#peter parker reader insert fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nouearth · 1 year ago

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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agreeewrites · 18 days ago

Note

Charlie doing that 'a boy who's jacked and kind' trend but gets distracted having y/n on his shoulder and ends up flipping her over and eating her out while the camera still rolls.

tysm for the request love!! hope you enjoy 🫶

pair with: Charlie Weasley, James Potter, George Weasley, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, or whoever you want! (MDNI 18+)

a boy who's jacked and kind...

...can't find his ass to save my life.

You took a few steps back from your carefully arranged phone, ensuring your image in the frame was centered and the space around you didn't look too cluttered. You adjusted your sundress a little, dismissing the fleeting thought that maybe it was too short.

“Babe!” You called, and your boyfriend, always eager and with the recall of well-trained golden retriever, popped his head into the room.

“You called, love? Wait--are you recording?” He immediately clocked the angled phone, a smirk sharpening his sweet smile.

“Would you maybe want to try a trend with me?” You asked, batting your lashes. “You know that Sabrina Carpenter album I've been listening too?”

“With the coffee song?” He crossed the room, still hovering just outside of the cameras scope, clearly suspicious. “I'm working laaaaate, ‘cuz I'm a sinner—or something?”

“Singer,” you corrected, giggling. As if you haven't overheard him singing that very song on repeat in the shower. “There's a Tiktok trend going around for another one of her songs."

“And what exactly does this trend involve?” He asked, eyes skirting down your body, the stretch of your bare legs with open appreciation.

“It's this one lyric, ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’, and one partner lifts the other onto their shoulder, like—hey!”

He swooped in mid-sentence, scooping you around the middle and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Broad shoulder digging into your guts, driving the air from your lungs. Not that there was much air to lose—his strength always left you a little breathless.

“Like this?” He asked, bouncing you a little.

You couldn't see his expression, but you could hear the smug ass smile on his face.

“No! No,” you huffed. “I'm supposed to sit on your shoulder.”

“Really? I kind of like this.” His hand crept up the back of your bare leg, kneading the softness of your thighs before swatting your ass. “We can just do this, I'll let you keep recording—”

“Hey! Put me down and focus.” You squirmed until he set you down, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

“Alright, alright. So I lift you up onto my shoulder so your sitting right here?” He patted the bulge of his trap. “For what reason, exactly?”

“To show the whole world how jacked and kind you are,” you replied, pecking his cheek, stroking his ego just enough to push him over the edge.

“Well, I do like that…let's do it.”

You squealed with excitement, kissing him again before rushing to start the recording.

🎶 A boy who’s jacked and kind…can't find his ass to save my life.

Three tries later, he finally got you up onto his shoulder at the exact right moment, making it look borderline effortless, the cheeky grin on his face lighting up the frame while he flexed his drool-worthy bicep.

Hm, maybe you shouldn't post this. He was so hot, this was turning into a bonafide thirst-trap—

“Yay! That was perfect, now you can—woah! What are you—”

He grabbed your thigh and lifted it over his head, shifting you so you were facing him, your thighs and pelvis practically smothering him, and you squeaked in surprise.

“Shh, honey,” he soothed, hucking you up another inch to nuzzle against your blooming heat, barely covered by the thin mesh of your panties. “You know I won't drop you.”

“But the camera—”

Something rumbled in his chest, a pleased sort of purr that had your toes curling against his back. “You wanted to put on a show, pretty girl.” He backed you against the wall, your head damn near brushing the ceiling, and laved his tongue over you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, fisting his hair and resisting the cloying urge to squirm. You glanced at the camera, unsure of what you were hoping for, and saw that you were still very much in the shot, the red circle still glowing as it recorded everything. The realization sent a fresh curl of desire slithering down your spine, leaking out between your legs and into his seeking mouth.

“Good girl, stay just like that,” he murmured against you, a flick of his tongue sending your mind reeling. The heady thrum of your heart found harmony with his movements, symphonic, pleasure cresting higher and higher with every press, every pull.

The sound of your own cries echoed around your head, amplified by the proximity of the ceiling, and a distant part of you wondered if you'd sound pretty in the video.

His grip was bruising on your thighs, but he didn't shake, didn't tremble, solid as a statue beneath you. Resolute in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Jacked and kind, indeed.

He gasped when you yanked particularly hard on his hair, but instead of pulling back, he buried himself deeper, tipping into a ravenous frenzy.

“Fuck, I'm gonna—fuck, fuck!” Your pleasure ballooned, then burst, bliss scattering like glitter under your skin, sparkling and ephemeral and everywhere.

Relentless, and undoubtedly self-indulgent, he continued to lap at you, groaning in the back of his throat when you shuddered and twitched. No longer having the strength to hold yourself still.

Carefully, he lowered you back to the ground, dress bunching between your bodies, and kissed his way up until he finally caught your lips. Sticky and sweetened with your honey, you sighed against his mouth, clutching those heroic shoulders to keep yourself upright.

He glanced over at the camera, then smirked down at you. “You know, we could make a lot of money if we posted that somewhere other than TikTok—”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine.”

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spideykuri · 28 days ago

Text

#1 You Right. ⊹♡

Warnings- MDNI | Smut 18+ Andrew!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader, no plot, straight smut, more like a blurb, oral sex; giving, pet names Summary; Cuddling turns into something else realll quickly, especially with Peter.

Notes; I literally am so down bad for him, it's awful. This is just a first post type of thing. I had to shorten it.. I wrote this in my notes app, I'm calling this series the notes app edition. Hope you all enjoy! (I'm terrible at making tags so apologies that I missed some.) 502 wc! Pretty short.

Touching sometimes becomes too much, especially for you. At first, this was just a simple cuddle time; you were just drawing and peter was behind you making sure you were comfortable, that’s all.

Now, you’re on your knees taking his length like the little slut you are for him. Fuck.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby girl.” He tossed his head back in completely ecstasy.

You’re swirling your tongue around his tip so gently, stroking his length gradually. Never wanting to disappoint him, you take him in your mouth once more, continuing to swirl your tongue and you bob your head up and down at a leisurely pace.

Peter erupted a moan from his throat. “Such a sweet girl.. Keep going for me.” He breathes out.

Your free hand reaches for his balls to give extra stimulation. As you tug and pull on them, you decide to take his length deep inside your throat, choking on it slightly.

Peter’s hips thrust up, causing you to choke more. “Oh, my sweet baby. You’re doing so well.”

His large hands wrap around the sides of your head to hold it in place as he fucks your throat mercilessly, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes.

You can feel his veins pulsing on your tongue, he’s about to cum. At that moment, he pulls out. Mouth wide and eyes blown, you have this pouty look on your face.

“You wanted more, didn’t you sweetheart?” He says mockingly. You whine in desperation, the growing ache between your thighs doesn’t have time for waiting. Peter knows how much you need him, he can smell your arousal. It’s such a strong scent.

Peter’s face is painted with a smirk, eyes dark and low. He picks you up and places you on his lap, your beautiful tits in his face, his cock leaking pre-cum, right in front of your soaked cunt.

Looking up at you, Peter captures your swollen nipple in this mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Coaxed moans fall from your lips, the sounds you make he will never get tired of hearing. Releasing your right tit, he moves onto the left, swirling and sucking on it roughly, straining more moans out of you.

Peter reaches down to play with your clit, the action pulling moans and whines from your throat. You can barely keep still anymore, Peter’s cock right in front of your soaked cunt.

“Pete- I- Please- fuck me. I’m begging you..” The most strained begging you’ve ever done. Peter knows you so well, it’s sickening.

“You want me inside of you baby? Mmm. You sure?” Peter cooes at you. This is just adorable to him, already at edge and you haven’t even came once.

You nod quickly, Peter clicks his tongue.

“Oh, babydoll. You’re going to have to do better than that.” Peter pecks your lips before dipping his head into your neck to kiss it causing you to whimper in need. This is going to be a long night.

#andrew!peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker smut #andrew!peter parker smut #tasm peter x reader #spiderman smut #the amazing spiderman smut #peter parker smut #peter parker x fem reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #reader insert

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creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months ago

Text

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 6

Summary: Reader goes to a stark party to meet some new people.

TW: Drinking, parties (ew), minor blood

Words: 2k

A/n Sorry for the late update my life is chaos.

Looking around at all the people you felt yourself beginning to feel a little insecure. You could pick out most of the people in the room from the TV alone. These weren’t just your average everyday people, these were superhero’s. And despite having powers yourself you still felt like you didn’t belong among legends.

Without realising it you had popped out your fangs, a small habit that displayed your nerves. You did realise it when it nicked your tongue. The coppery taste of blood in your mouth for a second before it healed.

Starting to feel a little overwhelmed Wanda placed a hand on your arm. Her touch was grounding and you were slowly being pulled back out of your own head and back to the party.

“It’s alright if it’s a bit much. It was for my first time as well. Are you ok?” Wanda said quietly to you.

You swallowed and nodded. “I’m alright. Just gimme a sec.”

Steeling your nerves and swallowing down your anxiety you stood a little taller and nodded to Wanda who was silently observing you.

After giving you a moment to adjust Wanda begun shepherding you over to a small group of people. Seemingly taking it upon herself to introduce you to people knowing if it was up to you, you would stay in the corner all night.

Before you had even realised Natasha had left your side she was handing you a drink with a cute little umbrella.

“I figure you liked it a bit fruity.” She said with a wink and your cheeks heated under the glare you shot her as she sipped her vodka martini.

As you arrived in front of the group Wanda seemed to want to introduce you to first, you took a sip of the drink, finding it to be rather good.

Looking around the group Wanda begun introducing you to it was an odd bunch.

“Y/n,” Wanda begun, gesturing to a tall blonde woman in a leather jacket. “This is Carol, or captain Marvel.” Wanda said with a teasing tone as carol rolled her eyes.

“Hi.” You said and Carol smiled warmly at you.

“Nice to meet you Y/n.” Carol said extending a hand which you took. She had a firm handshake and warm but not sweaty hands. The kind but mischievous twinkle in her eyes promised a fun kind of trouble.

“This old man is Nick Fury.” Natasha said clapping a hand on the back of a dark-skinned man with an eyepatch.

“Watch yourself Romanoff.” He said but Nat just smirked. “Nice to meet you kid.” He said extending a hand. After shaking his hand Natasha introduced you to the last person in the group.

“This is Agent Maria Hill.” Nat said elbowing her in the ribs and receiving a heatless glare in response.

“Nice to meet you.” She said giving a welcoming nod to you which you returned.

“So I hear you’re the newest spider in town?” Carol asks smiling at you as she took a swig of her beer.

“Uhhh … yeah.” You said rubbing the back of your neck.

“No need to be so nervous kid, we don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” Carol winked and you smiled back shyly not realising your fangs were out.

“Wow kid. Nice teeth.” Carol said. “Is that a spider thing?” She said looking curious.

“Yeah.” You said putting them away again.

“That’s pretty cool.” Carol said.

“We’re lucky she doesn’t bite.” Wanda said teasingly.

“I dunno,” Nat said rejoining the group with Maria. “I’d let her bite me.” She said with a wink and you choked on the sip you had just taken of your drink.

Coughing as Nat burst out laughing, Wanda pounded your back while Maria was lecturing Natasha in an amused fashion. Carol simply watched with a grin which matched Nats despite being told off.

Fury simply watched with his upper lip twitching as if it wanted to smile but wasn’t allowed which would probably have some level of accuracy to it.

When you regained your composure and your voice, your cheeks were stained with a dark blush.

“So, are you an avenger now kid?” Carol asked.

“I’m not sure.” You said.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to Stark and Rogers about that one.” Fury said looking at you for a reaction. You simply blinked looking at him and only looking away when you realised, he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Either way, welcome to our little bunch. If you ever need anything or just to escape the compound of chaos, give me a call.” Carol said and Maria agreed.

“I’ve only ever seen Nat take a liking to something this fast once before and that was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Maria said receiving a punch from Nat in the arm replying only with a smirk.

“So, how’d the whole spider thing happen?” Carol asked looking curious.

“I should have said this is y/n Parker.” Wanda said emphasising your last name.

“Like Peter Parker?” Carol asked.

“My little brother.” You clarified with a nod.

“So does being part spider run in the family or did you both do a deal with Satan?” Maria asks and you laughed feeling a bit less anxious now the vibe had changed and there was some alcohol in your blood.

“Peter and I both ended up on the field trip where he got his powers. I was chaperoning and he was … being Peter. Anyways Parker luck and we both got bit by the dumb spider.” You said.

“So you’ve just been keeping a low profile since?” Maria asked.

“Yeah. Something like that. I mean I would take Peter’s old suits for a spin when I could but not too often. Our powers differ a little so I had to play the part and not do some things he couldn’t.” You shrugged sipping your drink again.

“Well it sounds like your well adjusted to it all.” Carol complimented.

You snorted in response. “Adjusted, maybe. Cursed, definitely. What can I say Parker luck is real. I almost got it tattooed once.” You said shrugging.

“Well, it’s been great to see you all again, but I need to take y/n to make the rounds. Learn some new names and see some fresh faces.” Wanda said saying goodbye before dragging you away with her hand clasped tightly around your own.

Natasha lingered with her friends for a little longer while wanda and you were swallowed up into another small group as wanda didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many people at once.

When she came to a stop you were stood in front of a few couches with various familiar faces lounging around talking and laughing.

“Hi honey.” A voice said and you looked over to the blue couch to see Aunt May sat next to Pepper, both holding a glass of white wine.

“Hi Aunt May.” You said feeling a little more comfortable with her around. She always made you feel safe.

“You look amazing sweetheart.” May said.

“I love the dress.” Pepper pitched in and you nodded thanking her.

Pepper patted the seat next to her and you slid into the spot beside her as Natasha appeared from nowhere and handed you a new drink, taking the glass you hadn’t realised was empty.

“Fruity.” Natasha whispered in your ear but this time you swatted her as she disappeared laughing to get herself another drink.

“How many of those have you had?” May asked.

“Not nearly enough to be drunk with my metabolism.” You said rolling your eyes.

“You your brother will drink me out of house and home, and I already feed four enhanced people with the metabolism of fifteen people.” Tony said rolling his eyes.

“Be nice Tony. Plus, Peter can’t even drink yet.” Pepper said swatting his arm.

“Oh right. Yeah, that kids never touching alcohol. I watched him trip over his own feet too many times in the past week to count. I can’t imagine he would be able to even stand if he ever got drunk.” Tony said shaking his head at the idea making you and May laugh.

“Im afraid they both are clumsy.” May said and you groaned scrubbing a hand over your face.

“Really?” Wanda asked her curiosity peaked. “Any good stories?” She asked with a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Oh, too many to count.” May said laughing and waving a hand to indicate how many.

“Please enlighten us.” Clint said seemingly having appeared from nowhere and plopping himself down on the couch opposite pepper and may. He slung an arm around Tony who promptly shoved him off.

“Personal space birdbrain.” Tony grumbled. “But please, do spill.” He said ignoring pepper protective glare he was receiving.

“Oh, I don’t know…” May said glancing at you as you shook your head pleading with her to drop it. “What about just the flip trip one?” She asked and you swallowed pausing for a second before nodding.

“Fine.” You grumbled as Clint and Tony cheered.

“Whats got feathers and grease monkey so happy?” Nat said sitting down next to Clint.

“Story-time about the Parker’s.” Stark said. “More importantly … embarrassing story time.” He clarified and nat looked at you with a raised brow as you just shook your head and slumped over to bury your face in Wanda’s neck. The alcohol making you slightly more confident and comfortable around them.

“Alright. Well as long as I can recall they have both been clumsy. But there was one time after the spider-bite that their spider sense made it even more interesting. Peter was going into their room and Y/n was heading to the living room. They both must have sensed it because peter tripped over his own feet and before he could land flat on his face, he did a front flip and landed in a crouch with one hand on the ground. Y/n would have been in his way, but she had hopped up and stuck to the ceiling. So, she was hanging on by her fingertips and peter was standing back up as she let go of the roof and fell on top of him.” May said with a chuckle.

Tony’s face was lit up like a kid on Christmas. Pepper was stifling a smile and Nat had snorted into her drink. Wanda was trembling slightly under you as her body shook with suppressed giggles as her hand glided softly through your hair as your face was still buried in her neck hiding.

Clint whistled lowly. “Impressive … yet also not.” He said chuckling to himself.

“ok enough of that.” You whined and May smiled at you softly.

“Alright honey. How about pepper tells us some stories about stark.” May said sharing a mischievous smirk with pepper who immediately grinned at stark who grumbled to himself about betrayal.

As pepper launched into a story about the time the great Tony stark had turned up to a meeting sans pants, May pulled you aside.

“You haven’t told them have you?” She said in a low whisper.

“Told them what?” You mumbled looking at your shoes.

“Come on Y/n. I know its different now but he’s not just your brother. I know it hurts but he’s still your-“

“I know.” You said cutting May off before she could finish and say the word that brought pain to your very soul. “But he’s not May. Not anymore … its different. I had to live without him for five years. It changes you. It changed me.“ you mumbled wishing you had grabbed your drink before this impromptu sidebar.

“They’ll see your file eventually, they will connect the dots. It would be better coming from the two of you if you told them yourselves.” May said taking on a sad almost worried voice.

“I’ll talk to Petey about it.” You said and she rubbed a hand up and down your bicep and offered as small smile.

“Good.” May said before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As the two of you rejoined the group your eyes had a little less of a glint in them. The pain still raw from things you didn’t want to remember.

The battle against Thanos had been somewhat of a sore subject around the tower and you didn’t want to bring up the avengers failure.

The rest of the party was smooth sailing as things began to die down.

@tia-thesimp @lizzielillvr @leenasayeed @justarandomreaderxoxo @sycamorelibrary754 @dorabledewdroop @redwolfqueen19 @sadlesbeansstuff @idkwhatever580

Part 7

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joonie-beanie · 2 years ago

Text

Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends.

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals.

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around.

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants.

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to.

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like.

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off.

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh.

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons.

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go.

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is!

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode.

So…he goes snooping.

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything.

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”.

Hi there!

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling.

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door.

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway.

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word.

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet.

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that��especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction.

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water.

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move.

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you.

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it.

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back.

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed.

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting.

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving.

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants.

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves.

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers.

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

��My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him.

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face.

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you.

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him.

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!”

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot.

But…you like him.

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker smut #peter b parker #i can't believe I'm posting this on tumblr #immediately going back to only posting on AO3 bc it's so much easier to format LMAO #fic #reader insert #reader x peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n

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headkiss · 2 years ago

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Peter standing up as a groomsmen for someone's wedding and he sees reader in the audience tearing up and he mouthes I love you to her 😭🫶🏾🥺

peter is such a loverboy </333 thank u for requesting this is a short and sweet one!

Weddings have always made you emotional. They’re a beautiful thing, especially when they’re people you know.

And somehow, now that you’re in love yourself, they get you even more. Peter stands on the groom's side, his suit crisp and hugging him perfectly. He looks as pretty as ever.

You’re sitting a couple of rows back with the rest of the guests, and though you’re meant to be watching the couple that’s saying their vows right then, your eyes keep flicking over to Peter.

Listening to the words the couple says, the happiness and the watery laughs, your eyes well up pretty quick. As if he can sense it, Peter’s eyes meet yours in the crowd, and he huffs a small laugh when he notices you trying to fan away your tears.

He shakes his head at you with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Looking at him up there, it makes everything even more special. Because you know what it’s like to love someone that way. To want to shout it out to anyone who’s listening. To know that you’re loved the exact same way.

Peter’s done that for you.

You wipe the first tear that falls down your cheek quickly, glancing up to the sky to try and reign it in. When you look back, Peter’s still looking at you.

‘Stop,’ you mouth at him, like he’s the one making you cry these tears of joy and overwhelming emotion.

He just shakes his head again. Then, his lips move, shaping the words ‘I love you.’

Just like that, as the couple says they do and you mouth the three words right back to Peter, another tear falls down your cheek.

When the couple walks down the aisle, hands clasped and smiles stretching their faces, you stand with the crowd, clapping for them. Peter finds you quickly, pulling the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbing your tears away for you.

“You’re a wedding crier,” he says, a hand pinching your chin gently to keep your face tilted to his, the other wiping away the small mascara smudges under your eyes.

“I can't help it. It’s so sweet.”

He dips down to kiss your cheek, then your mouth. It’s quick but it tells you enough.

“I love you, bug. Wedding tears and all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you push his hair off his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Yeah, it’s nice to be loved enough that you’d never question it, that the words come easier each time.

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hanasnx · 9 months ago

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“ DO YOU REMEMBER HOW IT FELT WHEN I TOUCHED YOU? ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: nsfw link inspo. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | explicit sexual content.

PETER PARKER messes up a lot. He knows he does. He knows you’re constantly about to sit him down for a serious talk regarding your relationship with him. Maybe he’s not spending enough time with you, or when he does spend time with you he’s suspiciously absent-minded, or maybe he’s not dividing any of his priorities evenly—but he knows you’re sick of it. You try to be strong, he can see it in your eyes, but the sag in your shoulders and the sigh in your voice tells him everything else. However, even if he screws up constantly, he knows there’s one thing he can get right.

“Oh, Peter!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His tongue swipes back and forth against your clit, the first stimulation the neglected thing has had in so long. It’s extra sensitive tonight, and he almost can’t believe his stroke of good luck—almost. It’s not like he’d blame you for saying no to this, letting him get you on your back and kneel at the foot of the bed to stick his head between your legs. From the sound of your feather-light voice, he can tell you need this. It takes up some brain space to scold himself for not doing this to you sooner. “Pete- Pete, keep going—please.” you plea, writhing languidly in the mess of sheets. He clears his cloudy mind.

“Right, sorry.” he speaks against you, and his soft slippery lips caress your excited bud in a way that has you arching your back. Hot breath fans you as he flattens his tongue, licking up a long stripe and leaving a wet trail in its wake. You cry out sharply when the tip of it flicks up your little clit, making it ache in asking for more. Obediently, he reintroduces his fingers to the mix, leaning to the side as he wetly makes out with your bud, and the rough pads of his two digits draw up your slit. It feels raw from sensitivity, and yet your hips chase more stimulation, mewling for a deeper penetration than what the length of his tongue can provide. He doesn’t speak again, he lets his actions do the talking, gaze flickering up at you in the low light every so often to gauge your reactions. You’ve since thrown up your arms, keeping them out of his way, laying your hands next to your head. The lighting compliments your every curve and dip, nipples perked up and pebbled, your lips molded into whatever shape they need to take to keep those pretty sounds spilling out of you.

You look like an angel. How do you even put up with him? he asks himself. Maybe whatever he’s doing now has something to do with it, you seem to like it. “Peter…” you sigh, and once he knows you’re loose enough, he pushes his two fingers in a knuckle without any friction.

“Baby, you’re so wet.” he tells you proudly, planting a sweet kiss onto your clit to which you loudly moan in reply. He keeps pushing, another knuckle, one more, two fingers seated inside you and you’re bucking your hips trying to get them in even deeper. Your legs suspended in air begin to tremble as he pulls out and goes in again, this time adding a curl at the end of his descent so his fingertips stroke at that spongy spot inside you. Incoherent babblings mixed with the sound of his name pour out of you, followed closely by the sodden symphony of your pussy getting finger-fucked. Gradually, he speeds up his pace, sucking on your clit as pistons his arm in very particular way, ensuring he hits that spot inside you every time.

A curious arm of his curls around one of your thighs, his free hand laying over your chest to cup your tit, pinching your nip between his thumb and index experimentally. You grow more pitchy, trying to move your body with his stimulations, unable to keep still. He’s not going to keep you waiting any longer than you already have, he’s fucking the cum out of you now. He adds another finger, this time he feels the stretch but you clearly don’t care about the sting—in fact you welcome it. You’re loud, howling throughout the room unapologetically while he screws your pretty pussy into raw and puffy oblivion. His tongue rolls around your clit, three fingers drilling your g-spot, that coil in your tummy impossibly taut. Don’t need to tell him you’re close, he’s able to tell just from your body movements getting more and more erratic. Your hole pulses around him, and the coil snaps. Spurting out creamy white to spatter the bed and his hand. It oozes as he slows down. You gasp, convulsing, and very gently he places another kiss on your raw clit, exiting his fingers from your constricted hole with caution. “You did so good, baby, you want another one?”

#1k #indy: drabbles #ch: peter #peter parker drabble #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #spider-man smut #spider man smut #spiderman smut #reader insert

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moonstruckme · 1 month ago

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MAAAAEEEEE I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker fic where he just kind of adopts shy!reader without her consent like “yeah we’re friends now, we spend time together and also we’re probably gonna fall in love and date but why don’t we just start with me walking you home from class” or some such nonsense. Also wondering if you could keep his spidey-powers; I love that little mutant freak

I hate you for doing this to me

Ugh our mutant freak <3 Thanks for the request babe!

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!reader ♡ 920 words

You’re never alone on the way home from class anymore. You’re not sure what changed at the start of the spring semester, if you just started putting out helpless-pedestrian energy or if it was something else, but soon after the start of classes your walks home from your night class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday began being accompanied by none other than Spider-Man. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s Peter.

You and Peter have molecular biology together. On the first day of class, he rushed in just as your professor started lecturing. Every seat was full except the one next to you, and when you offered it to him silently with a nod of your head, Peter looked so relieved you’d think you handed him an A in the class. He’s been glommed onto your ever since; some days he asks you to stop for coffee after class, some days he offers to study with you in the library, and he always walks you home. You don’t know what you did to deserve the company, but you appreciate it.

“You ever been there?” Peter asks, nodding to a stand advertising New York City’s Best Vegan Hot-Dogs.

“No,” you say.

“Well, seems like we’ve gotta try them at some point. I mean, they’re the best in New York.”

A smile tugs at your lips. Peter’s always doing that. Making plans, saying we. It’s like the idea of you two hanging out beyond the end of your class is a foregone conclusion in his head. You haven’t been able to figure out if that’s just the way Peter talks or if he means it. You hope it’s the latter.

“You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says with affected certainty. “I mean, why would you doubt the sign? Everyone knows you have to get things like that certified.”

You glance up at Peter, but one look into his smiling eyes is too much for you. You have to turn your face away. “I’m pretty sure there are three #1 Indian Restaurants in my neighborhood.”

“Oof. Must make for some brutal decisions when you’re craving Indian.”

Two weeks ago, you offered to buy Spider-Man dinner for walking you home. It was stupid—he can’t eat through the mask, which he told you kindly and which you could have figured out if you thought about it for more than a second before opening your mouth—but you were feeling guilty about stopping to pick up takeout and indebted for all the time he spends walking you home instead of preventing mob activity or whatever Spider-Man does. He professed, upon smelling your takeout, that Indian food is one of his favorites, too.

You haven’t told Peter about your vigilante escort. Spider-Man never comes to you while Peter’s around—presumably because you don’t need his help if you’ve already got a companion—and it’s the sort of ridiculous story you know will sound made up out loud. Why do you know that Spider-Man likes matar paneer? What makes you so special? They’re unanswerable questions, and you’d never be able to look at Peter again if he laughed at you.

“Hey.” Peter bumps your hip with his. You go stiff at the contact. “You okay?”

“Hm?” You look up, and he’s watching you with concern. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You seem a little quiet,” he says. And when your face heats, “Well, quieter than usual.”

“Sorry,” you say again, embarrassed. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Oh, yeah? Class was a long one, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.” Peter sounds disappointed. You blink at him in confusion, and he almost winces. “I don’t suppose…I mean, if you just want to get home I get that, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab food? With me?”

Your steps stutter. It’s not that you and Peter have never hung out before. Or even that all the time you’ve spent together centers wholly around class—there have been coffees, chats in the hallway, walks in the park near your university building—but it’s something about the way he asks, like it’s important this time, like it means something. You want for it to mean something.

“I could still grab food.” You’re not quite looking at him, fiddling with the contents of your jacket pocket. Popping the lid to your chapstick on and off.

“Yeah?” Peter asks hopefully.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

His voice softens, a smile in it. “Could you look at me, maybe?”

You glance up, regretting it instantly as always. Peter is resplendent. Dimples framing his smile like parenthesis, hair mussed by the wind that beats at you while crossing every street, he’s the sort of handsome that’s only just starting to figure out how handsome he is. You think you probably make it easier for him. To figure it out.

“Do you really want to,” he asks in a sincere tone, “or are you just appeasing me? If you’re tired I can take you straight to your place.”

Your heart thudders. If you have to look at him for much longer you worry you’ll melt into the cracks of the pavement. “I want to,” you say. “I’m sort of hungry, too.”

“Okay, awesome.” He sounds happy again. You think if you were lucky, that’d be the only thing you were put on Earth to do, make Peter happy. “Maybe we could try one of those Indian places near yours? See who’s really number one.”

“Sure.” You smile up at him, brain buzzing when Peter beams back.

“Sick! I could really go for some matar paneer.”

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flightlessangelwings · 6 months ago

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FawKtober2024 Part 3- Tasm!Peter Parker

Tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Kinks- romantic sex, pegging, cunnilingus

Word count- 1723

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), anal (m receiving), soft sex, oral (f receiving), romance, established relationship, strap/dildo, fluff, light slapping, playfulness, pet names, no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- Honestly, I can't believe I haven't written a pegging Peter fic yet lol so why not use kinkotber this year to fix that! Peter is always so fun to write and I"m really happy with how this turned out! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post!

“I like this view, Peter,” you smirked from behind him as you tightened the harness on your hip.

Peter wiggled his hips from where he sat perched in front of you on his hands and knees, “I bet you do, sweetheart,” he turned to look over his shoulder and gave you a wink and a sly smile.

Your face lit up as you laughed with him while you ran your hand across his ass, “You ready, baby?” you purred as you gave him a squeeze.

He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed down your figure to the strap that sat comfortably nestled on your hips. Licking his lips eagerly, Peter nodded, “Ready,” he breathed.

Without warming, you reeled your hand back and landed a slap on his ass, making him yelp in surprise. It quickly turned into a moan as you slapped him again and grabbed his cheek hard, kneading it under your palm, “You like that, Pete?” your tone dropped as you poked your finger at his entrance.

“Yeah,” he whispered as he dropped his head down onto the mattress, burying his face in the blankets and leaving his hips up in the air for you.

“Good boy,” you murmured as you sat mesmerized by him. Lazily, you pushed a finger into Peter, and your pussy clenched as he let out a low moan. “You wore the plug like I asked you to,” you commented, noticing how easily your finger pushed past his muscles, “Good boy,” you repeated your praise as you thrust your finger in deeper.

“Mmmm,” Peter moaned as he lost himself in your touch, “All ready for you, babe,” he quipped once he was able to form an actual thought.

You pulled your finger out and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his ass where you slapped it. While you nibbled on his sensitive skin, you reached to where you placed the bottle of lube and thoroughly coated your strap with it before tossing it aside.

“Relax, Peter,” you cooed, “I’ve got you today,” you murmured words of encouragement as you lined yourself up with his entrance.

Peter groaned your name as he left the stretch of the tip of your strap slowly pushed into him. “Fuck!” he cried out as he felt the thickness inside of him, even thicker than the plug he kept in him to prepare for you tonight.

“Feeling good, Pete?” you asked in a soothing voice as you ran your hands up and down his spine, devouring the goosebumps that erupted all along his back.

“So fuckin’ good,” he couldn’t help the sultry tone as he pushed his hips back to meet your body.

“Fuck, Peter,” you groaned as you watched the rest of the strap disappear inside him.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled in between incoherent babbling, “Please move.”

You let out an obscene sound from deep in your chest at the way he begged for you. And you couldn’t deny him whatever he wanted. Rocking your hips back, you heard a squelch as the strap reappeared, only to disappear again when you thrust forward. Both of you moaned as you started a slow and steady rhythm, rocking into him over and over again like how he did with you.

Grabbing his hips, you couldn’t help but pick up your pace. Encouraged by his moans and string of curses under his breath, you thrust a little harder, testing to see his reaction.

“Feels so good,” Peter muttered as sweat made his hair stick to his forehead.

“You’re taking me so good, Pete,” you murmured praise as you leaned forward and placed a trail of kisses along his spine where your fingers just touched.

“You’re fucking me so good, sweetheart.”

With those words, you thrust yourself as far forward as you could, burying your strap as deep as possible inside Peter. You wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close as you savored the moment. And Peter released his grip on the blankets to hold onto your hand in response, giving it a tight squeeze.

“I love you,” Peter whispered.

You smiled against his body as you placed another soft kiss, “I love you too, Peter.”

Letting go of his hand, you started your thrusts again, this time with more determination. You were faster, harder, and your hand snaked down his stomach to wrap around his cock. Peter cried out loudly as you suddenly moved faster, almost overwhelming him with how good you felt.

“Fuck! Sweetheart!” he screamed as his body burned with desire, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Let me see how beautiful you are when you cum, Pete,” you huffed as you started to feel your muscles burn with how much your hips thrust back and forth.

Pumping his cock in time with your thrusts as best as you could, you could tell he was close. The way he moaned and groaned and murmured your name over and over told you he was about to go over the edge. And you would be there to catch him this time.

“That’s it, Peter,” you cooed, “You’re taking me so good.”

All he could do was babble incoherently as his arms and legs started to tremble as pure bliss coursed through his veins. Your words of encouragement were all he needed for his climax to take over his body and with a loud cry of your name, Peter came hard. Tears filled his eyes as the emotions overwhelmed him in the best way possible.

You continued to stroke his cock and thrust your strap into him over and over again as every moan and whimper went right to your cunt. You felt his release splash your hand as you kept going, pulling every drop of his orgasm as you could from his body. Peter’s cries of pleasure filled the room as you rode out his orgasm until he collapsed down flat in front of you.

“Peter!” you gasped as your dildo slid out of him with ease from how wet it was. But, you ignored it and rushed forward to cover his body with yours, placing kisses all across his freckled shoulders, “You alright, baby?” you asked.

He hummed as a silly smile lit up his face while he rolled onto his side, “Never better,” he beamed, “You’re so good at this, babe,” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

“I try,” you smiled back at him, “I learned from the best,” you winked back at him as you both erupted into giggles in between kisses.

Peter turned more serious after a few moments as he gently pushed your shoulder and guided you onto your back, “Let me return the favor, sweetheart,” his tone dropped as he shimmied his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin on his way down.

“Pete…” you moaned as he reached your hips, tucking his fingers under the harness of your strap as he coaxed it off your body.

It was a sensual moment as you lifted your hips up for him, neither of you breaking eye contact as he slid the strap down your legs like he did with your panties so many times before. Peter only broke away to look down at the soaked dildo as he took it into his hands, giving it a quick kiss at the tip before he tossed it aside. Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched the gesture before he knelt down and stilted between your parted legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured in awe as he stared at your dripping pussy before he dove in.

You screamed as his lips made contact with yours and Peter immediately devoured you like a man starved. Your hands clenched onto the blankets as his tongue swirled around your pussy, tasting you greedily.

“Fuck! Peter!” you cried out as tears already formed in your eyes.

He hummed into you, too engrossed in your body to break away even to tell you how beautiful and delicious you were. Peter held onto your hips, holding you still enough so he wouldn’t miss a spot while still letting your hips grind against his face. The room felt like a sauna from the heat that built up from the passion between you and Peter.

Tears of his own filled the corners of Peter’s eyes as he devoured you desperately. It gave him just as much pleasure to ravage you as when you fucked him. His own hips bucked against the mattress as his tongue ran up and down your folds. A moan of his own escaped his lips as he wrapped them around your clit and sucked hard.

“Pete…” you whimpered as your mind swam in pleasure.

Peter hummed again, determined to make you cum even harder than he did. His tongue worked your clit expertly, knowing exactly what spots drove you wild with ecstasy. And the louder you screamed, the more he knew you were close.

Your hand flew to his hair, tugging hard as you panted, “I’m gonna cum… Pete…” you breathed before you screamed loudly as your release took you over. With your arms and legs trembling, you came into his mouth, gushing with your orgasm while Peter continued to lick and suck at your pussy.

When you whined from the overwhelming emotions and sensation, Peter finally broke away. He breathed heavily, his chin dripping as he stared at you while you laid sprawled out with your eyes closed. He could almost feel the emotions in the air, could almost physically see them in front of him as he watched you come down from your high.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Peter blurted out before he lunged forward and kissed you deeply as he laid out on top of you.

You moaned into the kiss, immediately wrapped your arms around him to hold him as close as you possibly could, “I,” you kissed him again, “Love you too,” you broke away for a breath before he kissed you again, “Peter Parker.”

Peter smiled into your kisses as he rolled to his side, keeping you wrapped up in his arms. Together, the two of you tangled up in a knot that neither of you wanted to break free from. Content to stay in the other’s embrace, both you and Peter never felt safer, or more satisfied. And everything was perfect.

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petriwriting · 1 year ago

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All Over Again - College!Peter Parker X Reader

Summary: College!Peter Parker, Female reader (She her pronouns). After No Way Home, Peter is in college. He's tried to move on from his past, but cannot let go of one person. So he has to get her to fall in love with him, all over again.

A/N branching out with more of my comfort characters from different fandoms. Warning for google translated Tagalog (filipino) Also this accidentally became mega fluff. oops.

"Are you okay?"

Peter asked with concern. He is battered and beaten, tired, but relieved and a bit sad. Y/N Embraced him, tightly. "yes, we're fine. i'm so glad you're okay," Peter looked at his friends his eyes were so saddened seeing them.

"You're going to forget who I am," he says, Y/N, Ned and MJ all look at him in confusion. "what?" says Ned, "What are you talking about?" MJ says, full of concern.

"Peter, Please," Y/N says, stepping forward, looking at him. He holds her face in his hands gently. "It's okay," Peter Coos. "I'm going to come find you, and I'll explain everything." Y/N's face begins to swell with tears, "I'll make you remember me." He says assuredly.

"Like none of this ever happened." Peter glances over to Ned and MJ. "Okay?" Peter asks, waiting for reassurance.

"What if that doesn't work?" Y/N asks, desperately looking at him. "What if that doesn't work and we- I can't remember you?" Y/N pleas. "Please Peter I can't lose you,"

"I know," Peter says "There's nothing else we can do." He begins to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "Y/n, please" Peter says, it's breaking his heart at just the thought of not being able to see her every day. "Trust me." He says, Y/N nods, and their lips meet in a passionate embrace, a moment of desperate love. "I Love you," Peter whispers. "I love you," she manages to whimper back.

"Promise?" Ned says after their embrace.

"I Promise." Peter says.

They shake hands and embrace, and MJ gives Peter a tight hug.

Peter takes another look at Y/N, feeling as if he's losing the best part of himself. The three watch him leave, each crying and grieving the soon to be loss.

~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~

Y/N reported to work promptly and on time, as usual. The small Coffee shop was practically empty, aside from one customer who was busy on his laptop - probably swiftly typing business proposals. he had his airpods in his ears, and had been slowly sipping a black coffee.

Y/N wondered what it was like to have a job, to be important to someone. For some reason, they woke up last week feeling somewhat empty, a sudden and strange longing and depression. It was as if she was missing a piece of herself.

Despite the existential feelings, Y/N still wiped counters and brewed coffee for everyone. A rush of relief hit her when the bell at the door rang, alerting her of a someone's presence. It was Peter Parker, A name that did not yet mean anything to her. She thought he was cute, and he smiled softly and waved. "Hi, Welcome inn." She said, putting on her best fake nice customer service voice. "Hi." Peter said. He was taken aback by her beauty, even at work in some stuffy uniform. "I've missed you." He wanted to say, but didn't for the sake of not wanting to come across as a total creep. Y/N waited promptly to write down his order. "What would you like?" she prompted. Peter just stood there, it was slightly awkward. "We have your standard coffee shop staples, lattes, espresso, flat white, mocha," Y/N listed off the different kinds of drinks, and Peter let her. It was like music hearing her voice again. "We also have one that's new, it's called the Spider-Man latte. It's basically like a regular latte, But we put white chocolate and spider sprinkles on the whipped cream. Very popular right now." Y/N continued to explain.

"That sounds great." Peter said, "Alright, One Spider-Man Latte coming right up." she said, grabbing a coffee cup to prepare the beverage for him. "Is dairy ok?" She asked.

"what?" Peter said awkwardly. "Dairy, like milk. some people like almond milk, or like soy milk. for some reason people really like nut milk." Y/N said, with a slight amusement. It was almost a flirty quip.

"Well regular cow milk is fine. . ." Peter trailed off, "Unless you have spider-milk." Peter was immediately embarrassed. God that was so awkward.. He thought. Peter wasn't much of a flirt, but the Y/N he knew would have laughed.

Y/N paused for a moment and then smiled softly. "Well we dont carry that, but if you figure out how to milk a spider, please come back and let us know i'm sure it would be a total hit."

Peter smiled softly watching her decorate the top of the cup with whip cream and sprinkles.

"That'll be... $6.75."

Peter handed her cash, and she gave back the correct amount of change. Peter put it right into the tip jar, knowing she would probably use the money for her lunch later. "Thanks, Hey- You look really familiar. Have I seen you here before?" She asked, out of curiosity.

"Well I think we have class together, actually." Peter admitted.

"Oh, which one?"

"Physics." He says prompty, knowing that she sat in the back of the class everyday...

"Oh really?" Y/N shrugged. "I'm not really doing so great in that class to be honest. I got a C on the midterm, some of the questions were a little unclear." She said with a slight laugh.

"oh, i'm actually doing well, I could tutor you sometimes if you want?"

Peter offered, Y/N was unsure of how to proceed, but when she looked into his eyes, it was as if she'd seen him before. she just could not remember...

"That's really nice actually, I'd appreciate that." She said, taking a pen out of her apron and writing her number on a piece of receipt paper. "Here, you can text me. I get off at 6."

"And what was your name again?" she asked.

"Peter Parker."

"right, Peter parker." She repeated his name back to him. "i'm -"

"Y/N," Peter said immediately.

"How did you... Oh." Peter had gestured towards the name tag she was wearing.

Y/N nodded, wondering why there was suddenly butterflies in her stomach over a boy she couldn't even remember was in one of her classes. "Well, enjoy your coffee, Peter."

"you too!"

He said, which caused them both to chuckle.

A Few Weeks Later.

The two had texted as if they were old friends, as if they'd always known each other. sending memes and cute messages throughout the day.

It was late in the evening, Y/N was lonely, so naturally she sent a text to her classmate and new friend.

She opened the contact for Peter Parker and drafted a text message. Heyy she brushed her thumb over the text before ultimately deciding to just press send.

A few minutes later, a reply popped up.

What are you up to?

Just at home rn

That sounds fun

Not so much..

Sorry :(

The bubble with the three dots appeared for a moment, then disappeared. Y/N was a bit disappointed in this. Then, the phone was ringing. Facetime call from Peter Parker, she answered almost immediately of course.

"Hi." She said excited to see him.

"Hey." Peter said quietly.

"How was class today?" Y/N asked, watching and waiting for Peters reaction on her phone's screen.

"It was alright, but you weren't there.." Peter looked down sadly. "You didn't miss much though, cause' we were just recapping the exam questions." Y/N frowned. "Yeah, I wasn't feeling all that great this morning, I just could not get out of bed..." Y/N trailed off. "I'm not sure why."

Peter looked hurt by this, because deep down he was. He couldn't bear the thought of his decision hurting her. He hated thinking about it at all.

"Well I know of something that I think could make you feel better.." Peter began. "Oh yeah?" She perked up. the butterflies in her stomach were back. "Yes, but it would be kind of a surprise. Can I Come over?" He asked. Y/N nodded. "I think that would be nice. I could use some company." She says. "I'll text you my address now." Y/N says.

"You're not like a serial killer or anything though right?"

Peter chuckled, he had already collected himself ready to go. "No of course not!" Y/N smiled. "okay well then i'll be waiting on this surprise, It better be worth it!" Y/N joked. "I'll see you in a bit."

The call ended, and Y/N went to go freshen up, butterflies in her stomach. she had no idea where they came from.

Less than 15 minutes later, Peter had arrived with flowers, Y/N's favorite candy, and a pizza for them to share. They ended up talking for hours, and falling asleep to a movie on netflix, Y/N leaning right onto Peters shoulder. This was the first night Y/N felt herself somewhat starting to fall for him.

Later.

After going on a few dates and talking even more, Y/N was officially falling for Peter Parker. He visited her work to bring her lunch almost every day, and they were texting each other constantly.

Today, they had a date planned. Y/N was ecstatic, she had spent hours getting ready, and fantasizing about the romantic evening. It was their first nice date at an italian restaurant. She was even dressed in her nicest outfit.

Y/N finished getting ready for the evening, stopping by the mirror to put on a pair of earrings. The plan was so romantic it was as if it was straight out of a movie. An early dinner at a nice restaurant, an evening stroll through the park to go to a museum. She sent Peter a Quick text I can't wait to see you tonight. she checked to see the word "Read" which was followed by the current time.

Upon entering the street where the restaurant was, Y/N was greeted and sat at the table Peter had reserved for them. was she early? when she had checked the time, she wasn't all that early. but Peter was late. she waited, imagining that he missed his train, or got lost, or forgot about some homework. Although that was so out of character for him.

The time ticked by, after about an hour, she had watched people come and go from the busy restaurant, deciding to just leave. It was dark out by now, and the walk home felt dangerous.

She pulled out her phone to call Peter, see if he was running late as a last resort. anything. Maybe it was just too good to be true.

It rang for a while before going to voicemail. at the beep Y/N left a voicemail.

"Hey pete." Her voice was defeated. "I just wanted to see if you were okay and what was going on, Since you stood me up. I just," she sighed heavily. "I really really like you, and i thought you liked me but i guess i'm just head over heels for someone that doesn't care like I do. I'm sorry. But i'm going home for the night. Just text me later, ok?"

She was beyond disappointed. Y/N walked home alone, made it back and cried. She undressed, putting on a pair of shorts, some fuzzy socks and without realizing it, one of Peter's T-shirts he had left at her flat. It had been three hours or so since Peter had left her at that restaurant, alone. In total defeat, she curled up into bed, ready to lull of into sleep to avoid this awful feeling.

Knock.. Knock.. Knock...

It wasn't at the door, but at her window. Y/N jolted up, terrified someone was trying to break in. or worse. She waited quietly, listening, before her phone started buzzing. It was Peter. She answered quickly, scared she was about to get robbed she just wanted to have someone on the line in case. "Hey, It's Peter im outside." he sounded so quiet, his voice was hoarse and he sounded exhausted. Y/N opened the window in confusion.

"He climbing the goddamn fire escape..." She thought. Opening the window, Peter spilled in. His face was brusied, his cheek had a small scratch with blood dried to his face. He looked awful. "Oh my god." Y/N exclaimed, helping him to her bed. He was beaten up pretty bad, and limped slightly. "Peter what happened??" Y/N demanded. "I uh, I got mugged." Peter lied, he was never a particularly good liar to those he loved, but Y/N was filled with worry. "Pete," She grabbed his face gently wiping the blood off his cheek. "I'm so sorry," She sighed. "I feel like an idiot.."

"why?" Peter asked. "I thought you stood me up I was angry and upset, I feel awful knowing you were getting mugged!" Y/N exclaimed. Peter sighed. It didn't feel right.

"I wasn't mugged. I'm sorry Y/N." He said softly. "I have to be honest." Peter stood, and walked over to face the balcony, taking off his shoes. Y/N saw he was wearing red socks although the apartment was dark. "I have to tell you something." Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, in confusion and shock.

She watched as peter took his sweatshirt and jeans off, revealing his suit to her in the moonlight. y/n gasped softly.

"it's you." she said.

Peter nodded.

"And that's not even the craziest part..." He half smiled, going back to sit on the edge of the bed with her once again. "You're going to think i'm absolutely insane." He whispered. Y/n Shook her head, beginning to think she was dreaming.

"I'm Spider-man." Peter said softly. "And I Love you."

Y/N wanted to burst into tears, but sat frozen in shock.

"I always have, since the first time I saw you. You were in my class in elementary school, your hair was braided and you always said hi to me..." He said, smiling at the memory. although y/n had no memory of him whatsoever. "We were in Love, but I had to make a decision that potentially saved the world.." he said, grabbing y/n's hands in his own. "I had Doctor Strange cast a spell, so that everyone would forget who I was. I can prove it. That necklace you're wearing," Y/N looked down to see the necklace around her neck, she had no idea why she felt like she should wear it everyday and no memory of ever buying it.. "I got it for you in high school. and look," Peter pulled up a picture of Y/N and himself on his phone, it was his lockscreen. The two were sharing french fries on the top of a building in new york.

"Peter," Y/N said gently. "I told you I would find you one day, and explain everything. I didn't want you to think I was some creep or some asshole that would stand you up at the restaurant like that,"

"And I know that living a double life is extremely difficult, and people get hurt. I know that being spider-man puts you in danger, So for a while i kept quiet." He explained.

"I just want you to know the truth. you deserve that."

"Peter," Y/n breathed quietly. "I Love you." She said, Peter couldn't wait any longer and kissed her, deeply and softly. Y/N was beginning to feel the emptiness become whole again.

Years later.

College Graduation.

Everyone was excited, MJ even wore a dazzling gown, and Ned wore his best suit, Y/N was dressed nicely, and Peter was wearing a nice suit. It felt like the ending of a movie where everyone is happy and the hopeful song starts playing. It was a new chapter in life for everyone. Peter had become a huge part of Y/N's life, even rebuilding his relationship with MJ and Ned as well. It felt oddly nostalgic for him.

"Halika, oras na para sa larawan!" Ned's Lola exclaimed.

Y/N looked at Ned, so did everyone else. "She said lets get a picture."

The group chuckled and gathered for a picture. Ned was in the center, by peter, who had his arm around Y/N leaning over to kiss her cheek. MJ had her arm around Ned, smiling widely. As they all posed the camera clicked, and Lola was very pleased. "you all look beautiful!" Lola said, smiling teary eyed. "Am so proud of you." She gave Ned a big hug. She hugged MJ, Peter and Y/N.

"I'm proud of us too!" Ned exclaimed.

_ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _ - _

Epliogue

After graduation, Peter had planned a romantic date night, Giving Y/N absolutely no details. She walked with Peter up to the rooftop of their shared apartment.

There ware rose petals, candles, and a table and chair set up with a nice bottle of champagne and two glasses set up. Y/N's favorite flowers were in a vase in the center of the small table, The view of the city's skyline was in the distance as they walked. Peter pulled out the chair for her and the two sat.

"Pete this is beautiful..." Y/N smiled gratefully.

"Y/N," Peter began, he was nervous, Y/N could tell, but she kept quiet. She always made peter feel fluttery, He was so madly in love with her.

"Now that we've graduated, and we've got the rest of our lives ahead of us..."

"I know that I want to spend it with you." He says, reaching for something, and getting down on one knee to propose a tiny antique ring. "This was my Aunt May's ring, It was my mothers' too. I want to give this to you and ask," Peter gulped. "Will you marry me?" He asked.

Y/N was elated. She was so in love with him, everything felt so perfect. "Yes!" She exclaimed. Peter slipped the ring onto her finger and she admired it for a moment before embracing Peter. Peter picked her up, twirling her around before kissing her.

The moment was so sweet, they proceeded to pop the bottle of champagne and sip the golden bubbly liquid from their glasses. "I can't wait to spend forever with you." Y/N said, admiring her new ring. "you have no idea how long i've waited to ask you." Peter admitted. "I've carried that ring around for years."

"i'm so glad you found me again."

"You have no idea." Peter said quietly.

Enjoying the moment, there was a breeze in the air, and birds flying by every now and then. It was as if the city yielded for them in that moment.

"So does this mean i'll be Mrs. Spider-man?" she said light heatedly. "Well yes, but maybe don't tell everyone- would kinda defeat the purpose of a secret identity." Peter said with a chuckle. Y/N smiled and laughed. "Y/N Parker." He said. "I like that." Y/N said, and then repeated him to hear herself say the words. "Y/N Parker."

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mintyys-blog · 3 months ago

Text

dark! peter parker x fem! reader: caught in his web

WARNINGS: stalking, swearing, murder, kidnapping, smut, DUB-CON (kinda), mention of death, isolation.

The streets of New York were eerily quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that carried a weight. No bustling chatter, no honking horns, not even the faint echo of distant sirens. The city felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone. The sensation crept up your spine, subtle at first, then undeniable. It wasn’t the usual paranoia of a city dweller walking home late at night. You quickly walked, boarder line running at this point. Something was making goosebumps raise on your arms and you weren’t planning to find out what was the cause.

Rounding a corner into an alley—a mistake you’d regret later—you froze as a figure descended from above. The faint hiss of webbing broke the silence, and there he was. Spider-Man.

But this wasn’t the hero you’d grown up hearing about. His suit was darker, the once-bright red now muted like dried blood. His mask was torn just enough to reveal the edge of his jaw, clenched tight, and his eyes—those lenses glowed faintly in the dim light, casting a cold, predatory aura.

Behind him, a man hung suspended in webbing, struggling and begging for mercy. His voice cracked, desperate. “Please! I swear I’ll stop—I won’t do it again!” He tried to move but the webs had him stuck in place.

Spider-Man didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, his body unnervingly still, as if considering the man’s fate. His steps were delicate, silent as he crept closer.

“No,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You won’t.”

You didn’t think; you just acted. “Stop!” you shouted, stepping forward before fear could take hold. Your body froze, what did you just do? You should have just walked away. You gulped.

Both the criminal and Spider-Man turned their attention to you. The man in the web looked hopeful. Spider-Man, however, looked… curious. He cocked his head to the side, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He took a step closer, and though his movements were slow, deliberate, they carried an undeniable sense of danger. Based on the stories you heard, he was friendly right? So why didn’t it feel that way?

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, but you didn’t back down. “You’re supposed to be better than this.” You looked around with your eyes, slowly backing away.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at you. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a low, humorless sound that sent a chill through you. The sudden sound made you jump.

“Better?” he echoed, taking another step forward. “Better doesn’t keep this city safe. Better doesn’t stop people like him.”

“But you’re a hero…” it sounded like a whisper coming from you. A mere prayer, hopelessly uttered. You felt trapped, but not by the alley walls. It was the way his glowing lenses locked onto you, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, leaving no room for escape. He flicked his wrist and his webs dropped the man from the great height. His body hit the ground hard and you could hear his bones crack upon impact. Blood was seeping from the man’s head. Your eyes widen, like a deer in headlights you stood still. Did that just happen? Did Spider-Man… kill someone? Even if they were a criminal- that wasn’t what he was known for.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

“Why does it matter?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady. Your hands were shaking, you needed to make a run for it, but even if you did he would catch you.

“It matters,” he said simply. “Because now, I want to remember you.”

And that was how it began. You didn’t know it then, but from the moment you spoke, Spider-Man had spun his web around you—and he had no intention of letting go.

You tried to forget that night. You told yourself Spider-Man had bigger things to worry about than some stranger who crossed his path. But the unease lingered, creeping into your thoughts every time you were alone.

At first, you dismissed the signs: the shadow that seemed to flicker in your peripheral vision or the faint, almost imperceptible sound of movement outside your window. But then, it became impossible to ignore.

One morning, you found a package waiting on your doorstep. A sleek black box with no name or return address, just a small red spider emblem pressed into the lid. Inside was a pair of gloves—luxurious and perfectly fitted.

You froze. You’d mentioned needing gloves weeks ago, but only to a coworker during a passing conversation. There was no way anyone else could’ve known.

You tried to shrug it off. Maybe it was a coincidence. But the next day, a bouquet of lilies appeared in your apartment. Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t bought them. And you never told anyone lilies were your favorite.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Every light in your apartment was on, and you sat on your couch, your phone clutched in your hands, debating whether to call the police. But what would you even say? Spider-Man was stalking you? They’d laugh you off—or worse, accuse you of making it up. He was the city’s hero, after all. The savior. You saw posts and news articles praising him, everyone loved him. How could they not? They don’t know him.. and in a way you don’t either. The friendly neighbour hood Spider-Man saves a family in distress.

Still, you couldn’t shake the memory of him in the alley. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t just anger or menace. It was something else, something darker and more complicated. And when he killed that man without so much as a hesitation.

You tried to move on, tried to act like everything was normal. But deep down, you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. And then, one cold night as you walked home, he proved you right.

It was late, the streets eerily quiet, when you heard the familiar thwip of webbing. Your heart jumped into your throat, and before you could react, he was there—dropping from above with a grace that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

“Are you following me?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound firm.

He tilted his head, the glowing lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “Following? That sounds… malicious,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something that made your skin crawl. “I prefer to think of it as watching over you.”

“That’s not comforting,” you shot back, taking a step back. “You’re Spider-Man. Aren’t you supposed to be saving people, not stalking them?”

“Saving people,” he repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. He crossed his arms, the motion fluid yet deliberate, like he was trying to keep himself calm. “Do you know how many people I’ve saved? How many of them I’ve pulled back from the edge, only to watch them destroy themselves—or someone else? I save them, and they still fail.”

You froze, his words catching you off guard. There was anger in his voice, but beneath it, you heard something else. Pain. “In the end people are really… disappointing.”

“But you…” His voice softened as he stepped closer. “You’re different. You don’t look at me like the others do. You don’t look away.”

“I’m not different,” you said carefully, forcing yourself to stand your ground. “I’m just a person trying to live their life.”

He studied you for a long moment, his head tilted, his lenses reflecting the faint streetlights. Then he took another step forward, his tone quieter now. “You remind me of something. Someone I lost.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “Who.. are you? Really?” He stays silent, “Peter.” He removed his mask.

“Peter,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his figure towering over you now, and you felt the cold brick wall press against your back. He was too close, his presence suffocating.

The face beneath was younger than you expected, but worn with exhaustion. His dark eyes bored into yours, scanning your expression as if searching for something. He looked so human, so vulnerable—and yet so dangerous.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle. “Why aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Because I don’t think you’re a monster. Not yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes at your words—something that might have been regret. But then it was gone, replaced by a grim smile. “Yet..” he scoffs, “you should go home, it’s dangerous around at this time.” He took a few steps back, putting back on his mask. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone just as fast as he came.

When you got home, you had to tell someone, a someone you could trust.

“Come on, come on, pick up!” You grew frustrated, finally right when you were about to give up, your friend, Levy answered. “Bitch what do you want? I was just in the middle of some hot se-“

“Levy! I need to talk to you, it’s important okay?”

She paused, “y/n? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You took a breath, you could tell Levy anything, even if it was as crazy as this. “Spider man is stalking me.”

Levy went silent, then she bursted out laughing. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I- I think the main character syndrome is getting to you, girl” you groan, “no, listen! Please okay! His name is Peter and I think he.. I saw him kill someone okay!”

Levy stopped laughing, “what? Are you sure?” You knew how it sounded, it sounded insane, YOU sounded insane. But it was the truth.

“Yes! Look I think he is after me..!” You replied, your voice was uneven and shaky, thinking back to everything you’ve been experiencing the past few weeks. The gifts, the feeling of being watched, everything. “I’m coming over right now,” there was some noise on her end, “I’ll be there in like 15 minutes? Also lock your doors and windows. I’ll be there soon”

True to her word, she came as soon as possible. Levy locked the door behind her, hugging you. “I would ask how you’re doing but..” she trailed off, letting go. “Also, here” she hands you a mini can of pepper spray. “Now, please explain everything.”

Levy ended up staying for a few more nights and the gifts and feeling of being watched went away. It was sad to see her leave but she convinced you to go down to the police station and write a report. They may not do much but at least it will on file.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t do much, you left out the part of him being Spider-Man obviously, but without the evidence of actually being stalked they couldn’t do much. This was disappointing but they didn’t have much to go off.

The house felt off tonight. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a heaviness in the air, a subtle shift that had you glancing over your shoulder with every step. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards sounded louder than usual, amplifying the silence that surrounded you.

You tightened the grip on the kitchen knife in your hand as you moved from room to room. It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Paranoid. But the feeling of being watched clung to you like a second skin.

“Calm down,” you muttered under your breath, trying to reason with yourself. “No one’s here. You checked the locks.” You attempted to reassure yourself.

And you had. Twice. But the pit in your stomach wouldn’t settle.

Your bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as you made your way back to the living room. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, pooling in the corners where the dim light from the lamp didn’t reach. You froze mid-step when you thought you heard something—a faint rustling, like fabric brushing against wood.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice trembling.

No response. It would be worse if you actually got a response.

The knife felt small and useless in your hand, but you clutched it tighter, moving cautiously toward the noise. Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as you peeked around the corner into the hallway.

Empty.

You let out a shaky breath and turned back—only to come face-to-face with Peter.

He was there, impossibly close, his dark eyes glinting with something unsettling. You gasped and stumbled backward, raising the knife instinctively.

��Whoa,” he said, raising his hands as if to placate you, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Easy there. You might hurt yourself.”

“Get out of my house!” you yelled, your voice stronger than you felt.

Peter tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

You didn’t hesitate. You lunged, aiming the knife at him, but he was faster—so much faster. He caught your wrist with ease, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like that.”

You screamed and lashed out with your free hand, landing a solid hit on his cheek. The impact surprised him, and for a moment, you thought you might have a chance. But then his expression darkened.

“Bad move,” his eyes narrowed and the pitch perfect ‘boy next store’ look cracked, revealing the sinister look underneath.

Before you could react, he spun you around, pinning your arms behind your back. The feel of his breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in close.

“I was going to take it easy on you,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But if you want to make this difficult…”

You thrashed in his grip, but it was like fighting against steel. He was too strong, too quick. You kicked back, your heel connecting with his shin, but it barely phased him.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking.

“Stop fighting me,” Peter snapped, his tone losing its calm edge. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making it really hard not to.”

You felt the sticky sensation of webbing wrapping around your wrists, binding them together. Panic set in as you realized he wasn’t just stronger than you—he was something else entirely.

“Let me go!” you cried, struggling against the restraints.

Peter sighed, almost sounding disappointed. He turned you to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I’ve been watching you for weeks,” he admitted, his tone softening. “Keeping you safe, protecting you from all the dangers you don’t even see. And this is how you repay me?”

“Watching me?” Your voice wavered. “That’s not protecting me—that’s stalking!”

He tilted his head, studying you like you were the one who didn’t understand. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “You’re everything to me. I couldn’t just sit back and let someone else take you away.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you realized how hopeless the situation was. “You’re insane,” you whispered.

Peter’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he smiled—a chilling, empty smile. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”

He scooped you up effortlessly, your struggles meaningless against his strength. The webbing held your wrists tightly as he carried you toward the window, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Peter, please,” you begged, desperation seeping into your voice.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stepping out onto the roof. The cool night air hit your face as he glanced back at you, his smirk returning. “You’ll see. This is for the best.”

As he leaped into the darkness, the last thing you saw was the world below fading into shadow.

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the cold. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of a lamp in the corner. Your wrists ached, still bound by the unyielding webbing, and your head throbbed from where you must have hit it during the struggle.

Panic surged as the events of the night came rushing back. Peter. The fight. The way he carried you off into the night like a predator dragging its prey.

You were lying on a mattress—not your bed, not even a proper bed. Just a thin, worn piece of padding in the middle of a room that looked abandoned. The walls were cracked, the paint peeling, and the windows were boarded up, leaving no way to see outside.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and your breath caught in your throat.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. Peter Parker looked almost normal—if you ignored the darkness in his eyes and the faint bruise on his cheek from where you’d hit him.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm and almost… pleased.

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice shaky but edged with anger.

Peter stepped inside, setting the tray down on a rickety table. He didn’t answer right away, instead pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you.

“You’re safe,” he finally said.

“This isn’t safe,” you shot back, tugging at the webbing on your wrists. “This is kidnapping!”

Peter frowned, as if the word offended him. “Kidnapping is such an ugly term. I prefer to think of it as… keeping you out of harm’s way.”

“Harm’s way?” You let out a bitter laugh. “The only person putting me in danger is you!”

His expression darkened for a moment, and you braced yourself for the worst. But then he took a deep breath, his lips curling into a small, unsettling smile.

“You don’t understand yet,” he said softly. “But you will. The world out there is cruel, full of people who would hurt you, use you. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. But I’m different. I’m the one person who will never let anything happen to you.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” you said through gritted teeth, yanking at the restraints again.

Peter sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched as he crouched down beside you, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “But you keep fighting me, and that’s not going to work. You need to trust me, even if it’s hard right now.”

“Trust you?” you spat. “You’re insane!”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. But he didn’t lash out. Instead, he stood and began pacing the room, his hands flexing at his sides.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I thought you’d understand, that you’d see I’m doing this for you. But I guess I need to show you.”

“Show me what?” you asked, your voice dripping with defiance.

Peter stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “That you belong to me,” he said simply. “And that no one else can have you. Trust me, compared to the others I’m your Prince Charming!” He laughed a little.

A chill ran down your spine at the weight of his words.

“Please,” you said, trying a different approach. “You don’t have to do this. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I can’t do that. I’ve seen what happens when I let people go. They forget. They leave. And I can’t… I won’t let that happen with you.”

His voice cracked slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw the person he used to be, the one that saved people. But that hero was gone, consumed by whatever darkness had taken root in him.

Peter knelt down in front of you again, his face inches from yours. “You’ll understand,” he whispered. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you will. And when you do, you’ll see that this is where you’re meant to be.”

He stood and walked to the door, glancing back at you one last time before leaving. “Rest,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some time to think.”

The door closed with a heavy thud, and you were left alone in the suffocating silence.

You stared at the boarded-up windows, at the walls that felt like they were closing in around you. Peter might think he had control, but you weren’t going to give up. Not yet.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for anything—anything—you could use to escape. The reality of what was happening- what happened set in. You were kidnapped by a hero, and no one could save you. Would he kill you? He isn’t above killing.. you’ve seen that first hand. Your breathing quickened, and you felt like you were dying. Sobs and battered breaths came from you, you rolled over on your side curling up and closing your eyes. Hoping that when you wake up this will be a bad dream.

Peter sat in the small, decrepit room across from yours, staring at the door separating you from him. His head was in his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, as if trying to quiet the voices that whispered relentlessly in his mind.

He wasn’t crazy. He knew he wasn’t. Everything he’d done—everything he was doing—was for you. But that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room. He’d spent so many nights like this, torn between doing what he thought was right and the weight of what it cost him. You didn’t understand yet, and maybe you never would. But how could he explain to you what it felt like to lose everything and still keep going? How could he explain that you were the only light left in his dark, crumbling world?

Peter closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the night he lost May.

Her frail, bloodied hand had trembled in his grip as she whispered her final words. “You’re a good boy, Peter,” she’d said, her voice barely audible. “Always trying to do the right thing.”

But the right thing hadn’t saved her. The right thing hadn’t stopped the people he loved from being ripped away from him over and over again.

He had tried to move on, tried to let the pain drive him to do better, to be better. But when he saw you for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. The way you stood up to him, most people would have run the other way or ignored it. But you, your sense of morality and kind heart. Your smile was soft, kind. It reminded him of the way May used to look at him—like he mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He hadn’t meant to fall for you. At first, it was just a glance here, a quiet admiration from afar. He was curious after all. You have interested him the night you met. But then you smiled and he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could breathe again.

But the world wasn’t kind. It never had been. He saw the way others looked at you, the way they surrounded you like vultures circling something pure and good. They didn’t love you the way he did. They couldn’t.

Peter’s hands clenched into fists as he thought of them—the coworker who “accidentally” brushed against you too often, the friend who lingered too long when they hugged you. They didn’t care about your safety. They didn’t lie awake at night worrying if you got home okay.

He did.

Peter reached for his phone, scrolling through the photos he’d taken of you over the weeks. They were his lifeline. Proof that you were real, that you existed outside the constant storm in his mind.

“You don’t get it yet,” he muttered under his breath. “But you will. You’ll see that they don’t deserve you. None of them do.”

He stopped on a photo of you laughing, your head tilted back, pure joy radiating from your face. His hand trembled as he stared at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But it wasn’t just your beauty that drew him to you. It was the way you treated people, the way you never hesitated to stand up for others, even when it wasn’t easy. You reminded him of who he used to be, of the boy who once believed he could save everyone.

And maybe, in a way, saving you was saving himself.

Peter exhaled shakily, his thoughts returning to earlier that night. When he had watched you walking through your house, the knife in your hand trembling as you tried to appear brave. He had almost stepped out then, almost revealed himself just to comfort you. But he knew you wouldn’t understand yet.

And then there was the call.

His jaw tightened as he thought of the man from your work. He had already warned him once—made it clear that he needed to stay away from you. But the man hadn’t listened. None of them ever did.

Peter remembered the fear in the man’s eyes when he cornered him in the parking lot after work. “She’s not yours,” Peter had said, his voice cold and steady. “She never will be. Stay away from her.”

He hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t a monster. He was innocent after all. The only crime being he tried to charm his way into your life. But the broken hand and the bruises had sent the message clearly enough. And if it hadn’t, the man waking up in the middle of the night to find Peter crouched over him had sealed the deal.

“Stay away,” Peter had whispered, his webbing silencing the man’s panicked cries.

They always stayed away after that.

Peter shook his head, clearing the memory. He didn’t want to think about them anymore. They didn’t matter. Only you mattered.

He glanced at the door to your room again, his heart aching with the desire to be near you. He hated himself for the way he’d scared you, for the way he’d taken you from your home. But what choice did he have?

Peter walked to the door, resting his hand against it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “I just want to keep you safe.”

He pressed his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. “You’re all I have left.”

For a moment, he thought of walking away—of letting you go. But then he thought of the world outside, of all the dangers that could tear you away from him. And he knew he couldn’t risk it.

He couldn’t lose you too.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the old lamp in the corner. You sat on the edge of the thin mattress, your wrists raw from pulling against the webbing that bound them. Sleep was impossible, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the memory of Peter’s dark, unwavering gaze.

You’d called him insane. A monster. And yet, in the briefest moments, you had seen something else in his eyes—something that didn’t fit the terrifying image of the man who had ripped you from your life.

Fear.

It had been there, lingering beneath the surface of his control. You didn’t understand it, but it had made him feel almost… human.

The door creaked open, and you tensed, your breath catching in your throat as Peter stepped inside. He was holding a tray with what looked like soup, a bottle of water, and a folded napkin.

You expected him to smirk, to taunt you with the power he held over you. Instead, he looked… hesitant. His shoulders were tense, and his lips pressed into a thin line as if he was bracing himself for rejection.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of the edge you’d heard before.

You didn’t respond, your eyes narrowing as you watched his every move. He stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on the table near you.

“I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice softening. “You have every right to be. But you need to take care of yourself.”

“Take care of myself?” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You tied me up, dragged me to some—some prison, and now you’re acting like you care about my well-being?”

Peter flinched, and for a moment.

“I do care,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

You stared at him, searching his face for a hint of the cold, calculated predator who had brought you here. But he wasn’t meeting your gaze. Instead, he was staring at the ground, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said after a long pause. “Losing everyone. Watching the people you care about disappear because you couldn’t protect them.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, though your voice lacked the venom it had before. “I didn’t ask to be part of whatever… twisted thing this is.”

Peter’s head snapped up, and for the first time, you saw his humanity glistening in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, his voice uneven. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But I—” He stopped, taking a shaky breath. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch something happen to you.”

“Nothing was happening to me,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t,” Peter said, his tone firm but not harsh. “You just don’t see it. The way people look at you, the way they use you. They don’t care about you the way I do.”

He stepped closer, and instinctively, you leaned back. He stopped, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I would never hurt you. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t respond, your chest tight with a mix of fear and confusion.

Peter hesitated, then sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands threading through his messy hair.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You watched him, unsure what to say. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed as if the weight of his own choices was crushing him.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said after a moment. “You don’t have to keep me here.”

Peter laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for scaring you, for—” He stopped, shaking his head. “But if I let you go, I lose you. And I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

The raw vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache despite yourself. This wasn’t the confident, terrifying figure who had tied you up and dragged you here. This was someone broken, someone desperate.

For a moment, you didn’t see a kidnapper. You saw a boy who had lost too much, who was clinging to the only thing he thought he could still save.

“Peter,” you said, your voice softer now.

He looked up at you, his eyes red, his expression open and raw.

“I don’t hate you,” you said carefully, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “But this isn’t the way to keep me safe. This isn’t how you help someone.”

Peter stared at you, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, his voice barely audible.

“Then let me go,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Please.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Peter’s hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his face a mask of conflict. He tilted your chin up to look at him, he brushed some hair out of your face.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Not yet.”

He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet, your mind reeling. For the first time, you felt the cracks in Peter’s armor, the pain that drove his obsession. And while it didn’t make you forgive him, it made you wonder just how far he had fallen—and whether he could ever be pulled back.

A month had passed.

You counted the days by the faint rays of sunlight that seeped through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. At first, time had blurred into one long nightmare, but slowly, things began to change.

Peter began to trust you—or at least, he wanted you to think he did. The tight confines of your room had become less suffocating; the webbing on your wrists was no longer a constant restraint. He started letting you use the bathroom on your own, though he would always wait just outside the door, his shadow visible beneath the gap.

Then came the short walks around the house, his presence always hovering close. The house wasn’t much to look at—an abandoned wreck that seemed more like a tomb than a home—but the moments of freedom, as small as they were, felt monumental.

You knew he was watching your every move, analyzing your every expression. You couldn’t make a wrong step, couldn’t let him see the flicker of defiance that still burned within you.

And yet, something else had shifted too.

Peter had grown… softer, in his own way. The mask of control and certainty he wore when he first took you had begun to crack, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath.

He wanted you to talk to him. He craved it. And while you hated yourself for it, there were moments when you gave in—because in those moments, you saw the boy behind the monster.

It was one of those days when the silence between you felt heavier than usual. Peter had let you sit in the small living room, the faded couch creaking beneath you as you stared out at the boarded-up windows. He sat on the floor a few feet away, his knees drawn up, watching you like a hawk.

“You don’t hate me as much anymore,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady.

You stiffened, your gaze still fixed on the sliver of light peeking through the wood. “What makes you think that?”

Peter tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “You don’t flinch as much when I get close. You don’t fight me when I touch your shoulder or—” He paused, his smile faltering. “You don’t look at me like I’m a monster all the time.”

You didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Fear still coursed through your veins every time he got too close, but there was something else too—a strange understanding of his brokenness.

“I still want to leave,” you said, your voice measured.

Peter’s expression darkened, but he nodded slowly, as if he expected the answer. “I know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Why are you like this, Peter?” you asked suddenly, your voice softer than you intended.

He looked up at you, his brown eyes wide, vulnerable. “Like what?”

“Like… this.” You gestured vaguely around the room. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Why did you think this was the only way?”

Peter’s hands fidgeted in his lap, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because talking wouldn’t have been enough,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “You would’ve smiled at me, been polite, and then walked away. Just like everyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Peter let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now, but I know how it works. People like me… we’re invisible until we’re not. Until we do something that makes people notice.”

You watched him, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just talking about you—he was talking about his whole life, about the isolation and pain that had shaped him.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” you said quietly.

Peter looked up at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something desperate. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he whispered.

The vulnerability in his voice, in his expression, was almost too much to bear. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for everything he had taken from you. But in that moment, he looked more like a scared, broken boy than the man who had torn your life apart.

“You’re not a bad person, Peter,” you said carefully. “You just… you’ve lost your way.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on your lap. You flinched instinctively, but you didn’t pull away.

Peter’s breath hitched, and he looked up at you with an expression that was equal parts of stoicism and shame. “You really think that?”

“I think you need help,” you said honestly. “Real help. Not this.”

Peter swallowed hard, his grip tightening on your hand as if you might disappear if he let go. “You’re the only help I need,” he said, his voice stern.

His words sent a chill through you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him hold your hand, let him believe for just a moment that this was enough. What surprised you was the kiss that came afterward, you let him, fearing that if you broke his fantasy he would get angry.

Because maybe, just maybe, if you could reach the boy inside the monster, you might find a way out.

The air between you and Peter had changed.

Over the past weeks, the walls that had once kept you both separated—physically and emotionally—had started to thin. It wasn’t that you had forgiven him; you weren’t sure you ever could. But the boy who sat across from you now wasn’t the same as the shadowy figure who had stolen you away.

Peter was still obsessive, still relentless in his belief that he was doing the right thing. But he was also… human. And that humanity, as flawed and broken as it was, had begun to show in small, quiet moments.

Like now.

The two of you sat on the worn couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Peter had insisted on it when he noticed you shivering earlier. He was close, closer than he used to be, but you hadn’t moved away.

“I used to come here with May,” Peter said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, surprised. He rarely spoke about his past unless prompted.

“She used to say this place was a waste of time,” he continued, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “But it was ours. We’d come here to escape everything. The world, the city… everything that felt too heavy.”

His voice softened, and he glanced down at his hands. “After she died, I didn’t come back for a long time. It felt… wrong. Like I didn’t deserve it anymore.”

You stayed quiet, letting his words hang in the air. He was opening up to you, and for reasons you couldn’t fully explain, you felt compelled to listen.

“What made you come back?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Peter hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “You.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t have anything else,” he admitted. “I kept telling myself I was doing fine, that I didn’t need anyone. But when I saw you…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off. “You made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely alone anymore.”

“Peter,” you began, your tone cautious, but he cut you off.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know that. But you have to understand—I didn’t know how else to keep you safe. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense.”

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near yours. You stared at it for a moment before slowly, cautiously, letting him take your hand.

His grip was warm, trembling slightly, as if he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

“You’re not alone, Peter,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “But this isn’t the way to hold on to someone. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to you.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he shifted closer, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope.

“I don’t know how to let go,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every time I try, it feels like the world is falling apart all over again.”

The creak of the old front door echoed in the house as Peter pulled his hood over his head. He was dressed in his suit, though the mask dangled from his hand as he glanced back at you.

“You’ll be okay here,” he said softly, his voice laced with hesitation.

You nodded, feigning a calmness that didn’t match the pounding of your heart. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter studied you for a moment longer, his brown eyes searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe doubt. Then he stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing against yours.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Don’t worry.”

Before you could respond, he slipped the mask over his face and disappeared into the night.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, you sat still, waiting. Your heart raced, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. This was your chance—your first real opportunity in weeks.

Peter trusted you now. He’d grown comfortable, letting you walk freely around the house, leaving the door unlocked when he left. He thought you were resigned to your new life, thought you were beginning to understand him.

He was wrong.

You moved quickly, but quietly, scanning the small house for anything useful. Most of the windows were boarded up, but one in the kitchen had been left partially uncovered. It was high, but with some effort, you could squeeze through.

You grabbed a chair, dragging it toward the counter beneath the window. Your hands shook as you climbed up, your pulse hammering in your ears. The window was old, the glass smudged and streaked with dirt, but you could see the faint glow of streetlights in the distance. Freedom.

The latch was stiff, and you gritted your teeth as you pushed and pulled, trying to pry it open without making too much noise. After what felt like an eternity, it gave way with a soft click.

You pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in, and pulled yourself up, your legs dangling awkwardly as you tried to maneuver through the small space.

The cool night air kissed your skin as you pulled yourself halfway through the window, the thrill of freedom igniting a spark in your chest. The streetlights in the distance seemed so close, so tangible, as if you could reach out and grasp the life you’d been ripped from.

Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your entire body froze.

Slowly, you turned your head, dread pooling in your stomach as Peter stepped into the room, his silhouette framed by the faint glow from the hallway. He’d pulled off his mask, his face pale, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to do this,” he said, his voice low and eerily calm.

“Peter—” you began, your voice trembling, but he moved faster than you could react.

In an instant, he was at the window, his hand wrapping around your ankle like a steel vice. He yanked you back inside with one sharp pull, and you landed hard on the floor, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You scrambled backward, trying to put distance between you and him, but he didn’t give you the chance. He loomed over you, his gaze dark and unreadable as he stared down at you.

“I trusted you,” he said, his voice chillingly calm, but his hands were trembling at his sides.

“Peter, I had to try—”

“Had to try what?” he snapped, his tone rising as he cut you off. “To leave me? To run away like I’m some kind of monster?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the fury in his eyes silenced you.

“I gave you freedom,” he continued, his voice shaking with barely-contained anger. “I let you walk around the house. I let you breathe, and this is how you repay me?”

“Peter, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. And you’ve taken advantage of that.”

He crouched down in front of you, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made you shiver. “I thought we were making progress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I thought you were starting to see things my way. I-I really thought that you were starting to love me too.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay here, Peter. I can’t live like this.”

His jaw tightened, and his hand shot out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You don’t have a choice,” he said coldly.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t keep me here forever,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant.

Peter’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Can’t I?”

He stood abruptly, towering over you as you stayed on the floor, too afraid to move. He paced the room, his hands raking through his hair as he muttered to himself.

“You think you can just leave me?” he said, his voice growing darker with each word. “You think I’d just let you go after everything I’ve done for you?”

He stopped suddenly, turning to face you. The anger on his face was matched only by the cold determination in his eyes.

“No more privileges,” he said firmly. “No more freedom. You’re going back to your room, and you’re staying there until I decide you’ve earned my trust again.”

“Peter, please—”

“Quiet!” he snapped, his voice echoing through the room. “You lost the right to argue when you tried to betray me.”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, your chest tightening with a mix of fear and anger.

Without another word, he grabbed your arm and hauled you to your feet. His grip was firm but not painful, though you could feel the tension radiating from him.

He dragged you back toward your room, ignoring your protests and pleas. When he pushed you inside, he stepped back, his expression hard as stone.

“You think I’m the bad guy,” he said, his voice low and cold. “But you’ll see. You’ll see that I’m the only one who cares enough to do this.”

With that, he slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the walls.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of what had just happened settled over you.

On the other side of the door, Peter leaned against the wall, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to control the storm of emotions inside him.

He wasn’t angry because you tried to leave.

He was angry because the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else.

The silence in the house was deafening.

Days blended together as you sat in your room, staring at the same four walls, the same peeling wallpaper that had grown all too familiar. You couldn’t even remember the last time Peter had spoken to you—he just brought food, delivered it silently, then left again without a word.

He’d cut you off completely, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience. The door to your room was locked at all times, the once-muted sounds of him moving around the house now replaced by an unnerving stillness.

And then, there was the bathroom.

Once a freedom you were allowed, it had become a rare gift, granted only when Peter thought you needed it. He stood just outside the door, always too close, but never speaking, his presence a silent reminder of your captivity.

At first, you raged against the isolation. You screamed at the walls, demanded that he speak to you, ask you questions, anything to break the suffocating silence. But as the days stretched into weeks, you stopped.

Now, there was only quiet.

You sat by the window, watching the shadows of the night grow long, thinking about nothing and everything at once. The house had grown colder, both literally and emotionally. Peter had stopped being a presence in your life, and in turn, you had stopped fighting against it.

Except you hadn’t stopped needing him.

It was a quiet hunger, this longing for connection. The loneliness gnawed at you like an empty pit in your stomach. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter—that he was a monster, a kidnapper, someone you could never trust again. But the more time passed, the more you found yourself craving any bit of human interaction, even if it was from him.

Even if it was him coming into your room and just standing there, doing nothing but existing in the same space as you.

You hated yourself for it.

At night, when the house was silent, you would lay on the cold, hard floor and cry. You cried for the life you had lost, for the days that seemed to stretch on forever. But mostly, you cried because you felt as if your very soul was withering away in that room, and there was no one to see it.

There were no more demands. No more pleas. You knew better than to ask for anything now.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

The door to your room creaked open one morning, and there he was. Peter.

He didn’t look at you as he stepped inside, his eyes fixed firmly on the tray of food he was carrying. He set it down on the small table by the bed and didn’t say a word. His face was unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might leave again without a glance in your direction.

But then, without looking up, he spoke in a low, almost hushed voice.

“You can eat, then go to the bathroom if you need to.”

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest as you picked up the spoon, your hands trembling slightly. You wanted to speak to him, to ask why he was even saying anything at all, but you stayed silent. He wasn’t ready to talk, not yet.

As you ate, Peter stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t leave, but he didn’t move closer either. He just… watched.

You finished your meal in silence, the tension hanging thick in the air. When you were done, you glanced up at him, your mouth dry.

“Peter,” you whispered. The word felt strange on your tongue after weeks of silence.

His eyes flicked to yours, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry I tried to leave. I… I just wanted to be free.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would turn and walk away. But instead, he stepped forward, his gaze flickering briefly to the door.

“I know,” he said softly. “But freedom is a lie. No one is ever truly free.”

Your heart sank, but you nodded, feeling the weight of his words.

Then, just as quickly as he had spoken, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The days passed, and little by little, something started to change. It was subtle at first—a slight shift in his demeanor when he brought you food, the way he lingered just a little longer by the door. His silence, though still heavy, seemed to be less hostile, less like a punishment and more like… waiting.

You didn’t push him. Instead, you focused on earning back what little trust you had lost.

One evening, when Peter brought you dinner, you didn’t just eat in silence.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Peter didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the hesitation in his posture. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re welcome.”

You nodded, even though the words barely felt like a breakthrough. But they were something—something that made your chest tighten with cautious hope.

The days went by, and your interactions, though brief, grew a little more frequent. He allowed you to sit in the living room sometimes, his presence always looming but never quite stifling. When he took you to the bathroom, he didn’t look at you with the same cold detachment he once had. There was something softer in his gaze, something that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you to be okay.

And slowly, you found yourself longing for those small moments of interaction more than anything.

You knew better than to hope for more—knew better than to believe this could ever be anything resembling a normal life. But even in the silence, you couldn’t ignore the subtle change.

Peter wasn’t saying much. He wasn’t apologizing for what he’d done.

But he was present.

And sometimes, that was enough.

You hadn’t realized how touch-deprived you were until the moment Peter’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you your food. It was a brief moment, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver through you, something deep inside you stirring with a longing you hadn’t acknowledged before.

The silence had worn down your defenses, eroded your ability to fight the emptiness that gnawed at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but the isolation had begun to twist you, making even the smallest contact feel like a lifeline. And Peter, despite everything, was still the only person in this prison you called a life.

The evening was colder than usual when Peter came into your room with the bathwater prepared. It had been a long time since he’d bathed you himself, though you could tell by the careful way he avoided meeting your eyes that he was still hesitant, unsure of how much to give or take.

He hadn’t offered any explanation for his strange acts of care. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe he thought that tending to your most basic needs might somehow balance out the pain he had caused you. Or maybe, deep down, he craved something more than just control. Something human.

He helped you undress with a gentleness that almost startled you. His hands trembled slightly as he touched your skin, but it wasn’t the nervousness of a man who feared you. It was a quiet vulnerability, a tenderness that you hadn’t expected from him.

When you were seated in the tub, the warm water washing over your body, Peter knelt beside it, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and for the first time in weeks, you found yourself feeling something other than fear or sadness.

You hadn’t even realized how badly you’d needed this—the simple act of another person caring for you. Of someone seeing you as more than just an object.

“Lean back,” Peter said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You obeyed, letting your head rest against the side of the tub as he began to gently scrub your back. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and every stroke of his hand against your skin felt like it was melting some of the tension that had built up in you. The loneliness, the ache inside you—slowly, it started to ebb away.

As he reached your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your neck, your breath hitched. There was a brief moment when your gazes met, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, you didn’t see the cold, calculating man who had taken you from everything you knew. You saw Peter—the boy who had been shattered, just like you.

You didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was the isolation, or the years of keeping yourself locked away inside your own mind. But when Peter’s gaze softened, when the silence between you felt like the calm before a storm, you leaned forward, your lips barely grazing his.

The kiss was soft—tentative, almost fragile—but the spark it ignited inside you was overwhelming. You didn’t pull away. Neither of you did.

Peter’s hand rested on your cheek, his fingers trembling as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips molded against yours, was the closest thing you’d felt to comfort in a long time. But as much as you craved it, as much as you wanted to lose yourself in that moment, you knew it wasn’t the solution to everything.

Peter pulled away just slightly, his breath ragged, his eyes searching your face for something he hadn’t found in a long time—understanding, acceptance, maybe even trust.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked quietly, his voice rough, almost unsure.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. You knew what he was asking, and you felt the weight of his hesitation pressing down on you.

You didn’t know what to say.

But you nodded.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were trapped in a cage of your own making. Even if Peter hadn’t fully earned your trust back, even if he still held you in his grip, there was something in his actions, in the quiet moments between you, that felt different.

“Okay,” Peter whispered, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’ll let you stay.”

That night, when he led you to his bedroom, you didn’t question it. The room was bigger, more comfortable, more inviting than the small, sterile space you had grown accustomed to. The bed was huge, with soft, dark sheets, and there was a warmth to it that you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Peter didn’t say anything as he gestured for you to lie down. Instead, he climbed in beside you, the weight of his presence pressing against you in a way that was both comforting and suffocating. But you couldn’t pull away.

He didn’t touch you after that. He simply lay there, his back to you as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The bed felt too big for just the two of you, but it also felt like the first step toward something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about—something resembling normalcy, intimacy, even tenderness.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, slow and steady, and Peter’s, a little heavier, a little more erratic.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to fill the silence with words that would break the barrier between you, but you didn’t know how.

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t know how much longer you could live like this, that you didn’t want to be kept, that you needed something real, something more than this twisted version of intimacy. But you stayed quiet.

Because, despite everything, you craved his presence. You craved him.

And for that one night, you let yourself forget everything else. You let yourself rest in his presence, even if it was only temporary, even if it was just for the night.

You closed your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to sleep without the constant fear gnawing at your bones.

The days passed in a quiet blur, each one blurring into the next, but the soft rhythm of Peter’s presence in your life was starting to take hold. Though the isolation of the house was still oppressive, something had shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t trust—not yet—but it was an understanding.

Peter still wasn’t fully open with you. He still kept his distance emotionally, often retreating into himself after the rare moments of intimacy you shared. But there were more of those moments now—small, fleeting acts that spoke louder than anything he’d said. The way he let you sit by his side on the couch, or how he’d give you a small, almost unnoticeable smile when he brought you your meals. There was a vulnerability in him that you hadn’t seen before.

And still, you felt yourself growing dependent on him in ways that both terrified and comforted you. The loneliness that had once consumed you had begun to lessen, replaced by a new kind of ache—a desire for the attention, the care, the touch that he had begun to give you.

That evening, Peter arrived at your door to bring you your dinner, his usual stoic expression in place. He stepped into the room, setting the tray down on the bed, and then paused, his eyes lingering on you. You could see the conflict in his gaze—he wanted to say something, you could feel it—but he remained silent, as he often did.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” you ventured, your voice soft, careful. “I haven’t seen you much.”

Peter stiffened slightly, his hand resting against the doorframe as he avoided looking at you directly. “I’ve been busy.”

It was a vague answer, but you didn’t push. You never pushed anymore.

He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, you spoke again. “Can I… can I sit with you tonight? Just for a little while?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Peter didn’t respond. He stood there, unmoving, as if weighing the request in his mind. Finally, he let out a slow exhale and nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

“Alright.”

The small word seemed to reverberate in your chest. It was a permission, an invitation, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel something that wasn’t fear.

That night, you joined him in the living room, sitting quietly beside him on the couch. The tension between you two was palpable, but there was a comfort in the silence. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting gentle shadows against the walls.

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His proximity was enough. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his knee brushed against yours, a subtle connection that made your pulse quicken despite the calmness of the moment.

You didn’t look at him directly, afraid that the vulnerability you were beginning to feel would show too much. Instead, you stared at the floor, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you ever… regret it?” you asked, almost against your will. “Taking me? Keeping me here?”

Peter’s gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his past in his eyes—the pain, the remorse, the lingering darkness. He hesitated before speaking.

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this.” His voice was low, almost regretful, but there was something else there too—a quiet resignation. “But I’ve made my choices, and I’m not going to back out now.”

You nodded, your heart sinking as his words landed. He didn’t regret it. Not enough to let you go. Not enough to change.

But you could feel the cracks in his walls, the way they were slowly starting to form. His actions had changed, even if his words hadn’t.

And that was enough for now.

The next few days were different. Peter still didn’t speak to you much, but when he did, his voice wasn’t cold or dismissive. He seemed to be watching you more closely, his gaze following your movements with an intensity that was both unsettling and… comforting.

One evening, after you’d eaten and he’d allowed you to have a bath, he surprised you. As you dried off, he appeared in the doorway, his presence suddenly more intense than usual.

“You’re… you’re being good,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your stomach fluttered at the compliment, though you tried to keep your expression neutral.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Peter stepped into the room, his eyes locked on yours. “You haven’t been… difficult. You’ve accepted things. I can see you’re trying.”

“I am,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Peter nodded, a strange, almost unreadable expression passing over his face. He was standing closer now, and for a moment, you could almost feel the tension between you building to a breaking point.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He seemed to hesitate for just a moment before he reached out, his hand hovering just in front of your shoulder.

You didn’t pull away. You allowed him the space, even as your heart raced at the proximity. Slowly, his hand landed gently on your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin with the faintest touch. It wasn’t the rough grip you had grown used to—no, it was soft, almost tender.

His thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shock of warmth through you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The words felt like a promise, one that you were slowly starting to believe, even though you knew the truth. Peter was still unpredictable, still dangerous in his own way. But in that moment, his touch felt like the only thing holding you together.

He stayed there, his hand resting lightly on your arm, the silence stretching between you both. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t alone.

The house had grown quieter in the last few days, the tension between you and Peter almost palpable. There were moments when you would catch him watching you from across the room, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the weight of everything unspoken, the way the air seemed to thrum with things neither of you could say.

Still, something had shifted in the way Peter looked at you. The coldness had faded, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. You couldn’t explain it, but you could feel it—the way he lingered longer when he gave you food, how he would sometimes stand near you and just… be there.

There had been no words. No explanations. But in the silence, you understood.

It was late one evening when you found yourself sitting on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly playing with the edge of the blanket, lost in your thoughts. You hadn’t seen Peter for a while, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that gnawed at you when he wasn’t around.

It wasn’t just loneliness, you realized. It was something else, something you weren’t ready to name.

The door to the living room creaked open, and you glanced up to see Peter standing there. His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t sit down immediately; instead, he lingered by the wall, his posture tense, as though he were unsure of what to do next.

“Peter,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. “Yeah?”

There was something about his gaze—something that made your heart race. He was watching you closely, as if waiting for you to make the first move, but you didn’t know what you were supposed to say, what you were supposed to do.

“I—” you started, your words faltering. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Peter’s eyes softened, just slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in him that mirrored your own need for connection, something that made him hesitate before taking a step toward you.

You couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop the way your chest tightened, the way you longed for him to cross that distance, to close the gap between the two of you.

Before you could stop yourself, you stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. You moved closer, your body instinctively drawn toward him, and as you reached him, your hand brushed against his arm. The contact was electric, and you both froze.

He looked down at you, his eyes wide, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to pull away.

Slowly, tentatively, you reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed under your touch. But still, he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not going to push me away?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your words trembling as you spoke.

He swallowed, his eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t want to.”

It was all the permission you needed.

You moved in closer, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow and tentative, as though you were both testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead. Peter’s lips were soft against yours, hesitant, as if he were afraid to go too far, too fast.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

The kiss deepened slightly, and Peter’s hand came up to rest gently on your waist. His touch was light, careful, as if he were afraid that even the smallest movement might break something between you. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver through your body, but there was no harshness, no urgency—only a quiet, desperate tenderness.

You could feel the way his body tensed, holding himself back, as if he were afraid to give in to the desire that was building between you. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and uncertain.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice low, however his eyes held a different story.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in a long while, you believed him.

You nodded, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I know.”

There was a brief moment of silence between you, both of you standing there, as if the world outside the walls of the house didn’t exist anymore. Neither of you moved—just stood, your hearts racing in sync with each other.

Finally, Peter leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours with more confidence this time. It was gentle, soft, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something raw and desperate that neither of you could deny. The kiss was electrifying, full of passion and warmth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he picked you up, holding your legs around his hips as he lead you to the bedroom.

You feel on your back, gasping for air, “Peter” he kisses your neck, leaving love bites. “That’s right, baby, say my name” the cockiness in his tone; followed by him undressing you. You shivered, not because of the cold— because his gaze on your body. He looked like he was drinking you in, like how one would stare at a huge feast. He looked starved.

“You’re so beautiful..” he removes his own clothes, dipping his fingers in your warmth. You were wet, embarrassing so. He was slow and delicate, it was apparent that he was holding back— almost scared of hurting you. Almost. Your moans egged him on, adding a third finger while his other hand rubbed circles on your clit. You closed your eyes throwing your head back. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart” when you look at him his dark eyes were clouded with lust and admiration.

The way he made you feel was heavenly, you tried to shallow your moans but failed to do so. He leaned down to kiss your neck, breast, anywhere that he could reach. Soon you came undone, your body shaking after. Peter removed his hands, sucking his fingers clean. “You taste so addicting” he muttered, it was quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

He pushed back some of your hair, “are you ready?” He asked, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Yes” you whispered back. You wanted this, craved this. As messed up as it was, you wanted him. You shouldn’t have, you should have hated him, cursed him out, hit him to your hearts content. But you didn’t want to. Your feels for Peter were confusing but you knew that you weren’t opposed to his actions.

He trusted in, slowly, and you felt the burn and stretch instantly. You tried to close your legs but with Peter in between them it was pointless. Noticing your pain he kissed your tears away, pumping slowly. After a while it started to feel good. “Harder..” you panted out. He obliged, quickening his pace and boarder line slamming into your warmth. “Peter! Oh— right there” he angled his hips, touching your g spot. He panted, groaning at how hard you were gripping him. Your nails were raking down his back, leaving red marks on his pale skin.

He picked you up, resting on his knees and you wrapped your arms around his neck while you rode him. He was still trusting to meet your pace. You sunk further onto him due to the new position. You cried out, body shaking as you cum for the second time. “Please— I can’t—“

“You can, and you will” Peter thrusts at an unforgiving pace, overstimulated, tears ran down your face. It was too much, you tried to tell him but all that came out where moans and whimpers. “You can take it, I know you can”

He throws you back on the bed, in missionary, then he threw your legs on his shoulders and thrusted into your warmth. The wet sounds followed by the skin slapping was going to tip you over, again. “Just a little more, baby” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. “Mhm,” one of his hands comes to play with your clit, rubbing in small circles. With a loud moan you cum for the third time. Peter follows soon after, throwing his head back, as he finishes inside you. He pants, staying inside your pussy just a little longer than pulling his cock out. He lays down beside you, panting for a minute then rolling over and kissing you gently. “You did so good, I knew you could take it.” You smile, sleepily. He gets up, going to the washroom to grab a warm cloth, cleaning up the inside of your legs. He continues to praise you, and you feel like you’re about to fall asleep.

Peter notices your closed eyes and lack of response. He smiles to himself. He kisses your head, throwing the cloth somewhere in the room and pulling the covers over you. He climbs in beside you, holding you close.

No one was going to take this from him. No one.

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