to your group of girlfriends like you hadn’t just eye-fucked each other from across the room.
He can smell your shampoo from here.
It’s like that for a good portion of the night: second glances and teasing glints in your expressions. It isn’t till a little less than halfway through the party that Peter is able to actually see you up close — hair semi-tucked into the black and white veil that drapes over your shoulders, the skirt of your fake habitat exposing enough thigh and leg to get you banned from a real life convent, black shadow purposefully smeared across your eyes with hand-drawn Petrine crosses just below your lower lashes in a blasphemous spite.
Your group of friends suddenly mesh with his own, sparking conversations amongst themselves as Peter tries his best not to drool over you. He doesn’t know you’re thinking the same. In fact, the calm and collected manner you’ve decided to front is extremely convincing.
Similarly, Peter is eye candy himself. His hair has grown out, especially the brown roots that seem to intermix with the blond dye in his locks. He still looks like a walking temptation. You want nothing but to bite down on the clerical collar around his neck and stain it with your lipstick, make him force whimpers out of you as he hikes your skirt up your ass and take you on an altar of pillows.
Sure, it was just a Halloween costume. But if you really wanted to sell the vision, you’d surely play the part, wouldn’t you?
“Father Pete.” You playfully smirk, leaning into the wooden door frame to announce your entrance. Peter has his back pressed against the wall beside it, a hand tucked inside the pocket of his dark pants.
You take a sip out of your drink with raised brows in anticipation of his reaction. He feigns a bit of surprise, despite knowing that you’d been lingering near him for quite some time already.
“Oh, Sister Y/N.” You don’t make eye contact with him. But Peter makes sure to take in the details of your face, staring intently at your bold choice of lipstick and the darkness around your eyes. He smiles. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
But he did. He had been looking forward to this conversation the whole time.
Your black nails tap slowly against your solo cup. “Didn’t expect you to come dressed as a priest.” Your lips tug into a toothy grin when he fully turns his body to you, standing straighter than before. “Was the Devil already taken?”
“You know, I thought about showing up as an angel but it just seemed out of character.” Peter shrugs, glancing over at you as he pulls out a pre-wrapped joint and lighter. “Not really my brand, to be honest.” He cups a hand by the flame, humming in disapproval when he fails to light the blunt.
You nod, fishing out your own lighter when you notice his embarrassing struggle. You don’t respond right away, leaning into him as you flick the button and ignite the generous blunt between his pretty lips.
Your eyes linger on each other, the flame illuminating the lower half of his face. He teasingly fiddles with the material of your veil before you can pull away, looking down at you with a jutted chin and a pointed nose.
It’s painfully slow and almost agonizing how he avoids touching your bare skin. Refusing to be swayed by his actions, you break the silence.
“Were you expecting me to dress as something slutty?”
Peter laughs hard at that. “Oh, is this not — this isn’t slutty? If I’m honest, nothing’s sluttier than a nun in a tiny dress, Sister Y/N. The church should be appalled.”
He quickly offers you the blunt.
“Been trying to cut back.” You reject it with a bashful look.
“But you’re drinking?
“Well, it’s just punch.” You roll your eyes at the blond, studying how his jaw flexes while he inhales deeply. He nearly falls into you when a crowd of first-years brush past the both of you, his hand hovering just above the small of your back.
Your mind is sent back to when he kissed you in the bathroom.
Peter huffs outward, pupils dilating when you awkwardly pick at the lint on his shoulder. He tries not to think about how your fingertips feel like fire — a good fire, warm and comfortable. Even through his button-down, he feels as if you’re leaving your prints all over his body again. You steal his place against the wall when he shifts to stand in front of you.
“What’s next? Practicing chastity?” His voice is low, his lively Queens accent seeping through his slow phrases as he stares you down with his arm propped just above your head. You bat your eyelashes at him, surveying how he bites his tongue in anguish. “Have you realized you’ve been ignoring me ever since I touched you that night?” He whispers, head dipping down so that his lips meet the conch of your ear. “Did you not enjoy, Y/N?”
“Quite the opposite. ‘Touched me’ seems like such an understatement, by the way.” You admit, matching his breathy tone as you avoid his gaze. “Frankly, I think I enjoyed myself too much around you.”
“Oh, really? You sure you came dressed in the right costume? Not very pure… of you… to confess you liked something that you weren’t supposed to be doing.”
“You…” You stifle a moan when his nose nudges the top of your head. Peter inhales deeply to smell you, making you pause in order to regain your broken composure. You blink back your nervousness. “… you have been eye-fucking me this entire party. As if — as if I wouldn’t notice. That doesn’t make you so nice and innocent either. Does it, Peter?” He chuckles in amusement when you crane your neck at him. “For a made-up priest, you sure do love indulging in sinful things.”
“There’s a reason I’m not a real one, Y/N.” He takes the cup of punch from your hands and raises it to his lips, blunt dangling between his slender fingers as he gazes at you over the lipstick-stained rim. “And there’s a reason why you aren’t a real nun.”
“I guess sex is just too good to let go.” You run your nails across his belt, skimming over the silver buckle. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” A stray bead of red punch drips from his bottom lip, and you’re quick to catch it with your thumb before he can. The liquid stains your skin, and leaves a red trail on Peter’s chin as you swipe it away. “I’m sure you can agree, right?”
He sighs audibly; his crotch presses against your thigh as he steps closer to you. Your voices are quiet beneath the booming bass, possibly mistaken with the beating of your own heart, yet it’s ironic how the first couple notes of Tainted Love play when Peter pushes the cloth of your veil to one shoulder. His eyes wander over your throat, recalling how beautiful the once-untouched skin looked in the wake of his kisses. He smells you again, like he’s addicted to that scent — the combination of your perfume accompanied by the bitterness of sweat.
“When was the last time you fucked someone?” He asks bluntly, looking at you through wispy lashes.
Your breath is warm against his jaw. “Is this your way of asking if I’m clean?”
“No, Y/N. It’s my way of asking if you’ve had sex with anyone else.”
“Other than you?”
“Other than me.”
The word leaves you in a sudden, nervous croak. He hasn’t wanted anyone this much in ages. “September.”
“Wasn’t that the month you and I fucked the bathroom? When I…” His lips hover over yours with a wolfish grin. “Fingered you behind that curtain?” You let out a shuddering breath, remembering how he shamelessly cupped his palm over your mouth and rendered you near speechless. “Just me then, huh?”
“Peter, your friends are looking.”
He steadies himself against the wall, briefly glancing over his shoulder before you look up at him expectantly. “Let them.”
“God, you fuckin’ asshole.” You bite your lip, pushing down a gasp when his hand ghosts up your knee. “What kind of priest seduces a nun?”
Peter grins sinfully, “You call this seducing? I’ll show you what seducing is. I’ll take you upstairs.” His fingers find the black lacy garter around your thigh, similar to the ones that brides would wear beneath their wedding dress. Certainly not something a nun would sport. His gaze flickers up to you, chest stiff from holding your breath. A blondish curl flops in front of his forehead, the little strand bouncing as Peter plays with the delicate band beneath your little dress. He’s trying to differentiate lust from his desire for you, but with the way you stare at him all yearning and doe-eyed, the terms have honestly become one in the same. Peter lets himself break. Just for you. A little bit to spur that nervous demeanor he loved seeing on you. “Tell me, Y/N. Do you want me as much as I want you right now?”
Your nostrils flare at him, because for one: he’s making a show out of this, he’s practically getting off on it — having you in a corner with nowhere to go, almost damaging your reputation of giving in to an asshole’s advances for some dick. You’re not desperate. Yet with him, you want nothing but his towering shadow to swallow you whole and relentlessly, even if it meant his friends and your friends would talk about it behind your backs.
Who cares, right?
But was it always about sex? In the time that you spent only thinking about Peter, not even touching him yet reminiscing over how his smoke filled your lungs and shoveled a carnal path to your heart, did you develop something more than a fickle sexual appetite for the blond?
Another bad decision couldn’t hurt. You speak before you can even register what you’re insinuating.
“Take me upstairs then and maybe you’ll have an answer.”
With that, Peter basically shoves his way up the staircase, dragging you along behind him. Insincere excuse me’s are thrown about as you push past the lingering partygoers on the steps. Neither of you can think about being polite right now, especially when your hand is tightly enveloped in Peter’s. His palm is searing with heat, digits curling around your knuckles as he pulls you into an unfamiliar hallway and what you believe is some stranger’s bedroom.
Immediately, he has you pinned against the locked door. Peter’s hands are heavy on your face as he holds you on either cheek, mashing his lips against yours hungrily. Nothing about it is sweet, nor shy, far from how he kissed you last time. It’s like he wants to jump inside you, make a home out of your mouth and melt as his tongue slips past your teeth and remembers the taste of your saliva. Normally, you would’ve cringed at how hard you were breathing on each other — but that sound of desperation, of obsessive pining, it did more than turn you on.
“Don’t cum in your pants now.” You giggle against his lips, his teeth pulling at your skin as he marks your neck. Your hands swiftly work through the buttons on his shirt, pushing the article of clothing down his long arms before you’re grasping at his exposed chest.
He sighs breathily, a mixture of laughter and embarrassment.
“Of course you’d never let that go.”
“It was hot.” He quickly tugs your veil off of your head, tossing the black material to the side before he runs his fingers through your locks. You still when he taps your chin, urging you to look up at him. “Really fucking hot.”
“You know what would be even hotter?” He smirks cockily.
His bare chest touches your clothed one, making your nipples harden through your dress as he presses against you.
“What?”
Peter cups a hand on the nape of your neck, holding you there as he lowers you onto the floor. You have no choice but to sink to your knees and hold eye contact with the dirty blond, sitting back on your calves.
If he was a preacher, he just made you his devoted follower.
“You shutting up and sucking my cock.”
“You have such a way with words, you know that?” You tease, rubbing circles on the tops of your thighs as Peter deftly unbuckles his belt. “One minute it’s, ‘I want you’ and the next it’s, ‘Suck my dick.’”
You help him shimmy his pants off of his legs and away from his feet, watching it join the rest of his clothes and shoes in the unruly pile by the corner.
“They basically mean the same thing.” Peter retorts, avoiding how he mindlessly confessed to ‘wanting you.’
Whatever that meant.
Your eyes widen when you take him in, fully and intently.
“This is new.”
An elegant spider, specifically a black widow, decorates the alabaster skin of his hip bone. The tattoo is smaller than your hand, the inked legs stark thin and outstretched across faded scars. You wonder how he got them, but you know it’s rude to ask. So you move on, continue to become accustomed to the new tattoo on his lower torso, red lips worshipping the drawing as you kiss up and down his abs with tenderness.
Peter sighs, his ego blossoming when you eagerly pull him closer by the waist and free his aching cock from his boxers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, entranced by the reflection of the ceiling light in your pupils and the glittery Petrine crosses on your face.
“Is it just me or are you getting deja vu?” He quips playfully, stomach twitching when you put pressure on the leaking slit of his head with your thumb. “God, because I am… one-hundred percent getting deja vu right now.” His hand splays over the six-paneled door when you replace your finger with your tongue, getting his thick length nice and wet with your spit.
“You talk too much, Parker.” You’ve barely done any damage to him, but his groans roll out wounded and clipped when you wrap your lips around the base of his cock, suckling the skin there. Saliva bubbles from your mouth as you run it across the side of his length, puckered lips staining his fair skin with a sinful red. “Maybe I should shut you up.”
“Keep talking back and your little cunt won’t be the only thing getting fucked tonight.”
Peter watches your irises darken with something deeper than playful lust, something he hadn’t seen when he had you like this in the past.
“And if I do?” You start with a challenging edge to your breathless voice, fist squeezing around the head of his cock. “What happens if I wanna run my mouth…” You swirl your tongue around him to collect the small drop of pre-cum on his tip, your words coming out as a moaning mewl when you swallow the salty bead. “… all fucking night?”
You’re driving him mental. He’s losing it, his urge to just throw you against the bed and fuck you until the headboard makes an indent in the wall has grown exponentially — in fact, that’s the only thing he wants to do right now, until you innocently nuzzle your cheek against him and gently kiss his pelvis. The notion itself sparks something in Peter.
“You really wanna know, princess?” He courses a hand through your hair, your head tilting back with the movement. His cock throbs the more he stares at your face, specifically your eyes, because they’re telling him all the things you can’t say out loud.
“I do.”
“Pretty sluts who talk when they’re not supposed to get their throats fucked.” You gulp heavily at his words. His control is shattering and Peter can just feel his desperation quickly seep through his dominant tone. “Do you want that, Y/N? Your throat fucked raw like a whore?” His brows cinch together, lines deepening on his forehead. “My big cock shoved all the way down, so hard and rough, you can’t talk? Till I leave that cute fuckin’ mouth all sore?”
You whine at that, breaking his glare with timidity at the thought. It makes you damp between the thighs, and Peter takes pleasure in how your skirt has ridden up to give him a perverted view at your black panties.
You stroke his length needily through ever-growing pants. “Maybe I’m into that sort of thing.” You rest your hands around the back of his thighs. He steps closer. “Maybe I want you to ruin me.”
A switch flips in his brain.
“You’ve gotten so bold since the last time I saw you. Do you really want that?”
“Please.” You nod rapidly and sincerely.
He continues combing through your hair, purring at you. “You tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, alright?” He bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It’s sweet, but the moment is fleeting when Peter tucks a hand beneath your chin and the other behind your head to prevent you from hitting the door as he guides his cock between your lips. “Open. Wide. Wider, baby.” He can feel you exhale through your nose when his length fills your mouth. He’s heavy against your tongue, the spider tattoo on his hip bone just within your peripherals as you hollow out your cheeks for him. “Oh, Sister Y/N…” He chuckles mischievously. “Not so much of a saint when you have dick in your mouth.”
Your words come out muffled. “Maybe you need to bless me, Father.”
The blond catches you off guard, thrusting harshly into you. Your eyes screw shut as you gag noisily, and you can’t help but slap a hand over Peter’s upper thigh as leverage for something to hold onto. “You ask, and you — You. Shall. Fucking. Receive.” He snaps his hips into your mouth fast and unforgiving; your nose brushes against his sparse pubic hair before he pulls away, then thrusts back in without giving you a second of relief.
It’s almost embarrassing how much saliva is dripping from your chin, but with how his thick cock is straining your jaw, you’ll take anything to help the pain.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Peter cooes through a laugh. “Taking me like an absolute angel… fucking Christ, Y/N. Wonder if anyone’s fucked your mouth like this before.”
He’s careful not to use too much force, aware of how his differing strength may hurt you in the process.
But Peter is starting to realize that maybe you enjoy the pain.
He guides you by the back of your head, lightly pushing it down his length until you’re blubbering and salivating around his cock. Your grip on his thigh is unwavering, and Peter feels you squeeze the longer he continues.
You try not to count the seconds he keeps you like that, but five becomes ten, then ten becomes fifteen, and your temples are throbbing as the room spins and oh, god — he pulls out, a devilish chuckle leaving him while a loud cough rips right through your throat.
You abruptly sit back against the door, back hitting the wooden surface as you wipe away the spit on the lower half of your face. With red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks, you gasp for air. Peter continues towering over you, cock in hand, before he gently caresses your jaw in an apologetic manner.
“Did I do okay?” You whisper, voice tight and gaze woozy as you peer up at him. He can’t hide the tugging smirk on his features when he notices how fucked-out you already look.
Nodding, Peter runs a thumb across your bottom lip. “Did better than okay, baby. You wanna sit on the bed for me?” He slips the digit into your mouth, pressing it against your warm tongue. “Let me show you how much of a good fucking girl you were to me.”
You whimper at that. The sound goes straight to his dick as he helps you stand. Peter takes your face into his hands, brushing back flyaways as he pulls you into another kiss. Your hands take to his chest, wandering across his ribs, his thin waist, the broadness of his shoulders. The wings of his back flutter beneath your touch, rippling under your nails when you scratch down his spine. He latches onto your jaw and makes an identical purplish mark to that of the one on his breast.
His fingers find the zipper of your dress, deftly dragging it till it stops just at the concave of your lower back. He helps you tug your arms out from the long black sleeves. Peter’s lips follow the wake of the newly exposed skin, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls the dress down your soft hips and the expanse of your thighs. He’s on his fucking knees, taking in the sight of your lingerie-clad body.
“Peter…” You sigh at the view of him stroking himself to you. His lips kiss over your knees then the waistband of your thong. His teeth find the lacy garter on your leg, canines tugging the pathetic material off of you. “I want you.”
“I know, princess.” He murmurs, sucking gently on your outer thigh. “Want you too, but you don’t get to rush this.” You yelp when a ripping sound fills the tense air, looking down to find your black panties in two pieces. You’re about to argue with him, but Peter quickly hooks your right leg over his shoulder and impatiently buries his face in your core.
A pornographic moan instantly slips out of you, mouth parting open as Peter flicks his tongue over your throbbing clit. He uses a hand to spread your folds apart, revealing the sticky mess of your cunt when he laps at your entrance.
“You know, I thought about you…” You pipe up breathlessly, holding onto a fistful of Peter’s blonde curls as his mouth works on you. “… after that night, after everything you did to me, I touched myself to you.” Peter groans at that. You take it as a sign to keep going. “Thought about your big fingers filling me up, your tongue on me. Tried — tried using a vibrator and it just couldn’t satisfy me the way you did.” The words fall from your lips without a second thought.
Your filter had practically vanished the instant that Peter put his hands on you.
Peter wonders what else you thought about, what other situations that you pictured him in, if your imagination was fueled by lust or…. maybe something more.
He suckles roughly on your clit, filthy noises escaping the both of you before he abruptly forces himself to pull away from you and pause because too much of you will make him grow absolutely mad. He moves to sit on the bed, chin glistening with your juices.
Your eyebrows draw together, worry and frustration mixing across your face. “Why’d you stop?” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He does the same thing once more before he shifts awkwardly to shake his head, a shy expression dancing over his appearance. “What? Is something wrong?”
You bend down, slowly kneeling between his thighs to catch his far-off gaze. “It’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” You smile warmly at him.
“No, no, I think it is. Feels self-indulgent.”
“Well, whatever you wanna tell me, I’m listening.”
Peter realizes you’ve wrapped your hand around his — fingers intertwined and everything. It’s comforting, but even then, all it does is make the conversation harder for him to get past. He lets out an embarrassed groan, hair falling against his forehead as he looks anywhere but you.
“Can I… can I ask what else you thought about? With me?”
Your eyes widen, because certainly, it wasn’t the question you were expecting. The cocky blond anxiously gnaws on his bottom lip. Unsure and lacking self-confidence for once, it makes you huff in amusement and you use the situation to your advantage.
“Okay, well…” You clear your throat. “There were a lot of things. Where do you wanna start?”
“From the beginning.”
You nod as you move to stand, “I thought about… what would’ve happened if we got caught. The taste of your lips, how I could smell you all over me even after I showered.” You rake your fingers through his hair, similar to how he did to you earlier. “Thought about you stuffing my mouth… with your fingers, with my panties, with anything really… just to shut me up. To keep me quiet. I thought about you…” You swallow, the thought itself makes you wet, but saying it aloud makes you ache. “… fucking me in the ass. Just imagined how your cock — that big, fucking cock — would stretch me out, make me cry and cream all over you.” Peter finds himself looking up at you like you’re God herself, quiet moans leaving him as you wrap a fist around his length and pump him. His middle and ring finger find your cunt, slowly teasing your entrance.
“More.”
“Thought about you spanking me, slapping my face, pulling my hair.” You moan loudly when a hand comes down onto your ass cheek, a pleasurable sting rippling through your flesh. “I wanted you to punish me, to edge me, to fucking call me names… to take me rougher.”
His nose nudges against your belly. His breaths become ragged, noisier and more desperate with each word that leaves you. “You dirty fucking girl.”
“I thought about riding your thigh. Maybe even riding your face, wondering how it would feel to have you at my mercy. I… I just wanna hear you beg.” A strangled growl erupts from Peter. He pushes his fingers into you, your juices squelch around the long digits. “Peter… I — fuck, I wanted you to tie me up… to make me yours…”
“Are — are you not?” He grunts when you squeeze the head of his cock. “Fuck, Y/N… your h-hand…”
“Do you understand what you do to me?” You whine out, cupping his cheek with knitted brows. “I’ve — God, I have one more thing to tell you.”
His hips rut upwards. “You’re gonna kill me, princess.”
“I’ve always…” You chuckle, the sound cut off by Peter’s fingers filling you to the hilt. “… fuck — fuck, I’ve always wondered how does Peter Parker respond to being called daddy?” His hand comes to a halt as his jaw clenches visibly. You hum lowly in approval, massaging his scalp. “You like it don’t you, Peter? Or should I say… daddy?”
He hisses sharply. “Oh, my God.”
“It’s not holy to use God's name in vain.”
“And it’s not very holy of you to call me daddy, but here you are. Tell me again. What’s my name, Y/N?”
His fingers curl into you.
“Daddy.”
“Can’t hear you. Gotta be louder for me.” Peter’s hand picks up the pace, the heel of his palm snapping against your clit as you try your best to stay balanced on your feet.
“Oh, fucking — daddy. Daddy. Please.”
“Look at you. All fucking smug and shit, thinking you got me wrapped around your pretty finger.” He stands up. And there, you remember how much taller he is. You let out a cry when he grabs you roughly by the chin, thumbs digging into the puffiness of your cheeks as he squishes your lips together harshly. His dominant exterior has returned, fingering you faster than before. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Do you get off on teasing me? Get off on being called daddy’s good fucking girl?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” You squeeze your thighs together, but the hand that was clasped on your chin suddenly flies across your cheek and it takes you by pleasurable surprise. Peter just slapped you — and you fucking liked it. His breath fans over your pained features, nose nudging gently against your eyebrow as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t close your legs on me. Don’t do that. You know better, Y/N.”
“I’m sorry, daddy.”
He smiles in satisfaction.
This is sinful. Absolutely sinful.
“Get on the bed for me.” Peter pulls his hand from you, leaving you aching and throbbing for more when he licks at his damp fingers. “Let’s see if that cunt remembers how to take me.”
You easily comply, still reeling yourself back into reality from the hard slap he drove across your face. You lay back, hands laid out over your head as Peter unhooks the clasp in front of your bra. It’s convenient, he thinks, but it would’ve been better if he could rip it off of you like he had done to your panties from earlier. He kisses along the swell of your breasts, suckles a faint mark right on the side, before he’s taking a nipple into his mouth and tugging lightly.
“You’re still on the pill, yeah?” He asks, eyes glancing up at you as he gives attention to your other breast. You nod rapidly, biting your tongue as he licks a slow stripe down your abdomen. “Good, because I’ve been dreaming of cumming inside you again.”
“Holy shit.” You gasp out, his words going straight to your sopping cunt.
“All fours. Then I’m fucking you missionary later, baby. Love seeing your face when you cum.” Nothing but moans fall from your mouth as Peter flips you over and pulls you onto your knees, your face falling against the unfamiliar pillows and blankets. His lips trail down your back, past the curve of your hips, then his presence is gone. “Hold on. Thought of something we could use.”
You glance over your shoulder as he quickly pads to the corner of the room, picking something off of the floor.
No.
No, he wasn’t going to do that. Was he?
Peter emerges with the white clerical collar from his priest costume. He plays with it, twirling the stiff material between his fingers. The bed dips when he joins you. His face comes down by your ear.
“Earlier… you said you wanted your mouth stuffed, right?” You nod meekly in agreement. “You said you wondered. Well, now, you won’t really need to wonder anymore.”
He slips the collar between your parted lips, grabbing onto either end to pull you up to his chest. You bite down on the plastic, teeth gritting against it as the head of Peter’s cock prods at your folds.
If there’s a God, you’re sure that Heaven is the last place he’d want you to be. But here, with Peter’s arms wrapped around you, your back to his chest, you suppose Hell and every ring within Dante’s Inferno would suffice.
You just want him. After all the teasing and the filthy conversations exchanged, you just want everything he has to offer you. No matter how painful.
You whisper shyly, “I want all of it.”
Peter stills, admiring your side profile. “Are you sure, baby?”
He nibbles on your earlobe. You can feel his eyelashes against your cheekbone, the smell of his musk filling your senses.
“Please, daddy. Need it. Need it so bad.”
You ache for more of him, his thick head spreading you apart as he penetrates you.
“You’re getting so good at begging.” He takes your hands in his, running them down your breasts and waist so that you can feel yourself. “If it hurts, I need to know. Okay?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“No, no, no. Say it for real.” You’re confused as to what he means by that, but his swollen lips and the weight of his words against your mouth helps you. His brown eyes are kind and sincere, filled with warmth and desire as he looks past your naked body. Briefly, he takes the collar out from between your lips so you can speak clearly. “Say my name so I know you understand, Y/N.”
“Yes, Peter. I understand.”
With that, the blond thrusts into you with one fast motion. The fullness of his cock inside your cunt makes you gasp out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He kisses you again, tongue delving past your teeth to drown in you and take your mind away from the stinging stretch of your walls. His hand feels light on your face, his features contorted into utter yearning when you return the gesture and touch him gingerly.
“Can I move?” He sighs, his breath once again bringing life to your lungs. “You’re — fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so hard. You gotta stop that.”
You giggle mischievously. “Why? Are you gonna cum prematurely again?”
The jab causes Peter’s eyes to darken. He hums at that, then thrusts harshly into you with flaring nostrils. You cry out in surprise when he stuffs the collar back between your teeth, gagging you. “Wow, who fucking said you could talk like that? You know, Y/N, baby, I could end this right here and right now…” You’re clenching tightly around him, your wetness smearing the back of your thighs and his heavy balls. “… make you walk out of this room all by yourself… your pussy dripping, just aching, because I didn’t let you cum.”
“I’m sorry, Peter. I won’t do it again.”
He pushes you down by the head, fucking you deeply into the mattress. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as his hips meet your ass, skin slapping against skin as he spreads you apart with his large hands. “Daddy. You call me daddy. Nothing else, nothing more.” He grabs a handful of your hair, fisting into the tangled strands as he pounds into you. “Taking me so well. Such a fucking bad girl now, yet your cunt is just… fucking hell — shit, you’re made just for me. Aren’t you?”
“I’m all yours. Yours to ruin.”
“That’s right, princess.” He spits into his hand, spreading the saliva across the pads of his fingers before he’s circling your clit with his middle digit. “You’re mine. Don’t even know the first thing about you and yet this belongs to me.”
The comment leaves a weird taste in your mouth, but he isn’t wrong.
He doesn’t know the first thing about you.
But it doesn’t deter you from wanting him any less.
“You’re giving it to me so — so fucking good, daddy.” You pant out, sweat building on your forehead as his cock continues prodding your g-spot. “Love the way you fuck me. Fuck me like I’m nothing but… but a little slut.”
“My little slut.”
You sob in pleasure. “Your little slut.”
“Aw, Y/N…” He chuckles darkly, hand splayed over your tailbone as his thrusting slows. Your inner thighs feel unusually wetter, then you realize what’s happened. “I just made you squirt all over my dick.”
“Fuck, this is so embarrassing.” You spit the collar out, laughing nervously in hopes that you hadn’t ruined the moment.
His lips twitch at that, nostalgic to when he accidentally came from eating you out in the bathtub back in September.
“Personally, I think it’s really hot. Maybe I can make you do it again.” He smiles innocently, leaning over your body to kiss your cheek. His raspy voice is laced with sin, filth dripping from his words. “This isn’t even our bed and yet you’ve made a mess of it, Y/N.”
Our bed.
No, no. Can’t think like that when his cock is still hard inside you. But it’s warranted — warranted when he captures your mouth into another tender kiss that feels too romantic for the situation, too real and too gentle for a quick hookup. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his soft blond curls sticking to your slick skin as you both catch your breaths.
You don’t say anything after, just let Peter pull you from your awkwardly-bent position and comfortably roll you onto your back. He keeps a hand behind your neck, lips wandering over the marks he left from earlier.
“Y/N…” You bring his face up to yours when your name is uttered, thumb drawing circles on his chiseled jaw to show him he has your full attention before he continues. “I…”
“Yeah?” You raise a brow.
He does that thing he did before — mouth opens, closes, the cogs in his brain turn visibly. “I… fuck. Sorry, I forgot.”
You don’t believe him one bit, face softening when you see a flicker of sadness glaze over his pupils. But you don’t egg him on, instead, you caress his cheek with a weak nod. “Okay.”
Peter smiles sheepishly to recover his fumbling. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
The compliment makes your lips twitch with giddiness, and you poke his sternum with your finger. “Thanks, you.” You kiss his eyelid, brushing back his hair away from his vision. “You still wanna keep going?”
“Yeah, I’m — sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I definitely want to.” He shifts, bringing your knees up to your chest as he nips at the backs of your thighs. “I wanna make you cum, Y/N.”
You shiver when he kisses the swollen nub of your clit. The light gesture makes your legs tremble, your hole clenching at the almost-innocent notion. “Then do it.”
He scoffs with a casual shrug. “You’re supposed to ask me nicely.”
“Can you please make me cum?” You teasingly grin at Peter, biting the nail of your thumb as he repeats the pleasurable action, kissing your mound. “Please, daddy? I’ve been so, so good tonight.”
“Not entirely, but I’ll let it slide, princess.” He spreads your legs apart, letting your calves rest on the top of his firm shoulders as he strokes his cock into his fist, using his spit as lube. “Maybe next time, I’ll remember to punish you.”
“Oh, fuck.” His throbbing tip slips in first, the reddened head of his cock is enough to make you whine for more. “God. Oh, my god.”
Then the rest of him follows, his pelvic bone flush against your body as he buries his length inside you. He’s cursing uncontrollably under his breath, filthily watching how his cock disappears into your wet cunt and swallows his prick wholly. He studies the way your eyes roll to the back of your head when he shifts slightly, hiking your legs higher for more access.
“I could stay here forever.” He licks his lips, gauging your reaction as he lazily plays with your clit. “Make your cunt nothing but a nice little place to rest my cock. So warm, so tight for me, I wouldn’t even have to fuck you and I’d be content.”
“I need you so bad. Please.”
He slaps you again. It isn’t as harsh, but the sting is enough to make you behave for the time being. “You know what that’s called? When I keep my cock inside you, but don’t fuck you?”
“No, daddy.”
“It’s called cockwarming.” He spares you the anticipation, slowly drilling his length into you until a string of moans escape your quivering frame. “And that’s what I do to sluts who don’t know how to act right. Maybe it’ll teach you a thing or two.”
“I’ll be a good girl.”
“You better, or else I won’t make you cum.” He keeps a hand on your hip, the other wraps softly around your calf. “I was being nice when I fucked you in the bathroom. Here, now, you’re gettin’ a bit too comfortable with my kindness.” He pulls his hands away from your body, resting each palm on either side of your head as he hovers over you. “Earn it. Earn your fucking reward.”
At this point, neither of you care how loud your moans have been. Peter’s practically a moaning mess when you start to fuck yourself on his cock. Your breasts bounce with each desperate motion. You’re not sure how much longer you can take, but you want every minute with Peter to last.
“Can you feel me?” You breathe out, cupping the blond’s face as you gaze up into his starry eyes. “Can you feel my pussy milking you?”
“Fuck, baby — yeah, I can. Not gonna be so tight when we’re finished, aren’t you?” He says through a whimper, meeting your cunt with his hard strokes. “Maybe I’ll need to fuck something tighter…”
“Oh, my god.” Your face heats up at the thought.
“Like your ass.”
“Fucking hell, Peter.”
“Mhm, you want that. I know you do. Makin’ a real mess here, Y/N.” He gestures to the sticky mess on his lower stomach as your juices continue to coat his cock. “Just by me saying I wanna fuck your ass? Can’t help but wonder what else could happen if I actually did.”
The ache in your cunt grows stronger as Peter quickens his thrusts. Your skin is red with irritation from the action of his skin slapping against yours. Peter’s fingers make indents in your stomach as he guides your body to meet his.
“Whore.” You whisper, recalling the nicknames you used on each other from before.
He can’t help but smile. “Slut.”
“Show me next time…” You fist the bedsheets, nose scrunching up as you snarl desperately at him. “Next time you fuck me, we can try all the things I said I wanted you to do to me.”
Next time, he thinks. Your words echo through his mind.
Peter’s movements grow sloppier. He buries his face by the crook of your neck, mouth falling open in wanton satisfaction.
“Fuck, Y/N. Oh, fuck. You — you feel so goddamn good. Baby, I can’t… can’t get enough of you…” You can feel him falling apart. Peter’s soft voice is an instant giveaway, based on how his deep groans suddenly turn into needy whimpers. “I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you. You don’t understand how fucking good you are to me — how this cunt just milks me and milks me… could fill you up for days if you’d let me.”
I don’t wanna do this with anyone but you.
If you’d let me.
His words find your heart more than the space between your legs.
“Peter, I’m so close… fuck, I’m — right there, please. Yes, right there!” You cry out, shaking your head through a blubbering sob as his finger circles your clit. The combined pressure and the harsh pounding of his cock sends you into a frenzy, incoherent sentences leaving your mouth as Peter moans shamelessly above you.
“There we go, look at you. Look at you, princess. Feels n-nice, doesn’t it? I bet you’re so close.” His words are shaky, his own release approaching as your cunt flutters periodically around him.
Your mouth hovers over his lips, mouths searching for each other in the dim light as he tries to kiss you. “Tell me if I’ve been a good girl.”
“The best girl. You’re my best girl, princess. Taking my cock like a champ, taking it like you’re made for it.” His eager praises push you closer to the edge. “Oh, baby. You’re shaking. You wanna cum so bad, that your body is practically beggin’ daddy to give you an out. I think you’ve been an angel tonight. A little rebellious…” He chuckles, before inhaling deeply. “But I think you’ve shown me how well you can behave. That’s all daddy wants from you, Y/N.” He kisses your temple, then your cheek, your jaw, until he’s tugging at your bottom lip with yearning. “Oh, fuck. Cum all you want for me. You’ve earned it, sweetheart.”
“I’m — I’m… please, Peter!”
“Shit, you’re so tight. Jesus, Y/N, I’m gonna…”
“I’m cumming!” You sob loudly, forehead resting against Peter’s as you crudely moan together in tandem.
His cock is pulsating inside you, his spill painting the walls of your cunt with a milky white as you unforgivingly squeeze the cum right out of him. Peter whines your name with closed eyes. The intensity of your orgasms leave you spent, nothing but an exchange of pants and satisfied groans fill the sex-scented air as you clutch Peter’s shoulder. He leaves a path of kisses across your collarbone, his nose bumping against yours before he explores your mouth yet again.
“Shit…” He whispers, wincing at your reaction when he tries pulling out. “Sorry, sorry.”
“S’alright.” You sit up on your forearms, eyes dancing over Peter’s face as he watches his cum seep out of you. “God, you weren’t kidding when you said the bed is a mess.” You laugh with an embarrassed look, rubbing your neck as Peter moves to lay beside you.
He sighs loudly and rests his hands over his stomach. “Yeah, I feel really bad for whoever’s sleeping here tonight.”
“You’re an asshole for that.”
“Oi, don’t get me started on you, freak.” He teases, flicking your side as you tuck your head between his chest and his arm. The laugh that runs through your body is innocent and sincere. Peter can feel the warm rumble of your giggle in his chest, and his heart grows fonder at the sight of you exhausted and sleepy.
“Hey, I…”
“Y/N…”
You chuckle awkwardly at each other, tearing your gazes away from one another’s faces as you recollect your thoughts.
“Sorry, you first.” You offer, gesturing at him with an open hand.
“No, you. Please.” His thumb begins to trace the visible veins on your wrist. Peter finds pleasure in how your small hand fits in his, fingers twitching against his knuckles as you swallow with uncertainty.
“Earlier…” The word already makes Peter anxious. “You said my name, like you wanted to tell me something.”
“Yeah?”
You continue despite knowing it sounds stupid aloud, especially when the blond’s eyes intently lock onto your face.
“But then, you told me that you forgot.” He nods in acknowledgment. “Did you — did you remember what it was?”
You can feel his body tense beneath you. He shifts, running a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling nervously.
“I never forgot, I just… dunno. Don’t think it’s something I can say to you.”
“Oh, okay. Is it, uh, like a thing? Like a frat thing? Or…”
Peter huffs at that, counting the seconds that pass by as he tries to think of something in response. “No, it’s more of a…” He sighs again, and you look up at him. “It’s about a girl.”
“Oh.” Your face falls. You have no right to feel bad, but every bone in your body goes limp with complete disappointment.
“And, I’m not entirely sure how she feels about me.”
“Uhuh.” You try to tune him out, realizing that your awful decisions have finally caught up to you as he continues onward.
At this point, you don’t want to listen. You know it’ll only make you angry, but Peter doesn’t take the hint, not even when you sit up and defensively pull your knees to your chest. In fact, he mirrors you, using a blanket to cover his indecency despite the established intimacy between the two of you.
Maybe it wasn’t intimacy.
There’s a fine line between that and… fucking, you suppose.
“I don’t think she really likes me as a person, and I… I don’t really know much about her, because she’s — she’s cool, and she keeps to herself most of the time. And I don’t see her often. But when I do…” He looks over at you, admiring how your gaze softens as he speaks almost cautiously. “When I do see her, I think of what it would be like to get to know her.”
“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to talk to about this kind of stuff.” You shrug with an irritated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you narrow your eyes at him.
He’s upset you. But Peter continues, knowing that you’re smart enough to recognize the underlying meaning of his dumb words. “I haven’t taken her on a date. I don’t even know her — her last name or her major, or what kind of food she likes.”
“Well, that’s the whole point of going on a date. Peter, is this really what you wanted to tell me?” You break eye contact, putting up another wall as you get up to collect your clothing.
“Y/N. Stop what you’re doing and look at me.”
You turn to him with a clenched jaw and wide eyes. “I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t know the first thing about her. But I want to, if she’d let me.”
If you’d let me.
The familiar phrase from earlier sinks in. Oh.
“Are you…” You laugh, more out of fear rather than actual humor. “Are you talking about me?“
“Yes, you dumbass.” Peter drags a heavy hand across his face, cupping it over his eyes as he avoids your shocked glare.
He can’t be serious. You know how cruel fratboys can be, so you choose not to believe him. “Peter, I-I don’t even know you.”
“I know, and I…” He groans in frustration. “I know I’ve probably ruined everything by hooking up with you, and — and I don’t normally find myself crushing on the people I have sex with… but I… I don’t know, Y/N. I’m a dick, and I’m sorry. So if you wanna forget about what I said, that’s fine. I just wanted to — to tell you. For closure.”
“You’re genuine?”
“Why would I be lying?”
“Because…” You scowl stubbornly, covering your breasts with the cloth of your dress. “Because you’re blond and an asshole.”
He laughs.
You do, too.
“Listen, I know what we have is unconventional. Like the most unconventional thing to base a relationship off of. And I’m not saying we even need to have a relationship, I just… I think I like you. And I wanna know everything about you.”
“Okay.” You slip your dress on, flexible fingers pulling the zipper up before you pick up your shoes and veil.
“Okay.”
You smile playfully. “That’s it?”
“What — what do you mean ‘that’s it?’ I said everything I wanted to say.” You slowly nod at that, grinning as you unlock the bedroom door. Peter watches anxiously as you linger by the doorway, your body wedged between the open crack.
The corners of your lips tug upwards.
“I don’t want you to become a stranger.”
The confession makes Peter feel weak in the knees. “I don’t want that, either.”
“Then you can start by asking for my number, Parker.”
A humorous huff escapes him. His shoulders deflate, a relieved chuckle whistling through his teeth.
“Can I get your number?”
You share a look of fondness in the midst of your distance.
Although the drumming music from downstairs feels loud and the chatter of people grows livelier with each long minute, it isn’t enough to drown the romantic tension between you and the bright-eyed blond. You step back into the room with him, shutting the door behind you. Peter doesn’t move an inch from where he stands, eyes trained on you as you take a pen from the desk by the closet and retrieve the clerical collar of his costume off the ground.
You scribble messily onto the white material, ink staining your fingers before you quietly hand the collar back to him.
“Think I’d like to know a little more about you, too.”
Peter smiles vibrantly. “You just ruined my Halloween costume.”
“Yeah, and you ruined my makeup. What else is new?” You nudge him, stepping closer towards him. “You should really get dressed before someone finds us here.”
He peers down at you, adoringly. “Oh, really?”
You get lost in the way he looks at you. “Yeah, never a good thing to get caught.”
“Mmm, I’m sure you know.” Simultaneously, your eyes linger on each other’s lips. Peter lifts a hand to caress your cheek. His thumb travels down your jawline, cradling your chin in his palm as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.
“Don’t be a stranger, Peter. Call me.”
His words are gentle, coming out as sheepish yet playful against your skin. “From a scale of one to ten, how much do you like me?”
“Negative.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Well, last time was different.” His face nears yours, lips hovering over one another yet again with giddy smiles. “But you’re still the same blond asshole I met in the bathroom.”
“You are extremely ridiculous, you know that?”
“Doesn’t that make you want me more?”
“Oh, it makes me want you in every way possible.”
4K notes · View notes