#waiter!peter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nouearth · 28 days

Text

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal.

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited.

“Thanks—”

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in.

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed.

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket.

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other.

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late.

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.”

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen.

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus.

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it.

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat.

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit.

Something commanded you to let those words slip out.

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace.

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold.

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.”

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed.

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help.

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you.

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated.

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed.

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes.

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost.

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on.

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower.

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling.

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having.

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure.

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough.

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest; it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you.

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you.

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper.

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place.

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself.

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer.

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about.

“Never.”

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now.

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him? His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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forever-rogue · 1 year

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So I have this idea for a peter x reader. basically reader is really quiet and shes friends with Peter. anyway, she develops feeling for him but doubts that he'll ever feel the same and tries to hide it as much as possible. eventually when Peter tells her his feelings she laughs and thinks it's a joke like "how would u like me?" and Peter slows down sadly and is like "why would u think I'm joking?" and ends with just fluffy fluffy confessions and comfort <3

AN | Oh yes, one of my favorite tropes, aka Peter Parker confesses his love but you’re not buying it❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d known Peter Parker for the latter part of twenty years.

You’d known that you were in love with him for the last five years. You were pretty sure you’d been in love with him much longer than that, but realization hadn’t dawned on you just yet.

The revelation had come to you out of the blue one evening when you were at home in your shared apartment, the two of you watching a movie. He didn’t even really do anything special, it just hit as you listened to him comment on random scenes throughout the movie. You were in love with him.

But just as quickly as you had your breakthrough, you decided to push it to the side, compartmentalized to the back of your mind to decay there. You might have been helplessly in love with him, enamored and enraptured by him, but you would never tell him.

There was absolutely no way that Peter would ever return your feelings, not even remotely. No, nope, nah. You were his best friend, and that’s all you would ever be. That was your destiny, and while you hated it, you hated the idea of a life without Peter even more.

So, like some kind of self professed martyr, you decided to live with your secret.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you even paying attention?” you weren’t, not until Peter was waving his hand in front of your face, but he didn’t need to know that. You turned your attention back to him and gave him a tight lipped smile and even weaker nod. He laughed, sugar sweet and syrupy, “you’re lying!”

“Am not,” you huffed petulantly, poking around the food that was on your plate. Admittedly you’d lost your appetite and zoned out when Peter started talking about Kim from work and how she’d asked him out again. He insisted that he’d turned her down, again, but it didn’t cause that nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach to go away, “I couldn’t listen to another word out of your mouth, Parker. The sound alone could put me right to sleep.”

“Oh honey,” he took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair as he appraised you. You felt warm under his intent gaze, avoiding his eyes as you practically stared holes into the table, “we both know that’s not true.”

“How?” you snapped your gaze back to him, and found the most satisfied little smirk on his face.

“You wouldn’t have been friends with me for so long if you really thought that,” he leaned forward and shot you a wink, which caused you to almost melt into a puddle, “right?”

“You’re the worst,” there was nothing but an affectionate lilt in your words, “the absolute worst.”

“But you love me,” you knew it was meant as a friendly comment but you felt like your heart had just plummeted into your stomach. Did he know? He couldn’t know.

“Whatever,” you took the cloth napkin off your lap and tossed onto the table. You were out at a nice restaurant, both of you dressed to the nines; it would have been easy to assume you were a couple on a date. The waiter had made a comment about what a lovely couple you were, “hurry up so we can get out of here and get home.”

Home. As in your singular home. That’s right; not only were you a fool, you were an absolute fool. One that lived with her best friend that she was secretly in love with. It made things…interesting. But, if anything, it was a good exercise in futility.

“Pajamas and ice cream?” he asked, as if it was really any question. At least one night a week included a lazy night in watching movies in pajamas and lots of ice cream. You loved that you were able to enjoy such simple things, along with the finer things.

“Duh,” you teased, “now come on, before someone mistakes for a couple again.”

“Would that really be such a bad thing?” there was a look of genuine curiosity in his eyes that almost made you spill your deep, dark secret then and there.

“Yes,” you lied, biting the inside of your cheek, “the worst!”

Peter said nothing but you could feel him watching you. You were afraid that somehow he would learn all your deepest, darkest secrets.

You hoped he wouldn’t…you weren’t sure how you’d survive that.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you woke up the next morning, it was to something that smelled extremely delicious. You groaned as you rolled onto your back, rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes, stomach gurgling loudly. You slipped out of bed and pulled on a discarded hoodie - it used to be Peter’s but was now yours - and socks as you padded out into the hallway.

Noise was coming from the kitchen and your brow furrowed as you walked towards the commotion. Peter’s bedroom door was open which meant that it was definitely him that was the source of all the commotion. Odd. He was usually not an early riser.

“Pete?” a large vase of daffodils, tulips, and daisies sat on the small kitchen table. Your favorites. The boy was in the kitchen, in a t-shirt and gray joggers (damn him), and moved around to make sure everything was ready at the same time, “what’s all this?”

“Hey babe,” the pet name flowed from his lips like it was a no brainer, like this was all so natural between the two of you. You supposed, in a way, it was, “I’m making breakfast.”

“I can see that,” you raised an eyebrow and gestured around, “what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged lightly, “just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Peter, that’s…really sweet,” yeah. You weren’t even going to attempt to deny that much, “it looks and smells delicious. And the flowers-”

“Also for you,” this time a sheepish expression crossed his features along with a pretty pink blush, “I just thought you deserved something nice.”

“Is there…it’s not my birthday,” you mused out loud, “it’s not a holiday. So…am I missing something?”

“No,” he considered you for a moment before swallowing thickly, “I just…let me do something nice without the whole interrogation thing!”

“You’re Spider-Man, you should be used to interrogations.”

“Not from you!”

“Well, consider it practice.”

“No, listen, I-” he groaned lightly, swiping a hand over his face, messing up his already roguish hair, “I-I-I-”

“You can’t get all flustered!” you teased, “can’t let the enemy know you’re weak!”

“I’m not-”

“Petey,” you laughed softly, enjoying the little back and forth banter, “I’m just teasing. No need to get so worked up. Look, I’m going to go-”

“I’m in love with you.”

“And shower before breakfast,” the two of you spoke at the same time, but you heard each other loud and clear. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, feeling the heat rise up in your cheeks, flustered and wanting to disappear, “w-why would you say that?”

“What?” he looked confused. Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest, “what do you mean?”

“I was just teasing you, but you don’t have to be cruel,” you felt tears already welling up as your lip trembled with effort to keep from crying, “why would you be so mean?”

“How? I don’t…what?”

“Why would you tease me and say you loved me?” despite your best efforts the tears had welled up and rolled down your face, “I was just messing around, but that’s…hurtful.”

“Wait - what do you mean?” a look of pure panic crossed his features as he shook his head, “why would I just say that? I would never say something like that if I didn’t mean it. Honey-”

“You don’t love me,” you threw up your hands in exasperation, “not like that. You’re my best friend!”

“You’re my best friend too,” he took a step closer and you took one back, “and I do love you as you my best, but you’re so much more than that. I’m in love with you.”

“You’re lying,” you insisted, unable to wrap your head around the fact that he might be telling the truth, “why would you be in love with me? I’m just…me.”

“That’s why I’m in love with you!” he wasn’t sure what your reaction was going to be, but he wasn’t fully expecting this one, “I’ve been in love with you for years! Have you really never noticed?”

“You’re just being a good friend,” were asking him or telling him? You weren’t entirely sure, “you don’t love me! You could never love me. I’m nothing.”

“You’re everything,” but you weren’t listening to him anymore. You were shaking your head, absentmindedly brushing your tears out of your face as you stumbled towards your bedroom.

“No, please just stop,” you insisted. You ducked into your bedroom and slammed the door shut before locking it. Realistically, if he really wanted to get in it would have been a breeze for him.

He called your name a few more times before you heard his retreating footsteps go back to the kitchen. All you could think to do was to climb into bed and get under the covers. Dealing with anything - what he had said and what you had said - seemed like the last thing you wanted to think about.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At some point you woke up from the stress and sadness nap you had taken and found that the sun was shining brightly into the room. You looked at your phone with a groan when you saw that it was the middle of the afternoon.

Hesitantly you dragged yourself out of bed, again, and slinked towards the door, sticking your ear to it and listening for any signs of life, also known as Peter Benjamin Parker. This would be one of the times it would have been handy to have his enhanced senses, but even with your regular old human abilities, you were sure he wasn’t home.

With a sigh of relief you opened the door and walked back into the crime scene; the kitchen looked exactly as it had when you’d found Peter in it earlier. He must have left to give you space after your little - okay big - freak out. He’d always been good with boundaries and giving you space when needed.

Part of you almost wished he was here. The flowers on the table were almost taunting you, and you walked over to them, gently touching over their petals. Of course he knew your favorite flowers, he got them for you…kind of a lot now that you were thinking about it. He knew you inside out, better than anyone else, and sometimes you were convinced that he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You stepped into the kitchen and started to clean things up, putting dishes in the sink and other stuff away. The thought that Peter had touched each and everyone of these things provided a sense of relief.

Peter often did these sorts of things. He doted on you, you would absolutely admit this, but you’d always chalked it up to his friendly nature. But then…he wasn’t like this with his other friends. He was openly affectionate, yes, but with you it was different. You thought about the fact that he never went on dates with anyone - he would always turn them down, including Kim from work. The few times you’d gone on a date he always seemed upset, even if he tried to suggest otherwise. Huh.

People often asked if the two of you were dating, but you always gave them the same answer: platonic friends with a capital P. It sucked sometimes, especially when you knew that women, and men, practically threw themselves at Peter.

You thought back on all the things he did for you, all the days, nights, and weekends you’d spent together through the years and oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you whispered the singular word out loud to yourself, halfway through washing a plate when it hit you.

Peter hadn’t been lying; he was telling you the truth. The truth had been so obvious and right in front of you the entire time.

You wanted to curl up and vanish. Not only had you accused him of lying and only loving you as a friend, you’d run out on him and refused to talk to him like a stubborn child. All you could do was hope that you hadn’t ruined everything.

When you were finished cleaning up the mess from earlier, you made a mental plan. Maybe he wouldn’t believe you or forgive you, but it was worth a shot like a sort of romantic hail mary.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter spent the better part of the day out of the apartment, opting to go and work in his office. His mind was reeling and the only way he could think to get it to quiet down was to throw himself into his work. He hoped that by the time he got home you would be willing to talk to him, or at the very least you wouldn’t run from him.

Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting you to be in the kitchen making dinner as you sang along to whatever record you threw on the vintage player. You’d gifted it to him a few years ago on his birthday after you’d seen him eyeing it about a hundred times. It was just one of the many ways you showed him love. He’d fallen even more in love that day.

“Hello?” he asked timidly as he kicked off his sneakers by the door. On the table next to the flowers he’d gotten for you, was another vase, this one filled with daisies and sunflowers; his favorites…because they reminded him of you.

At the sound of his voice you slowly turned around, bracing yourself for about a million different possibilities.

“Hi Pete,” you held up your hands in a meek little wave, feeling your flush furiously, “listen-”

“I’m sorry,” the two of you said at the same time.

“W-wait,” a pretty pout settled on your lips. He wanted to kiss you until it went away and was replaced with a smile, “what are you sorry for?”

“For making you uncomfortable,” he shrugged nervously, “I didn’t think what I said would come across so…like it did. I thought you knew, or at least kind of knew, how I felt. I thought maybe you felt the same and it was finally time to tell you. That didn’t land well obviously.”

“Peter,” whenever you said his name like that it made him want to melt into a puddle.

There were a million things you wanted to say, but couldn’t think of anything. Nothing seemed quite adequate or strong enough to convey the amount of love you held for the man in front of you.

You walked the few remaining steps over and stopped right in front of him, both of you staring at each other intensely.

You reached up to touch his face, your hand resting on his cheek. You leaned up and closed the little bit of remaining distance, pressing your lips against his. It only took a moment for his brain to catch up to what was happening, and when he did, his hands settled on your waist, and pulled you ever closer into his body.

Kissing Peter left so natural, so right, like you’d been doing it forever. There was no learning curve - the two of you already know each other so well - no awkward fumbling or misses. It just…was.

And kissing him was addicting. Now that you knew what it was like, you never wanted to stop. You wanted him all over you, all the time, forever.

But eventually you needed a breath of air and reluctantly pulled apart. You found him watching you like you were the most wonderful thing he had ever seen (you were).

“I’ve been in love with you for a very, very long time,” you admitted softly, causing his eyes to lit up, “I just never thought…you’ve always been my best friend and I was convinced you’d never want more. So I never said anything.”

“I’ve always wanted more - I want everything,” he took your face in his hands, cradling it delicately as he studied, “it’s always been you.”

“I thought that I was just me, and I’d never be good enough for you. And then I thought maybe you found out how I felt and you were teasing me,” it seemed really silly saying it out loud.

“I would never do that,” you knew he wouldn’t. Your own self doubt had you convinced of all the wrong things, “I meant it all. I’ve always meant it.”

“I thought about it while you were gone,” it was a soft confession that had you giving him a shy smile, “and I realized it was always so obvious.”

“It’s been terribly obvious,” he agreed as you exchanged soft laughs.

“Terribly,” you agreed, “will you forgive me for how I acted earlier?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he insisted, sweet and saccharine, “can I kiss you more?”

“I would-”

Before you could finish what you were saying, you smelt something burning and turned around to find your pain on fire. You panicked while Peter fell into action, taking the pan off and setting it in the sink before getting the fire out. It was just one of the many ways in which you complimented each other perfectly.

“Anyway, you were saying?” He had the biggest, silliest smile on his face as the kitchen filled with the smell of burnt food. You couldn’t help but break into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of it all...and then the smoke alarm went off.

“You can kiss me anytime,” you finally got to say what you had wanted to, shouting slightly over the alarm before the two of you dissolved into laughter, “I love you, Peter Parker. Really.”

“I really love you, honey bee.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew!peter parker x reader #andrew!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader

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