"your eyes!" || peter parker
A/N: im not even joking i saw bnd and immediately opened tumblr bc it is that serious. expect more from me...
WARNINGS: NSFW, mdni, drunk f!reader, drunk hookup (all is consensual), no BND spoilers included! (js talks a little about his heightened abilities), p in v, unprotected rough sex, arachnid sensory overload... him using his senses to fuck you đ¤¤
WC: 2.4k
SUMMARY: Meeting a stranger at your friend's party, you decided to go out on a limb and do something you never do: casually hookup. Peter's amidst discovering his new abilities, and dealing with these bodily changesâ he's searching for his own relief outside of Advil.
You never go home with strangers. People who go to clubs or parties purely for spontaneous hookups with no real meaning are stupid. You vowed to never be one of those people. After an unexpected invite to MJ and Ned's housewarming party, you find yourself pacing past huddled bodies, head overwhelmed by the mix of chatter and soft music. There should be a limit to how many people can be in an apartment, this is ridiculous. The drinks are fun, there should be less people, more drinks.
You raise a blue plastic cup to your lips when you see a random guy stumble past a group of people ranting and raving about something you can't make out. They're talking too fast anyway. He rubs his head as though a headache is seriously taking over his brain, and he huddles into a corner for protection from the chaos.
You're bored and drunk, what's the harm?
Everyone says you need to get back out there anyway, and he's cute... In an abandoned-puppy-at-a-shelter kind of way. He smiled weakly at passerbys, clutched his cup too tightly, like he's expecting someone to snatch it from him at any given moment. You straighten your posture, fix a dress you stole from your roommate, and muster up the courage to go over and speak to him. He looks distracted, and he is.
Peter's life is so scrambled, he doesn't know who or what he is anymore. He only came here to try and recollect what he'd lost four years ago. His best friends. Now he's not so sure, it's too crowded, and he feels everything too deeply now.
Then you came up.
His breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, backed up as if there was no more space behind him. "Hi." You simply stated.
"H-Hi?"
You give him your hand to shake, telling him your name. He just stands there. Stares at you blankly before his lips stutter out: "Peter." Wow, he hadn't told anyone his name in so long, it felt wrong. No one was supposed to know him, Peter's just another face in the crowd, a nobody to everybody.
"Nice to meet you, Peter." You smile.
"Y-You too." He hides his flush behind the cup as he practically chugs the rest.
"You okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine, I just came to give N-Ned and MJ a housewarming gift, I- I was gonna leave... I have a headache so..."
"Ohh, I see. Migraine?"
"Something like that." He murmurs. He shifts on his feet quietly, Peter's restless where he stands, his hands trembling at his sides. His head was pounding so hard, he could feel his brain shaking around and ricocheting against his skull. He can hear your heart beating, and he's not sure if he likes that or not.
You tilt your head, the alcohol's fogging your brain, and you just let loose. "Look, I think you're really cute." You say slowly, slightly slurred. "You want to get out of here?"
Peter stands as still as a statue. Get out of here. Go where? He didn't know you, couldn't take you home with him, his place isn't... 'Guest material.' That and the fact all of his tech is there, including clues that would reveal his identity as Spider-Man to you. Would a drunk girl go blabbering to J. Jonah Jameson like Mysterio had those years ago? He certainly hoped not! He couldn't afford to do that again. Not that he could, Strange wouldn't remember Peter anyways. "Sure." He shrugs.
The two of you make your way out of the apartment, to the elevator, then down. You loop your arm around Peter's which you notice is pretty muscular. He guides you quietly and calmly through the streets, he wasn't too sure on what you guys were doing, where you were going, but you were going. You don't think much of it, too giddy and tipsy for your own good. Most of the time you knew better than this, but hey! It's cool to get out of your comfort zone.
Hopefully this guy wasn't a killer.
Worse! He's a masked vigilante who saves the neighborhood.
Thankfully Peter's a good guy, he makes sure you cross the street safely, he keeps you close by to ensure your safety. Despite his inner battles that it was a bad idea, he brought you to his apartment complex. You hang patiently by his side as the elevator descends up.
He creaks the door open; his apartment is kind of sad. You pay no mind to the monitors or any of his technological stuff across the room. Instead? You skip over to the couch and flop down, letting out a content sigh. Peter watches you curiously. "Can I get you anything?" Not that he had much to offer, you shake your head.
"I'm okay. Thanks, Pete!" You smile. A smile. Something sweet and genuine that he hasn't seen in a while. A smile that isn't fake or laced with the sinking weight of guilt and pain and trauma of the past nine or ten years beating your ass every day. Peter gently sinks onto the couch next to your feet, he glances over as the skirt of your dress rides up your thighs, and he bites his inner lip. Genuinely, the second he sat down, you popped up and leaned near him. The alcohol is catching up slowly but surely as you inspect Peter. closely. He is cute.
"How old're you anyway?" You question.
"Um, 22. You?"
Not too young, not too old, is he just perfect? "Same: 22. What do you do for work?"
Ah shit. "Uh, I'm.. a student?"
"Where?"
"ESU..." He clears his throat, praying you'll believe his fib.
"Oh cool!" You exclaim, not interested enough to continue prying on his supposed education. "You single?"
He stops, just stares at his shoes. Is he? Technically, yes, mentally? He's not so sure. "Sort of."
"What does 'sort of' mean?" You chuckle.
"I had someone."
"Oh, nasty break up or something?"
"Or something."
"You know," you sigh, pressing against his side, "you're too cute to be alone like this. Do you even have friends?"
"No, I don't need them."
"Everyone needs friends! Hmm, okay, I'll be your new best friend!"
"You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying."
"Um, I know exactly what I'm saying. Or I wouldn't be saying it."
Can't argue with that logic.
"Do you ever get drunk?"
"I try not to." Bummer.
So he's cute, non-alcoholic and single. Win win, you move over, gently straddling his lap with your legs. Peter freezes, he hasn't had this kind of contact in who knows how long. Maybe never. He doesn't stop you when you lean in halfway, and he closes the distance by allowing your lips to meet and melt into a kiss, slowly deepening as the seconds pass. One of his hands rests at your waist, the other comes up to your cheek steadying himself as the two of you make out. It's passionate, heated, needy, and a bit sloppy as tongues intercept and teeth accidentally click against each other. Peter lets out a shaky exhale through his nose as you move against his lap, maybe it's just his newfound senses but he swore he could hear your heart thumping in your chest, he can practically feel your need in his own body.
His hand slides back into your hair, gently fisting it. Dammit, he was so screwed.
One thing seemed to lead to another, he found himself carrying you to his small bedroom, gently laying you on his bed as he tossed his coat on the floor with his shirt. You would've never guessed this shy guy was beautifully ripped. Your heart skips a beat. Peter senses the shift in your body, how your breath hitches, the flutter of your eyes, he's been able to feel things on a deeper level recently. Apparently he's developed heightened arachnid hormones. For him, it's been a struggle, but right now? It's an advantage over you. He assists you in taking off your dress, he kicks off his pants and tugs you to the edge of the bed, his boner pressing against your heat as he leans down to capture your lips once again. He'd hoped to get his mind stress-free, it seemed to be working because all of his duties as Spider-Man, the spell, the guilt, it all disappeared for the time being. His head fogged with desperation to get inside of you.
His mouth moves against yours as he snakes his hands under your back to get to your bra, unclasping and yanking it off. His eyes glisten, he licks his lips and bends down to press a kiss on both of your breasts. You left out a soft hum, toying with his curls around your finger as he sucks your tit, massaging the other with his large hand. He loses himself in your soft moans, enjoying the way your fingers thread through his hair. Only then does his head move across to the other, then trails down your tummy, stopping right above the waistband of your panties.
You huff, âCâmon⌠Please donât stop.â
âWhatâs next is better. You trust me?â He bats his lashes.
"Only because I'm drunk." Peter cannot help but laugh. He sits up and pulls your panties down. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees your wetness. His index and middle finger lightly trace your pussy lips, making you shiver. Peter straightens himself, gently pushing his boxers down and lifting your legs on his hips. His eyes search yours, you look so beautiful like this, he almost forgets MJ completely.
He gently slides his tip along your wetness, making you whimper. He hated these new arachnid senses, everything was twice as intense. Jerking off was a fucking chore, he canât believe heâs having sex when heâs like this, he's a monster. A monster who can absolutely ruin you sexually.
With one long, deep breath, he pushes himself inside you carefully, just the tip, for now. Peter's jaw clenches, the feeling is overwhelmingly euphoric. Your tightness is like heaven on Earth, he swallows. Gently he pulls out, then pushes back in- but only the tip, he wants to tease you.
Your moans escape, shaky and breathless and Peter extends this torture of teasing. He watches the way your pussy grips onto him as he pulls out; as if trying to keep him in and pull him deeper. It's oddly satisfying. At some point something snapped in Peter and he buried himself in you without warning, he wasn't sure what came over him but oh God did it practically kill him to have you like this, around him, squeezing him, making him see stars. He almost stopped entirely, it was so overwhelming to his entire nervous-system that he thought he might cry, not because it hurtâ no, it felt fucking amazing. Because it felt too good. It's the best thing he's felt in four long years.
"You're okay?" He asks softly, leaning beside your ear as he finds his confidence in actual thrusts. You nod.
"I'm great." A smile spreads over your lips, as well as a small blush. Peter can't help but smile back, it's cute seeing your nose scrunch as you force a smile while he's ruining you. His hips continue to meet yours every other second, intently watching your expressions, trying to understand what makes you arch, what makes you moan louder, what truly pleases you. He's trying to ignore his senses, the way every movement feels like a tank running over every individual nerve in his body, how your sounds echo in his mind like someone is whacking his head with a metal bat. He isn't complaining, it's sexy knowing he has total control to make you have the best orgasm of your life because he senses what's good to you and what isn't.
When you don't whine or tighten on his cock, he angles differently, his body is on autopilot with the arachnid hormones, he's on a new level of weirdness. "Fuck," he whispers breathlessly near your ear before softly nipping it, making you gasp. "Sorry." He quickly murmurs, pressing completely against you as though he's trying to melt your bodies together. He starts fucking faster, it's diabolical.
"Fuck, fuck." He repeats it like a mantra trying to ground himself in the words as he physically cannot control himself anymore. It's like someone has him on puppet strings and is controlling his hips. Your hands come to his shoulders, brows knitted together with a sad puppyish expression that makes his cock twitch inside you. Finally, he hikes your legs a bit higher and breathing in, he starts fucking faster. Your brain fogs with pleasure, "Tell me if it's too much," he says softly, reminding you: he will stop if you want. He doesn't want to hurt you.
"Oh, my god, Pete, that's it." You moaned.
Something in Peter's brain lagged, like a broken computer. He smelt it, he could feel it under his fingertips, and around his dick, it's precious and it's dirty. You're close. Right now, his hips pistoned quicker, no one else could achieve this, only him. Because of what he is. You don't need to know that, he hopes you think he has really good stamina. Peter's fingers dig into your thighs as he grips them for balance, a sharp thrill runs up his spine because fuck he's close too. And with all of that: he blanks for a moment.
Your eyes had squished close when he started thrusting at this new pace, you almost tapped out. It's too much, but it's too good to give up. This is a train you can't get off of. Amidst the very moment you find yourself gasping for more, pleading Peter that he doesn't stop, your eyes open. His head is hung, sweat dotted on his forehead as his curls stick to his skin. His muscles flexed and abs tensed.
"Peter..." You whispered in a whiny tone.
"M-mhm??" His eyes flicker up to you.
"I'm gonna..." You trail off, with a moan because it's already happening before you can forewarn him. And holy shit, he wasn't expecting it- he groans as your cunt tightens impossibly around him. Every breath catches in his throat, and his stomach knots. "Oh my God." He pants.
You're overstimulated by the feelings, him pounding you through your orgasm, then... His face scrunches, he moans out, eyes snapping shut, his hip thrusts go sloppy and he whines when his own orgasm hits him. When his eyes open as he's thrusting his cum into you, you find yourself staring into pure black eyes, like his body had been possessed by something other-worldly, he doesn't even realize it. "P-Pete... Your eyes!"
"What?" He moans.
"Your eyes are black!"
Well, fuck.
