#peter king

Warnings: stalking, public dry humping, drunk reader, plus size!fem!Reader x Peter, biting, possessive tendencies, classical Peter, yandere, biting, the man that would not take no for an answer since in his head you are already married

This is embarassing, this is so fucking embarassing, Peter thinks to himself as he locks himself in the bathroom stall right next to yours. Awkwardly folds himself in the cramped space and tries not to think that you are right there. Next to him. With your pants down.

It would have been wonderful if he could just be normal and the “I am a fucking stalker” did not shine above his head like a super nova when he follows you to the bathroom and pretends to wash his hands for six minutes straight. 

In his defence, if you have stayed loyal to your routines and stayed at home like you always do, none of this would have happened.

But here you are in a mess of a bathroom of some dive bar looking like the hottest person this part of town has ever seen. 

And he is still a freak, that frantically tries to wash the blood off his hands and not listen too intently to the sound of you peeing. Again, if we are being completely fair, it was kind of your fault that the dumpster behind this place now houses a 5’9 body with multiple knife wounds. 

Peter knows that he hasn’t made the proper introduction yet, that he hasn’t even asked you for a date, of course he is aware of his own shortcomings. But you came out looking for some fun kind of trouble in a place where no one knows you. Asking for the wrong kind of attention. 

And as much as he wants to be the gentleman, he is not letting you experience it with some dirtbag. Not gonna happen, darling. 

Peter would like to say that he is sorry, but that would have been a lie and you know, trust is really important in relationships.

Honestly, that is the only thing that he managed to succeed in so far, since he can’t talk to you. 

He is not done rehearsing every possible answer since God forbid he stutters in front of you. Peter already sleeps in your closet, perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t add any more to how creepy he is.

But you are drunk and lonely, you don’t seem to care that the tall stranger tries to avoid catching your eye when he already did – your gaze heavy when he settles deeper in his dim lit corner.

Wonder that you even saw him after more than a couple of drinks with adrenaline and the urge to get in trouble running through your system when you get off the barstool and decide that you have to come to the man with beautiful blue eyes and anxious hands. Peter doesn’t remember his name or why he was even so worried in the first place, when you lean down and pull him in to kiss. Not a single idea on where to put his hands, when you sit on his lap and murmur “hey there” like an angel sent to him straight from heaven and he was so focused on not drooling in your mouth that he almost bit his own tongue.

Mid kiss.

That’s just his fucking luck.

Only you don’t seem to mind in the slightest, when you pull him closer and drag his cool dry palms under your sweater.

Right on the soft giving flesh of your sides, his fingers cushioning, when the man whose eyes you swear you saw before, groans and softly gropes a handful of you.

You, in his arms. You, in his lap. You, kissing him.

Warm, tender, vulnerable.

A single press of a knife and he’d gut you, spilling your guts all over the place and getting your pudgy open belly split in half.

But you huff out laughter, when Peter presses his nose to your cheek, tentatively squeezing your sides again and he feels like kissing you for the rest of his life.

You are ticklish. Fucking adorable.

“Could devour you right here.” he murmurs, pulling you closer – tasting the skin on your neck – licking the sweat and the loneliness off so there is nothing but him left on you. “Right on the table of this dump, darling. And you wouldn’t stop me, would you?”

His laughter clicks in your ears with the gravel you dropped in the spring as a kid, his smile scratching the beating vein on your neck when you squirm and Peter’s fingers slip under the waist of your jeans for a single moment. 

You don’t remember anything but his eyes when he curls one palm around the nape of yours and another around the curve of your hipbone so he can pull you down.

Leading you to move. To grind. To use him.

So he can be good to you, so you get off on him right then and there.

“No one’s looking, darling.’ Peter purrs in your ear when you still – presses a kiss to your neck, just to suck the hickey right above your collar. Won’t hide it now.

Peter smiles wider when you grip on his shoulders and breathe out shakily. Aw, are you feeling shy, darling? That’s cute.

“You came all the way here to have fun, did you not?” his lips meet yours, pulling you in the needy dazed haze, choking out the rational part of your mind, dragging you down from the perch you have been on all this time. The pedestal, that he made for you and from which he couldn’t get you back to the ground. 

To him.

You know what they say, darling, if you can’t raise hell – you’d need to bring heaven a little lower so a bastard like him can steal the prettiest angel they have to offer. “That’s cheesy.” you breath out in between kisses and Peter’s chuckle sends shivers down your thighs, your face uncomfortably hot. “Get used to it, darling, I’ve got a lot of cheesy one-liners for you.” he kisses the underside of your jaw, long fingers tightening around your nape so he can keep you in place when he kisses you again. And again. 

And again. 

        And again. 

               And again.

Until you are delirious with him and there is not a thing in your field of vision other than him – his spit mixing with yours when he licks the corner of your lips and grins only wider. 

Because like a good girl you are, you open your mouth for him and swallow when he spits in it. Perfect fucking darling, look at you, enjoying yourself with someone like him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have rehearsed how he’d ask you out all this time. Maybe he should have just bought you a few drinks and leaned close enough to crowd you in the corner of a booth. 

Maybe that would have done what he couldn’t all these months. 

“Come on, darling.” Peter breathes out, shudder running through him when you finally roll your hips into his and press your lips to his neck, hiding there. 

Pleasure curls around your spine and melts your joints, it spreads your legs wider so you can straddle the blue-eyed stranger with big hands better. So you can grind into him when he calls you “Good girl, darling. You are so good to me, you feel amazing.” He murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair – his hands still holding onto you in a way that should not feel that good. 

Like he can’t help himself but touch you, like your body drives him mad, like you on your own make this man dazed with longing for a little more. One more kiss, one more bite, one more grind against his thigh.

You look at him only once, suddenly self-conscious and shy, not sure whether or not you need to tell him that you aren’t like this. You don’t usually do this, you don’t usually dry hump the guy you just met in the dark corner of a bar in a part of town where no one would recognise you. 

That’s just…that’s just to let the steam off. 

Only the stranger still smiles at you like he knows it and kisses the corner of your mouth, breathing out “Relax, darling. I’ve got you.” and pulls you by the hips back down on his thigh.

No one will find out. No harm in that, right? 

Not like you will see this guy ever again and he is being so nice about the whole thing, and his hands make you dizzy when he rubs the axis of your spine, and he–

“Stop thinking.” Peter smiles in your ear and your hips move on their own, as he leads your face back to the crook of his neck, giving you the place to hide and the space to bite on him.

Lord, he hopes you will bite him. If it doesn’t work out, he will just get a tattoo in the shape of your bite.

Peter is all sharp corners – more bone than anything, really – all angles and no grace, coarse corners and hands so greedy you would think he has waited a lifetime for this chance. 

A kingdom for the kiss, was it?

Your hips move and it’s nothing like porn, nothing like stories or the performance you feel obliged to give to people you bring home on occasion. 

But the stranger groans “darling, please” in your ear and you move, forgetting about everything. 

Needy and hungry, taking everything from him, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the noise when his lips graze your temple – half-worship and half-apology before his palms mercilessly push you down so the erection straining his jeans would rub between your legs. “Just like that. Use me, make yourself feel good, you know I’m all yours”, he coos like it’s supposed to mean something, like it does mean something to him and your eyes burn. 

This is dirty and weird and too close-too hot-too much and so much more personal than a simple fuck in a dim lit dive bar was supposed to be. 

Only he gropes your ass and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue, effectively shutting your brain off. 

Only Peter fondles the soft sensitive parts of you and helps you get off on him right there in public like this is normal, like he doesn’t even care.

Peter licks into your mouth to swallow down your muffled whines and moves your hips back and forth like you weight nothing to him, like this is something he happens to do frequently to stray trouble makers that come to his dark corners and kiss him like they mean it. 

Peter bites your lip and smiles when you kiss, pressing you closer to his thigh, drinking in the expression you make when the orgasm hits you and your spine rounds – your hips grounding on him even after, like you just can’t help it and can’t get enough of him. 

You really are spoiling him today, darling. You shouldn’t have. 

Peter kisses the taste of cocktail off your lips and squeezes himself through the crack in your armour, smiling when he drops off you and watches you walk back to your apartment on shaky legs. 

Good thing you are this tipsy. Otherwise you would ask how come he knows where you live. 

But it doesn’t matter, right? Just a night full of fun and bad choices with the guy who was so nice about it.

With the guy who got you off in the middle of the bar, paid for your drinks and dropped you off at home, kissing you like it meant something. Like you were supposed to get the hint. 

You half expect him to show up at your apartment again, maybe leave a note or something, perhaps try to ask you out. Though it doesn’t happen. 

It shouldn’t happen, all things considered, that would be asking for a lot of trouble to meet up with the guy like him again. But honestly, what did you expect to happen? 

That the stranger with big blue eyes and nice smile was going to stalk you? That’s just silly, you say to yourself and swear there is a chuckle when you repeat it out loud. 

Absolutely ridiculous, this is why Lucy tells you to quit your second job and get some more sleep.

You don’t see the stranger the next day or the day after. Neither do you see him during the week, yet, there is the nagging feeling of a palm curled around your nape – a coarse-padded thumb rubbing the axis of your spine. 

The way people would pet anxious pets when they tell them to settle. 

It didn’t mean anything, you repeat to yourself, shaking your head at the phantom heat of his breath between your legs. It was just a night out. Just an adventure. 

Just a guy. 

You should just move on at this point, you mumble to yourself in the dark of the room and the hickey on the side of your neck just burns hotter. 

Only when you open your afternoon shift at a diner the next week, he is there – in the corner of the furthest booth, settled in the dimly lit corner.

Exactly the same as before, like the universe cut hip out of the cardboard and painted in blue and black just for you. 

Blue-eyed and a little awkward, sharp corners of his happy smile full of teeth that you know exactly how would feel on the inner side of your wrist. 

The stranger smiles at you even wider when you wobble closer and the phantom hand around your nape finally closes fully, collaring you. 

“Hey there, darling.” The stranger smiles at you and tilts his head to the side in the same way snakes do before swallowing their prey whole, “Can I take you out for dinner?”

"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE SEEN IT"