#andrew!

“Peter, we’ve run out of milk, can you go get us some please?” May is always sending him to run errands now, just to get him out of the house. Without you there anymore, she hardly ever sees him leave, just locks himself up in his bedroom.

He knows May thinks she’s being sly, but he doesn’t care, she’s right, he shouldn’t just hole himself up in his room. Yet it seems like everything was less now that he wasn’t with you, he could barely walk down the street without remembering how you used to skip down there, pulling him along excitedly.

It hurt, but he had no one to blame but himself.

There was a certain nip in the air, despite it being quite sunny, so Peter found himself digging his hands into his pockets to shield them from the bitterness of the air. He’s staring down at his shoes, watching the cracks on the pavement go by. Then, something in his head is screaming at him to look up. It isn’t his spider sense, it’s something else, but he listens to it anyway. A head of e/c hair starts to pass him, and it’s almost as if it happens in slow motion.

Brown eyes meet e/c ones, and time almost stops for him, watching as you walked by. You look good, but there’s a dullness in your eyes that doesn’t seem as if you can shake it, hair a little flatter than the usual volume it has. His step falters, eyes refusing to leave yours as you pass him, and suddenly he’s no longer thinking about the errand May sent him on, only you.

His heart aches more at the sight of you, and he knows that he can’t just let you leave. He’s completely shattered, and you’re the only one that can fix that: if he fixes what he did first. Turning on his heels, he starts to follow after you, trying his best to dodge around the instant influx of people that seems to have conveniently arrived.

"Y/n! Wait," Peter crashes into someone, sending them an apology as he puts a hand on each shoulder to steady them before looking back up at your figure getting further in the distance. He jogs and dodges, slowing down then speeding up, trying his best to reach you before you disappear around the corner and he loses you completely. You're in front of him by a while, turning into a shop and shutting the door behind you.

By the time Peter reaches the store, you're nowhere to be seen. He knows you're in there somewhere, there's no other way you could have gone. He can see over the shelves of the grocery store, and there are not many people in there. His eyes skim over them, a middle-aged woman with slicked-back brown hair, a young couple with a baby, the cashier and an old man with a tweed cap sat on his head. However, out of the corner of his eye, he catches onto the movement of the entrance to the bathroom's closing. There you are.

Rushing over, he knocks on the door. He knows you aren't doing the toilet, you seemed to only speed up when you passed him, it was clear you were trying to get away from him, "Y/n, please."

It seems like your apartment window all over again, separated by a dumb brick wall. He rests his forehead against the bricks at the side of the door, a frown on his face. He isn't willing to let you go again, even if that means staying there for a while. Maybe he seems obsessed to random observers, but he didn't care. He was desperate. Desperate to have you back in his arms.

“I can't let you leave, we need to fix this,” Peter speaks again, knocking on the door again, "Please, y/n. Just open the door."

Peter continues to plead, desperate for you to even give him the slightest inclination that you're listening to him, that you care. However, it doesn't appear he's going to get it when the old man comes hobbling along, tapping Peter on the arm, "Excuse me, but I believe the girl in there is just trying to do the toilet."

Peter takes a step away from the toilets as to not seem creepy, a blush rising to his cheeks as he shakes his head, "I'm sorry sir, it's actually my girlfriend, I've upset her and she's in there to try and get away from me. I'm just trying to make everything right."

He stammered over the word 'girlfriend' because you technically weren't anymore. Sure, you never actually officially broke up, but the screaming, the arguing, and the avoiding made everything crystal clear.

The older man sighs, looking between Peter's sad face and the bathroom door, his shopping basket swinging on his arm, talking quieter this time, "Listen son if she wanted to talk to you, she would. You'd be better leaving."

Silence fills the air, and Peter's scared he'll break down as he looks back over at the door where you're hidden away, before nodding his head. The old man seems pleased at Peter listening to him, nodding his head as he watches Peter begin to walk away, only to hear the creak of the door behind him. Peter stops in his tracks, but he's scared to turn around in case he's imagining things.

The breath feels as if it's been knocked out of him as he turns around and looks at you finally. You don't make any move to come closer to him, and Peter doesn't make any move to move forward either, allowing you to keep a comfortable distance between the two of you, despite him itching to take you into his arms and beg for forgiveness.  

“Y/n, I-” He looks away for a moment, swallowing as he thinks of what to say. He’s been thinking about it since you left his house that day, what he could say to make up with you, but now that you’re standing in front of him, it seems like every word and phrase that might have helped him show how sorry he was has dissipated into thin air, “I’m so sorry, y/n/n. You were right and I never meant to say what I did, I was so dumb and irrational, I was oblivious, you were right but I made her leave as soon as I got back home. I can’t believe I did this to you-”

“Peter-” However, your attempt at an intervention didn’t work, with Peter continuing to ramble.

“I didn’t mean to say you were delusional, or that I was going to have sex with her. God, I only want you, y/n. Only you-”

“Peter-” You try to cut him off, scared that he’s going to reveal more about you to the old man who was still watching on eagerly as Peter tried desperately to make up with you. However, even at your second intervention, he doesn’t seem to get the hint to stop.

“You’re everything to me, y/n. I couldn’t think about being with anyone else and I-” Realizing that trying to say his name wasn’t going to shut Peter up, you did the only other thing that came to your head, marching over to him, and smashing your lips onto his.

He didn’t immediately kiss back, taken off guard at the abrupt end of his rambling. When he did, his hands went up to grab the sides of your face, your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, your hands lowered to his chest, staring up into the brown of his eyes.

You were both breathless, “Only me?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, “Only you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, never letting go of your face as you both shut your eyes, relishing in each other’s presence. You had both missed this. Being with each other always made you feel at home, and now that you were here with Peter again, it seemed like all your sadness melted away, and you felt only comfort.

The feeling of him caressing your cheek and the warmth of his forehead pressed against yours made everything okay again. It felt as if every stray puzzle piece finally fit together, and that everything made sense again. While you had been heartbroken, it seemed like everything was going to be in the past, and that you would be okay.

After all, Peter had always been your safe haven, and you were his. No matter what happened, you would always find your way back to one another, even if it meant giving up everything for each other.

“Well kids, I’m glad you’ve made up but I need my yogurt and you’re blocking the refrigerator door,” The old man piped up, making you and Peter break away from one another as he pointed behind you.

“Of course, Sir, we’ll get out of your way now,” Peter sent the old man a sweet smile, taking a step backward. Yet, when you went to do the same, stepping away from Peter, he discretely grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to him instead of away.

Cuddled into Peter’s side, you both watch as the old man slowly opened the door of the refrigerated section, locating his yogurt before putting it in his basket and walking away. You and Peter both held smiles on your faces as you looked at one another once again.

“We really need to stop doing this when there are people around."

The baby monitor was perched on the edge of the counter, near-silent static the only thing coming through the speakers. The sound mixed with the thrum of the shower, water slamming onto the tiles and splattering up onto your ankles, flowing into the stream coming off of your skin. You grabbed the soap bottle, knocking it onto the floor accidentally before successfully getting some of the product out.

You cupped your aching breasts, a small squirt of soap on each hand as you lifted them off of your chest. You sighed sharply at the relief, skin tender and pliant under your fingers. You gently massaged the soap into your skin, bubbles forming at your touch. The feeling had you remembering your first pregnancy, sweet and soft in your brain, the way your husband had doted on you. He'd taken to massaging your chest when your tits had grown sore, pressing soft kisses into the sensitive skin. Then, when one baby became two, he grew angry, already lacking sleep from #1 and not ready to lose the rest to #2. If anything, it was his fault you were pregnant, but that hadn't mattered to him at the time. Now, instead of massaging your aches and pains away, he sent you a sparse check every month from his bachelor pad, sometimes on another woman's checks, the amount the bare minimum for what you needed to survive.

You'd barely been able to find a babysitter willing to work for just under minimum wage, a poor little college student looking to make a few extra bucks. He worked excellently with your daughter, brushing her hair into little pigtails even though the wispy strands were barely enough to hold, and buying her sweet snacks with his own pocket money. She often came back from walks with chocolate smeared around her mouth, lips bitten and sucked into her mouth in an effort to hide the evidence from you, the both of them giggling sweetly.

Your thoughts came to a screeching halt when you heard a creak, scrambling to peer out of the shower door and reach for the baby monitor. But before you could grab the white radio, you noticed a face stuck in the newly formed gap of the bathroom door, soft brown eyes raking over your form in a sense of lust you didn't think the boy had been capable of.

"Peter!" You screeched indignantly, rushing to cover yourself with the foggy glass door, "What are you doing in here?!"

"I heard a crash," Peter mumbled, eyes ghosting over your silhouette, "I wanted to make sure you were still conscious."

You felt your cheeks heat up, "Well I am, so can you please- no!" You watched as he stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind him with a click, "No, we can't, I can't-"

"Yes we can." He said simply, "The baby's asleep."

"Peter, this is highly inappropriate, but-"

"But? But you want it? Don’t deny it, Y/N,” He stared at you with deviously innocent eyes, “I’ve seen you look at me for way longer than you needed to.”

You scoffed, embarrassment flaring up your cheeks, “I just- look at you!”

His cheeks twisted into a sly grin, “So, that’s a yes then? We’re doing this?”

You bit your lip, glancing once more at the baby monitor to see that your daughter was, in fact, sleeping soundly in her crib.

“One time, and make it quick, Parker.”

The second the words left your lips he was wrestling his shirt off of his body, tossing the fabric to the floor and starting on his belt, “Yes Ma’am.”

You let your eyes roll back in your head for a few seconds, ducking back into the shower so that he could join you. You kept your hands hovering protectively over your pregnant belly, slightly hesitant at the concept of anything rough happening.

“Relax, Miss Y/L/N,” Peter finally stepped into the shower, fully nude and staring at your own figure, “I’ll be gentle.”

You nodded shakily, body tensing as he reached for your shoulders. He gently guided you to the seat in the corner of the shower, the tile cold on your skin. His gaze was locked on your soapy breasts, sagging with the weight of what you hadn’t pumped yet.

“Y’want some help with that?” Peter slowly reached for your tits, hands already wet from the shower’s spray as they slid tentatively under your breasts. He lifted them gently, weighing both in his hands and exhaling shakily, “Fuck. Heavy, Y’sore?”

You nodded slowly, lip between your teeth as his fingers gently roamed the expanse of your tits, curling around your nipples and gently tugging them. You hissed in momentary pain, the feeling mixing with pleasure and swirling in your belly like the soap around the drain. You didn’t have to look down to know that you were leaking, half embarrassed by the milk dripping from your nipples and half aroused at the situation. It didn’t seem to bother Peter in the slightest, a twisted grin cutting across his face as he tugged experimentally again.

For the second time, you felt milk dripping down your body and down the drain. It seemed to be exactly what Peter wanted to happen, as he hummed softly at you, “Gotta lot in there, Miss Y/L/N. Do you want help?”

“Help?” You tentatively questioned, looking up at him with wary eyes.

“Help,” He replied, voice cool and calm as he cupped his hands under the shower head, letting water pool in his palms before releasing it over your chest, rinsing the soap off of your skin. As soon as your tits were no longer covered in bubbles, he sunk to his knees, adjusting your posture slightly so that you were leaning forwards on the bench, his head between your breasts.

“How long has it been since you’ve pumped?” Peter queried, mouth hovering dangerously close to one of your swollen, leaking nipples.

“Um,” You stuttered, trying to get your brain into a coherent track of thoughts, “I dunno, Peter. Too long.” You finally gave up, shuddering as his breath came hot against your slick skin.

“I can tell,” He muttered, lips finally making contact with your breasts as he pressed soft kisses into the slippery flesh. He pointedly avoided your aching nipples, trailing a finger along the breast that he’d neglected to kiss.

You felt your eyes slip shut, breath leaving your lungs as his tongue came in contact with your tit. You felt him swirl it gently around your nipple, teeth gently prying at the skin, tugging and pulling and giving him a mouthful of milk. He hummed around your sore nipple, the vibrations sending a shock straight to your core.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed your milk, head hitting the tile behind you with a deep thunk.

“Fuck, Peter.”

He looked up at you with wide eyes at your language, lashes fluttering softly as he continued suckling on your breasts. The tit that wasn’t being sucked on was gently massaged in his other hand, nipple pinched between his slick fingers.

Your breathing was labored as Peter continued drinking from you, tongue bobbing lazily against the underside of your nipple as your breast began losing some of its weight and pressure.

The shower ran hot and stinging as he drained your tit, thumb rubbing against the nipple of the other that was still swollen and aching. His mouth made obscene squelching sounds as you felt him latch onto your breast, knees turning red against the hard tile as he drank.

Finally the milk stopped flowing freely from the breast that he’d been nursing from, his warm mouth slowly detaching from your skin and leaving it in the steamy air. Despite the hot water flowing all around you, the air was cold on your tit, your nipple missing the hot embrace of Peter’s mouth.

He switched to your other breast, smiling up at you softly as he took your nipple into his mouth. He drained the second just like the first, hands gently squeezing and kneading your slick skin, only making the milk flow faster. He swallowed mouthfuls and mouthfuls of your milk, adams apple bobbing with each audible gulp that you could hear come from his throat. Your hands came up somewhere in the middle of him draining your second tit, running gently through the wet, matted strands of hair that stuck to his scalp in the running water.

His eyes grew even droopier at the action, blissful smile breaking over his lips while they still wrapped tightly around your nipple. You felt the weight that had previously hunched your shoulders and strained your back slowly ebb away, released little by little with every mouthful that Peter sucked from you. You leaned back against the tile of the shower, back shockingly cold at the contact, and tit slipping from between Peter’s lips.

His eyes had been nearly closed before, but with the withdrawal of your breast from his pursed lips they shot wide open, filling with adorable confusion. He looked up at you worriedly, and you brandished the breast he’d been suckling on, gently offering him the leaking nipple once more, “Jus’ had to adjust, baby boy. Come on, y’can keep goin’.”

The nickname made a rose colored hue spread across his cheeks, but he grinned eagerly and reached for your tit with no remorse. Your nipple was instantly between his lips once more, back arching slightly off of the tile at the resumed contact.

You relished the feeling of the last bit of milk draining from your tits, though you weren’t prepared for the loss of stimulation that would come when Peter’s lips detached from your nipple.

Fortunately for you, even after Peter swallowed the final drops of milk, his lips stayed firmly wrapped around your breast, tongue still sliding over the underside of your nipple and suckling as if there was more for him to drain.

“That’s it, Peter,” You cooed, cupping his flushed cheek, “Y’did it. You’re such a good helper,” He brightened at the praise, “It’s all gone.”

He nodded from around your nipple, still never breaking the soft suction that he had around the sensitive bud. You tried gently pulling away but he wrapped his hands around your slippery tit, eyes pleading with you while his mouth parted slightly, “Lemme stay~”

“Only a little longer baby boy,” You sighed blissfully, brain reluctant to return to the outside world, “Baby’s gonna wake up soon.”

He nodded happily, hands now massaging the breast he was sucking on, gently tracing patterns into your flesh, droplets of water flowing down your skin. You were perfectly content to sit on the shelf for hours, only mildly concerned about the waste of water you were committing, when you heard a sharp whine come from the staticky radio atop the counter.

Both you and Peter sat up straight at the sound, your nipple slipping out from between his teeth and landing softly against your torso again. Peter scrambled to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up sympathetically at you.

“You relax, I’ll get her. And, um,” Peter smiled softly, “Let me know your pumping schedule, I’ll see if I can, well, help again.”

The suggestion had your cheeks heating up as a similar lovesick smile spread over your cheeks, “I will baby boy, thank you.”

He nodded bashfully, quickly toweling himself off and hastily tugging his clothes back on, running off to the nursery to attend to your daughter. You watched him move with a fond smile lingering on your lips, breasts now completely relieved of their aching pressure.