LOVE PHEROMONES-“your scent is driving me crazy”
Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem! Reader
Synopsis: “when Y/N moves into a new apartment in New York City, she expects ordinary things: unpacking boxes, meeting new neighbours, starting fresh. She doesn’t expect her awkward handsome next-door neighbour to smell like nothing she’s ever encountered, or for Spider-Man to smell exactly the same. But as the pheromones between them grow impossible to ignore, Peter begins to realize something terrifying: no normal human should affect him like this. And no normal human should be affected by him”
Genre and warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive language, sexual content, angst, awkward Peter Parker, confessions
Wc: 9.0k
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Finally, After four years of saying it, you actually did it.
You moved out of your mom's house.
It was both an emotional and exhilarating experience—you hadn't left your mother's side for the entirety of your twenty years on this earth, so this marked a new chapter for both of you. A chapter written in the ink of independence, with all its messy, beautiful uncertainty.
Your new apartment sat nestled in the heart of living, breathing New York City. The complex itself was unremarkable from the outside, just a brick facade, fire escape zigzagging up the side like metallic ivy, the endless hum of city life bleeding through every wall. But you got the top floor, and that made all the difference. The view from your window was nothing short of breathtaking. At night, the city sprawled beneath you like a glittering circuit board, each light a tiny pulse of life. Taxis filled the streets, their headlights painting temporary golden streaks. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. You pressed your palm against the cool glass, watching your breath fog the surface, and felt impossibly small and impossibly large all at once.
Your floor housed three other neighbors. Two apartments on each side, yours sandwiched in the middle. The space was clearly designed for one person, you thought as you surveyed the modest living area. Maybe two, the thought crept in unbidden, if you were okay with the other person being a little clingy.
Your mother had helped you move in that morning, her presence a familiar comfort amidst the chaos of cardboard boxes and bubble wrap. She'd stood in your doorway, hands on her hips, surveying the half-unpacked chaos with that particular expression she reserved for moments of maternal wisdom.
"Promise me something, sweetheart," she'd said, her voice carrying that weight of tradition that you'd learned to recognize over two decades.
You'd raised an eyebrow, already knowing what was coming.
"You have to bake a pie and greet your neighbors. We always do it. It's the right thing to do."
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And now, at 10 PM, you stood in your tiny kitchen, staring at the raspberry pie she'd insisted on making just in case. The familiar lattice crust, the deep crimson filling peeking through. it was always the first thing to disappear every year at Christmas, a childhood favorite that tasted like warmth and home and everything safe. Her words echoed in your mind like a persistent melody. You could just tell her you've done it. Save yourself the awkwardness of knocking on stranger’s' doors at this hour. But what was the point of pointless lying? Besides, your mother had taken the time to bake this pie with her own hands, and if nobody answered, you could always eat it yourself.
Win-win situation.
Deep down, a small, selfish part of you hoped nobody would open their door. Just so you could have the pie all to yourself.
Here goes.
You stepped out into the hallway, the pie warm in your hands, the scent of raspberries and sugar trailing behind you like a fragrant ghost. Your apartment door clicked shut, and suddenly you were standing in the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor, feeling very exposed and very foolish.
Your nerves kicked in as you walked across to your first neighbor's door. An elderly woman lived there, you'd glimpsed her in the hallway earlier. Mildred, you thought her name was. You knocked twice to be polite, not demanding.
You waited, rocking back and forth on your heels, the pie cradled in both hands like an offering. A warm smile fixed itself onto your face, the kind of smile you hoped said friendly new neighbor, not at all a serial killer.
Nothing.
Not even a creak of floorboards from the other side.
Maybe nobody's home? You shifted your weight, the pie suddenly feeling heavier. Onto the next door.
Knock. Knock.
Again, you were met with the same fate. Silence. The kind of silence that felt almost accusatory, like the walls themselves were judging your attempt at neighborly goodwill. It was past 10 PM anyway. They were probably asleep. Or pretending to be asleep because who actually opens their door to strangers at this hour? You sighed, a thread of disappointment weaving through your chest. You turned back toward your own apartment, but hesitated when your eyes landed on the last door—the one right next to yours.
One more try.
You prepared yourself one more time. Smile in place. Pie in hand. The warmth of the ceramic dish seeping into your palms, grounding you.
Knock. Knock.
Nothing.
Just as you were about to surrender, to retreat into the safety of your own apartment with your untouched pie and your wounded pride, a loud bang erupted from inside.
You froze.
Knock. Knock. "Hello? Are you okay in there?"
"Gimme a min— *CRASH* ~ah shi~I'll be right—"
It was a male voice. Young, from the sound of it. And he sounded... distressed? Your mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenarios. Burglars. Murderers. Someone hurt, bleeding out on the floor while you stood helplessly in the hallway with a raspberry pie.
"I can come back tomorrow if you'd like!" you shouted through the door, already planning your escape route back to your apartment.
"No, no... it's okay, I just—"
The door swung open.
And your brain promptly short-circuited.
He was handsome. Not in a polished, magazine-cover way, but in a way that felt almost accidental. Like someone had thrown together a collection of features and accidentally created something stunning. Brown hair, damp and curling slightly at the ends, falling across his forehead. His eyes were wide, brown and disarmingly warm, the kind of eyes that seemed to hold an entire universe of kindness. But he was heavily out of breath. His chest rose and fell in quick, labored movements, and he stumbled slightly as he leaned against the doorframe, trying and failing to look casual.
You stood there, momentarily stunned into silence.
"Ah—uh, hey," you finally managed, your voice coming out slightly higher than intended. "My name is Y/N. I'm your new next-door neighbor." You thrust the pie forward like a shield. "This is a peace offering pie. It's okay if you don't want it because I could totally—"
"Ouu, I love pie!" His face lit up with such genuine excitement that you almost laughed.
"Oh!" You blinked, caught off guard by his enthusiasm.
"Oh, sorry, my name is Peter," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was rude of me." You both laughed, the tension dissolving into something lighter. Easier. His laugh was infectious, a warm sound that seemed to fill the hallway. "It's okay. I know the whole moment was pretty sudden anyway." You gestured with your eyes for him to take the pie, and he accepted it without hesitation, cradling it like it was made of gold. As he adjusted his grip on the dish, his damp hair shifted, revealing a fresh wound just above his eyebrow. A bruise was already forming, the skin purpling at the edges. "Oh my god, are you okay?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You look like you got in a fight."
His eyes tracked yours, his fingers slowly finding the wound. He winced slightly as he touched it.
"Ah~, this thing? It's nothing." A nervous chuckle escaped him. "It's not like I fell from a skyscraper and hit my face on a billboard on my way in here or anything." He delivered the line with such obviously sarcastic theatricality that you couldn't help but squint at him. "Right," you said slowly, your tone dripping with skepticism. "Right." He adjusted his posture, suddenly awkward and stiff. "Sorry, I—it had a funnier delivery in my head." You laughed. You couldn't help it. He was so awkward, so weird, so... endearing. It was honestly kind of adorable. "Okay, that was funny," you admitted, and the way his face lit up at your approval made something warm bloom in your chest.
He smiled at you, and there was something almost admiring in the way he looked at you. Like he was memorizing your features, cataloging them for later. Then his gaze dropped, traveling down and then back up, and—
“Holy shit, is he checking me out right now?”
Your brain quite literally malfunctioned. A full system crash. Error messages flashing behind your eyes.
“Act cool. Act cool. Act cool.”
You were muttering it under your breath, a desperate mantra, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.
He chuckled. You snapped your head up. "Did you hear that?" He started looking around like the walls had suddenly become the most interesting things in existence. "Me? Hear something? Pfft, did you say something?" He was so painfully obvious that you knew immediately. He'd heard every word. "You're so bad at lying," you teased, a grin spreading across your face. "Hey! You think I'm a liar?" He grinned back, and something about the playful challenge in his voice made you feel light.
Everything felt... okay. Easy. Like you'd known him for years instead of minutes.
Then it hit you.
And when it did, you couldn't ignore it.
His scent or whatever it was he gave off was like nothing you'd ever smelled before. It was complex, layered, and intoxicating. Sweet and woody, musky and earthy all at once. Like a forest after rain mixed with something warm and distinctly him. It was a chemical that felt almost addicting, and you found yourself leaning closer without conscious thought, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
What are you doing? Your rational mind screamed. He's going to think you're a total creep. "What perfume is that?" you heard yourself ask, your voice slightly breathless. "It smells so good." "Perfume?" He genuinely seemed confused, his brow furrowing in that adorable way of his. "Oh, scents irritate my skin, so I stick to non-scented stuff." He was telling the truth. You could tell from the way he said it, the genuine bewilderment in his eyes. "Sorry then," you apologized, forcing yourself to step back. Creating distance. Breathing in air that wasn't saturated with him. "I guess my nose is a little too sensitive tonight." You didn't want to make things any more awkward. The tension had shifted into something you couldn't quite name, and it made you nervous in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"Goodnight, Peter."
"Oh, well, goodnight to you too, Y/N?" He seemed almost disappointed by your sudden departure. "The talk was fun!" You were already halfway to your door, your heart pounding in a way that felt entirely too dramatic for a simple neighborly interaction. He slowly closed his door, and you could hear his voice drifting through the wood, muffled but still audible as he rambled to himself.
"Scent? Do I smell bad?"
A pause.
"Nobody told me about my smell before..."
You slipped into your apartment, closed the door, and leaned against it, pressing your palms against the cool wood. Your nose was still tingling with the memory of his scent, and you couldn't seem to shake the feeling that you'd just stumbled onto something you didn't fully understand. Why did it affect YOU of all people?
You didn't think about it.
You tried not to think about it.
For three days, you successfully avoided thoughts of your ridiculously handsome, awkward, strangely-scented neighbor. You focused on unpacking. On arranging your furniture. On figuring out which subway line would get you to work fastest. But sometimes, late at night, when the city lights paint patterns across your ceiling, you'd find yourself lying in bed, eyes closed, trying to conjure that scent again. It was madness.
You were going crazy.
Then, on the fourth day, it happened.
The evening had been peaceful.
You were clocking off from your shift at the local café, the familiar weight of your work apron folded in your bag, the comforting jingle of the shop door still echoing in your ears. The streets of New York buzzed with their usual symphony distant horns, overlapping conversations, the rhythmic thump of music spilling from open windows above storefronts. You walked absentmindedly, one earbud in, the other dangling loose. Your playlist hummed softly in your ear, a gentle soundtrack to the city's chaos. The air was warm, carrying the mingled scents of street food and exhaust fumes. You were thinking about nothing in particular. About whether you should pick up milk on the way home. About that customer who'd asked for a latte with oat milk and then complained it didn't taste like dairy. About—
The world erupted into chaos.
A man sprinted past you, clutching a purse, his sneakers pounding against the pavement in a frantic rhythm. Before you could even process what was happening, a high-pitched scream pierced the air behind you.
"THIEF! SOMEONE STOP HIM!"
Your instincts kicked in before your brain could catch up. You've always been the type to help, even if it meant putting yourself in danger. It was a curse, really, this overwhelming need to do something when you saw injustice unfolding. You yanked your earbud out, the music dying abruptly, and took off after him. Your sneakers slapped
against the pavement, your bag bouncing against your hip, your lungs already beginning to burn.
"Stupid!" a voice screamed in your head. "This is so stupid!"
But you kept running. The thief bent into an alley, a narrow gap between two buildings that looked more like a wound in the city's flesh than an actual passage. You followed without thinking, the adrenaline drowning out every rational thought. Your heart was racing. Your legs were burning. The thief was gaining distance, That's when you heard it.
The unmistakable *thwip* of webbing, followed by a grunt and the sound of someone hitting the ground. You skidded to a halt at the entrance of the alley, your eyes wide, your chest heaving. There, in the dim light of the narrow space, stood Spider-Man. He had the thief webbed to the wall like a very angry, very confused butterfly, his arms pinned above his head, legs stuck together, the purse dangling uselessly from one webbed hand. Spider-Man was casually dusting off his palms, his posture radiating a kind of practiced nonchalance. "You know," he said, his voice carrying that familiar, teasing tone, "for a guy who steals purses, you sure do run slow."
The thief sputtered incoherently, a string of curses and threats that you barely registered. Because Spider-Man had turned, and he was looking at you. He looked up quickly toward something above him and then back down at you. You followed his gaze, your brain still lagging behind the events unfolding around you.
The iron pole.
It was swinging down from somewhere above like a loose construction beam, probably, or some forgotten piece of scaffolding and it was falling directly toward you. You didn't even have time to process it. One moment you were standing there, watching it descend, your body frozen in that terrible space between recognition and reaction. The next, Spider-Man had webbed his way to you, his movements a blur of red and blue. He swept you from your feet. Your arms curled around his neck instinctively, your body
pressed against his as he launched upward, swinging you both to a higher platform just as the pole crashed into the ground below with a deafening BANG. You clung to him, your heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.
"I gotcha," he said, his voice softer now. Concerned.
You looked at his face, the white lenses of his mask, the way they seemed to hold an entire galaxy of emotion and felt something shift in your chest. "I almost died," you breathed. "Oh my god, I almost died!!!!." "Thank you, Spider-Man," you added, your eyes genuine, your voice barely above a whisper.
Behind that mask, he melted. You could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, the way his head tilted just a fraction.
And then it hit you.
The same scent.
It was everywhere. Wrapped around you like a second skin, seeping into your lungs, flooding your senses. That sweet, woody, musky, earthy fragrance, the one that had been driving you insane for four days, the one you'd been trying and failing to forget.
Your breath caught in your throat.
"No—no way?!"
Spider-Man tilted his head, and you could have sworn he was studying you with more intensity than a casual rescue warranted. His grip on you tightened slightly, almost protectively.
"Are—are you okay there, citizen?" he asked, his voice suddenly softer. Uncertain. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Your brain was too busy short-circuiting, piecing together impossible connections. The scent. The damp hair. The wound on his eyebrow that he'd so poorly explained.
"It's not like I fell from a skyscraper and hit my face on a billboard." his voice echoed in your mind.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
"You—" you started, your voice barely a whisper. "This might sound crazy, but you smell like..."
Spider-Man stiffened. Immediately, he placed you down on the platform, creating distance between you that felt almost wrong. For a split second, you saw something flash behind his mask. Recognition. Panic. Something wild and animalistic that made your stomach flip violently. "It's probably the pizza from earlier," he said quickly, his voice strained. "I had pizza. Lots of pizza. Very... pizzay pizza."
You stared at him.
For a moment, you just stood there, the air between you thick with unspoken things. He looked like he was about to leave. His weight shifted, his body angling toward the edge of the platform.
"Wait—"
He paused.
"How am I supposed to get down from here?"
The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you weren't entirely sure why you'd said them. Was it because you didn't want him to leave just yet? Or because you wanted to take in his scent for as long as you could because it was so addictive? Maybe both. Maybe something else entirely. Spider-Man rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture so achingly familiar that your heart clenched. "Sorry about that. I can take you home if you'd like." He got closer, offering his hand, and the scent became stronger again. Overwhelming actually. It was driving you absolutely insane, this chemical pull that seemed to bypass every rational thought and go straight to something primal. The air grew thick between you both. His eyes,those white lenses, dropped to his own hand, then back to you. "It's getting pretty late after all."
You grabbed his hand.
He pulled you closer, and suddenly you were pressed against him again, your body flush against his as he webbed through the alleys and between tall buildings. The wind whipped past you, cold and exhilarating, and you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, a sound of pure, unfiltered joy. And he enjoyed every bit of your excitement.
It was terrifying. It was wonderful. It was absolutely insane. Then he landed on the balcony of your apartment with practiced ease, his feet touching down silently despite the force of the swing. You stumbled back, your hands pressed against your chest, trying to slow your racing heart. Tonight was weird. Everything about tonight was weird.
And then the thought hit you.
"How'd you know I live here?" you asked, your brow furrowing. "I never told you my address." His body language shifted into something painfully nervous. His hands fidgeted at his sides. He couldn't seem to look directly at you. "uhh….My spidey senses directed me here," he laughed off, the sound too high, too forced.
You couldn't help but giggle too. "Of course you can do that too!"
Liar, your mind whispered. He's such a terrible liar.
"Well... thank you for saving me and getting me home safely, Spider-Man."
He stood in front of you, looking down. Even with the mask, you could feel the weight of his gaze.
"It's my pleasure."
And before you knew it, your pheromones hit him.
Finally, after days of feeling like you were the only one affected, the only one losing your mind over a scent you couldn't explain, it hit him like a freight train. His body moved oddly for a moment like a slight sway, a stumble that he caught himself from. His breathing changed, becoming faster, more labored. It was intoxicating. Hypnotic. Why was it so strong? Why was it pulling him in with such irresistible force? It was like he was glued right there in that moment, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but breathe you in.
"Spider-Man?" you asked, concern creeping into your voice.
His breathing was speeding up. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven movements.
"Are you okay?"
He backed up.
You stepped closer.
He backed up again, and you followed, drawn by something you couldn't name. "I need to get away from here," he thought, the words frantic in his mind. "I need to get away from here FAST." A blur of red and blue. A rush of displaced air. And he was gone. You stood alone on your balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin, your hands pressed against your chest.
Your heart was racing. Your mind was spinning.
Tonight was weird. Maybe it was just a coincidence, you thought. Maybe you were reading too much into things.But Spider-Man sure did smell like your neighbor.
Like Peter.
The scent lingered in the air, clinging to your clothes, your hair, your skin. It was haunting you. You stumbled backwards into your apartment, closing the balcony door with trembling hands, and leaned against the glass.
What just happened?
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You didn't sleep that night.
You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind running in circles like a hamster on a wheel. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw those white lenses. Every time you breathed, you smelled him. The same scent. The same intoxicating, impossible scent.
It could be a coincidence, you told yourself. It has to be a coincidence.
But that was impossible. Peter was just a normal guy. A cute, awkward, slightly clumsy normal guy who lived next door and made terrible jokes and brought you pie. Wasn't he?
Your phone buzzed, jolting you out of your thoughts. You fumbled for it, your fingers clumsy.
A text from an unknown number.
"Hey, it's Peter from next door! got your number from the building directory hope that's okay. just wanted to say thanks again for the pie. It was AMAZING. seriously best pie i've ever had. Also, if you ever need anything, im literally right next door. like. RIGHT next door. anyway. sorry if this is weird. im making it weird arent i. ok bye."
You stared at the screen.
And then you laughed. It was breathless, disbelieving sound that seemed to push some of the tension from your body. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
"hey peter! thanks for the text. not weird at all. I actually had a weird night. got saved by spider-man. he smelled exactly like you. weird right?"
You deleted it.
"hey! thanks for the text. i was actually just considering knocking on your door. crazy coincidence. also weird question but do you have a secret identity by any chance?"
You deleted that too.
"hey peter! crazy night. got saved by spider-man. he smelled just like you. any thoughts?"
You stared at the message.
That's too forward. Too suspicious. He'll think you're crazy.
You deleted it.
Finally, you settled on:
"Hey Peter!! thanks for the text!! and trust me it's not weird at all, i'm glad you liked the pie :)"
You hit send before you could overthink it.
The three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.
Then:
" greatttt!! Okay so i know i just said i hope im not making it weird. but um... i just wanted to know if you'd like to hang out right now? or tomorrow obviously because it's super late and that would be weird and im sure you have work. okay im going to stop texting now bye"
You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.
He was so awkward. So painfully, endearingly awkward.
You typed back quickly, before you could overthink it.
"give me a minute, i'll be outside"
You'd been pacing around your apartment for a hot minute, changing outfits three times, fixing your hair twice. The clock on your nightstand read 1:17 AM, and you were extremely aware that this was absolutely insane. You were going to knock on your neighbor's door at 1 AM. This is fine, you told yourself.
This is totally fine. You're just going to say hi and hang out for a bit with your neighbor. Your neighbor who definitely isn't Spider-Man. Definitely.
Soon after, there you were, standing outside his door.
You looked at it. The numbers on the door were slightly crooked, like someone had put them up in a hurry. The paint was chipped in places. It was such an ordinary door. But behind that door was Peter. And maybe just maybe behind that door was a secret you were only beginning to uncover. Just as you were about to knock, the door cracked open, just slightly.
Your heart was pounding.
You pushed the door open slowly.
"Peter?" you called out, stepping inside.
His apartment was small, cluttered, and absolutely him without a doubt. Books stacked on every surface,scientific journals mixed with worn paperbacks, dog-eared and well-loved. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat on the coffee table, the milk long since gone soupy. A pile of laundry on the floor looked like it had been there for days.
And there, standing in the middle of the living room, was Peter.
He stood there, holding a slightly wilted bouquet of flowers in one hand. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that was slightly too small for him, the fabric pulling across his chest in a way that made your mouth go dry. His hair was a mess, his eyes wild and wide.
He looked... normal. Completely normal.
Except for the way he was looking at you.
Like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
"Hey!" he said, his voice surprisingly lower than usual. Huskier. "Come in! Sorry about the mess, I wasn't expecting—I mean, I was, but I wasn't expecting—you know what, just ignore the mess."
He was rambling. He always rambled when he was nervous.
You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. "Hi, Peter."
He smiled back, and something softened in your chest. "Hi."
He looked down at the bouquet in his hand, then back at you. "Oh, right! I brought flowers. For you. You know... flowers are nice." You smiled—a real, genuine smile that seemed to start in your chest and spread outward. "I'm surprised you were able to get flowers at 1 AM. I'm impressed." You stepped closer to accept the flowers, and of course, his scent immediately hit you. That familiar, intoxicating scent that made your knees feel weak. That had been driving you insane for days. But there was something else now. Something new. Because as you got closer, it seemed like he caught the faintest trace of whatever it was that had been driving you crazy. Like he could smell you just as intensely.
He paused, just for a moment, and you saw his nostrils flare almost imperceptibly. Like he was breathing you in, trying to get enough of whatever it was that lingered on your skin. The air between you both felt electric. You both sat on your tiny couch. Peter was hyperaware of every inch of space between you, and so were you. It was like his senses were heightened in that moment.
"Your heart's beating extremely fast," he said, his voice low. "Are you nervous?" Your eyes widened. "It had to be really loud for you to hear that." He seemed to catch himself, his cheeks flushing. "I—sorry, I didn't mean to—I just have good hearing. Very normal, not-at-all-super hearing."
You squinted at him.
He squinted back.
Trying to calm the atmosphere, you soon began to talk about nothing and everything. About work. About the city. About your mom's insistence on pie deliveries. About his terrible excuses for his injuries. But the tension was still there, simmering beneath the surface. "You know," you said casually, "I had a really interesting night."
Peter choked on the spit in his throat. "You—you did?"
"Mhmm." You stared at him, getting close enough to take in that addictive smell of his. "I was walking home from work, and this thief stole someone's purse. So I chased him."
"You chased a thief?" Peter's eyes widened. "That's—that's so dangerous! You could have gotten hurt!"
"I know. It was stupid." You shrugged. "But then Spider-Man showed up."
Peter's expression flickered. Just for a second. A flash of something that looked almost like recognition.
"Spider-Man?," he repeated.
"Yes! Spider-Man." You confirmed, watching him closely. "He saved me. A pole was falling, and he swept me off my feet and carried me to safety. It was very dramatic."
"Wow." Peter's voice was strained. "That sounds... amazing."
"It was." You leaned in closer to him, and it was like his brain chemicals went wild as he took you in. Your pheromones. He was trying his hardest to control himself, you could
see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands clenched at his sides. "And you know what the weirdest part was?"
"What?"
"He smelled exactly like you."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Peter's face went through approximately seventeen different expressions in the span of three seconds. Confusion. Panic. Denial. More panic. Something that looked suspiciously like hope. "That's—that's crazy," he finally managed. "I mean, I shower with non-scented soap. I don't even wear cologne. It's probably just... New York. You know how it is. Everyone smells like New York."
"Everyone smells like you in New York?"
"Yes. No. I mean—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Why do I keep doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Making everything weird." He looked at you, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes. Something open and honest. "I'm not very good at this. At being... normal. I've never been good at it. I always mess things up."
Your heart clenched. "Peter..."
"And what's not helping all of this is your scent is suddenly driving me crazy," he admitted, his voice dropping to something almost desperate. "It's like I can't even focus properly. This is so weird. Something like this hasn't happened to me before, so I'm not sure why I—"
"Peter." Your mouth ran ahead of your brain. "This whole time, I've been rambling about smells because it's been driving me crazy too."
"You've been—"
"And I can't explain it either, because I've never experienced this before. It's such a confusing feeling."
You both looked into each other's eyes for a moment.
Just silence.
Peter's eyes grew animalistic—dark, intense, almost predatory. And your eyes grew impatient, waiting for... what? You weren't sure. At that moment, his brain started clicking with a bunch of chemical signals. You could practically see him piecing it together. He caressed your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone with a tenderness that seemed at odds with the wildness in his eyes.
"Pheromones," he started, his voice low and thoughtful. "They're chemical signals that animals and insects release outside their bodies to communicate with other members of the same species." He studied you for a moment, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing every detail. "They trigger certain behavioral or physiological responses," he continued, his voice dropping even lower. "Such as attracting a mate, marking territory... alerting others." He looked away from you, studying everything, working through the puzzle in his mind.
"Peter..." you said, your voice barely a whisper. "Where are you going with this?"
Something broke behind his eyes.
With the mix of emotions in the air, the pheromones between you both only intensified. You couldn't stop yourself from getting closer to him, and he didn't want you to stop either. It was like something primal had taken over, something that bypassed all rational thought and went straight to instinct.
"Peter... look at me."
He finally did.
"Y/N," he said, his voice rough, "there is so much I have to explain to you. But right now I—"
He leaned closer to your lips.
And you knew it was coming.
You wanted it either way.
The kiss started off warm and passionate, a slow building of tension that made your head spin. His lips were soft against yours, but there was an intensity behind them, a barely contained hunger that made your stomach flip. He was still gentle with you,so achingly gentle, but there was something else beneath the surface. Something
animalistic and raw that he was fighting to control. You could feel it in the way his hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. In the way his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. In the way his breath hitched when you pressed against him. The kiss deepened, and the world around you seemed to dissolve. You were very aware of everything. The way his heart was pounding against your chest. The way his scent enveloped you completely, intoxicating and addictive. The way his body responded to yours, every touch sending sparks of electricity through your veins.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild, his breathing ragged.
"This is insane," he breathed. "I can't—I don't know what's happening to me. I've never felt like this before. It's like I can't get enough of you. Like I need to—"
"Peter," you interrupted, your own voice breathless. "I feel it too. Whatever this is, I feel it too."
Something shifted in his expression. The animalistic hunger was still there, but underneath it was something softer. Something almost vulnerable. "I want to tell you everything," he said, his forehead pressed against yours. "I want to be honest with you. But I'm scared. I'm scared that if I tell you, you'll run away. And I don't think I could handle that." Your hand came up to cup his face, your thumb tracing his cheekbone just as he'd done to you.
"Peter," you said softly, "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you have to tell me, I can handle it."
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching yours.
"Promise me," he finally whispered. "Promise me you won't run."
"I promise."
He kissed you again, and this time there was no hesitation. No holding back. The kiss was deeper, more desperate. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every dip, every place where you met and meshed together. You responded in kind, your fingers finding their way under his shirt, pressing against the warm skin of his back. He groaned against your lips, the sound vibrating through you.
"Y/N," he breathed, his voice torn. "You have no idea what you do to me. Every time I smell you, every time I see you, I—"
"Tell me," you whispered. "Tell me what you feel."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with intensity.
"Like I'm losing control," he admitted. "Like everything I've ever known about myself is just... gone. Like the only thing that matters is you. Your smell. Your taste. Your—" He couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality. You matched his intensity, your own control slipping. The pheromones were intoxicating, overwhelming, making you feel things you'd never felt before. A desperate, almost primal need to be closer to him. To touch him. To taste him. You pushed him back against the couch, straddling his lap, and the sound he made was almost feral.
"Fuck," he breathed, his head falling back against the cushions. "You're going to kill me."
Your lips found his neck, and his hips bucked beneath you.
"Y/N," he gasped, his hands gripping your thighs. "I need to—I want to—"
"Then do it," you whispered against his skin. "I want this. I want you."
Something in him snapped.
His hands were everywhere, pulling at your clothes, desperate to feel your skin against his. You responded in kind, tugging at his shirt, and soon it was discarded on the floor. You both paused for a moment, breathing heavily, looking at each other. He was beautiful. All lean muscle and strength, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling himself. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was a vulnerability beneath the intensity that made your heart ache. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Because if you're not sure, we can stop. I can control myself. I can—"
"Peter." You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life."
He kissed you again, and it was like a dam breaking.
The world outside ceased to exist. There was only Peter, his scent, his taste, his warmth. Every touch was electric, every kiss more desperate than the last. He laid you back against the couch, hovering over you, his eyes roaming your face like you were something precious. Something to be cherished.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed. "I've thought that since the first moment I saw you. With that damn pie in your hands and that smile on your face. I knew I was done for."
You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "You're pretty beautiful yourself, Spider-Man."
He froze.
The word hung in the air between you both.
"Spider-Man?" he repeated, his voice strained. "I—I don't—"
"Peter." You looked up at him, your eyes soft. "I don't know for sure. Not yet. But I have a pretty strong feeling. And I want you to know that when you're ready to tell me, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere." He stared at you.
And then his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"You're going to make me cry," he said, his voice cracking. "Again. Because apparently that's just what you do to me." "I'm not doing anything. You're just emotional."
"I am NOT—" A tear slipped down his cheek. "Okay, maybe a little."
You laughed, reaching up to wipe the tear away. "It's okay. I cry at commercials. We can be emotional together." He kissed you again, softer this time, and you could feel the emotion in every brush of his lips. "I'll tell you," he whispered against your mouth. "I'll tell you everything. Just... not tonight. Tonight I just want to be with you. No secrets. No lies. Just us."
"Just us," you agreed.
His mouth slowly trailed to your neck so suddenly, your breath hitched. He placed soft warm kisses against you, after your nose your neck was the most sensitive spot on your body and in the moment it’s like he knew. You felt his tongue lick along your pulse point, making you twist under the touch.
You both only in under clothes Peter didn’t completely remove your panties. He just pushed them to the side. For a moment he froze part of him fascinated by the view and part of him eager to feel you around him. “You’re beautiful,” he admitted. You blushed immediately, you turn to look away and he placed his hands on your face guiding his fingers on your chin to look at him.
“Let’s watch it go in together”
That once shy, awkward Peter was now so dominant but still so gentle and reassuring. You knew this was going to be a long night by that wild look in his eyes.
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in the quiet hours of the early morning, tangled together on his tiny couch, you finally allowed yourself to let go, already feeling the soreness from earlier. The pheromones still burned between you, a constant, simmering heat, but it wasn't just the chemicals anymore. It was something deeper. Something real. When you finally fell asleep, wrapped in his arms, his scent surrounding you like a protective blanket, you both felt something you hadn't felt in a long time.
Safe.
You woke up to sunlight streaming through a window, and a warm weight pressed against your back. For a moment, you didn't remember where you were. Then the events of the night came flooding back, and a smile spread across your face. You turned in Peter's arms to face him. He was still asleep, his face relaxed, his messy hair falling across his forehead. He looked younger like this. More vulnerable. More human. Your fingers reached up to trace the lines of his face, and he stirred, a soft sound escaping his lips.
"Mm... morning," he mumbled, his eyes still closed.
"Morning," you whispered back.
His eyes fluttered open, and the moment he saw you, a smile spread across his face. A real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.
"Hey," he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
"Hey."
"You're still here."
"I told you I wasn't going anywhere."
He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair, and breathed deeply. "Good. Because I don't think I could let you go even if I wanted to." You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. "That sounds a little intense for 8 AM." "Everything about this is intense," he admitted. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's terrifying and amazing and I don't know what I'm doing and I'm probably going to mess it all up somehow because that's what I do, but I—"
"Peter." You tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Breathe."
He took a shaky breath. Then another.
"I really like you," he said, his voice vulnerable. "Like, a lot. And I know we barely know each other, and I know I have secrets, and I know this is all happening really fast, but I can't help it. You're... you're everything."
Your heart swelled. "I actually really like you too, Peter."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He kissed you, slow and sweet, and the pheromones flared between you once again. But this time, there was something softer beneath the intensity. Something that felt a lot like falling in love.
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Later that day, you were lying in Peter's bed, your legs tangled together, your phone buzzing with notifications that you were ignoring. Peter was playing with your hair, his fingers gentle against your scalp. "So," you said, breaking the comfortable silence, "are you going to tell me now?"
He tensed beneath you.
"Tell you what?"
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "Peter. We've been lying here for hours. I've seen your apartment. I've seen the way you move. I've smelled you. I'm not stupid." He was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he spoke. "You're right. I... I'm not just Peter. I'm—"
"Spider-Man," you finished for him. "You're Spider-Man."
He stared at you.
"How did you—"
"You're a terrible liar," you said, laughing. "You told me you didn't fall from a skyscraper and hit your face on a billboard. You flinched when I mentioned Spider-Man's smell. You have super hearing. And you're always covered in mystery bruises." He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. "I'm so bad at this." "The worst," you agreed, stroking his hair. "But I like you anyway."
He lifted his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
"Does it bother you?" he asked softly. "The... the Spider-Man thing?"
"Peter." You cupped his face in your hands. "It makes you who you are. The good parts and the complicated parts. And I like all of you. Every single part. Even if I'm now starting to learn you" His eyes glistened with unshed tears again and you couldn't help but laugh. "Stop crying," you teased. "You're going to make me cry too."
"I'm not crying. I have allergies."
"You don't have allergies."
"I have... emotional allergies."
You snorted, and he laughed, and the sound was so warm and authentic that you felt your heart swell.
"Okay," he said, pulling you closer. "I'll tell you everything. About the spider bite. About Uncle Ben. About the responsibility. About the nights when I don't know if I'm going to make it home. All of it."
"Only if you're ready," you said softly.
"I'm ready." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'm ready because I trust you. And because I don't want to have secrets from you anymore."
You smiled up at him. "I'm all ears."
And so he told you.
He told you about the spider bite that had changed everything. About Uncle Ben and the lesson he'd learned too late. About the weight of responsibility and the nights spent swinging through the city, trying to make a difference in a world that often seemed hell-bent on destroying itself.He told you about the fear. The loneliness. The moments when he felt like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and no one would ever understand. And through it all, you listened, holding his hand, offering silent support. When he finished, there was a long moment of silence.
"So," he said, his voice uncertain, "you're not going to run?"
You laughed, pulling him into a kiss.
"I told you," you said against his lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
And as the afternoon sun streamed through the window, painting the room in gold, you knew that this was only the beginning. The pheromones were still there, still burning beneath the surface, but they were no longer the only thing driving you. There was something deeper now. Something that felt a lot like love. And you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.
But something was bothering him.
A thought had been chewing at the edges of his mind since the moment he'd first caught your scent, that intoxicating, maddening fragrance that had been driving him crazy for a while. It was a thought that grew louder the more he tried to silence it, more persistent the more he tried to ignore it.
Why…you?
He sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist, his brow furrowed in concentration. You watched him, concerned flickering in your eyes.
"Peter? What's wrong?"
He didn't answer at first. His mind was racing, piecing together fragments of information that didn't quite fit. The pheromones. They were supposed to affect members of the same species. That was basic biology. Chemical signals released to communicate with others of the same kind, triggering behavioural or physiological
responses. He'd been around hundreds of people since the spider bite. Thousands, probably. Humans, daily. He'd smelled their scents, the perfumes they wore, the sweat they produced, the natural musk of their skin. But never once had a person's pheromones affected him like this.
Never once.
His heart rate quickened. A cold knot formed in his stomach. He should only be affected by someone of the same species. But he'd been around humans constantly, and none of them had ever triggered this response. This primal, uncontrollable pull that made him feel like he was losing his mind.
So why do you?
Why did your pheromones drive him to the brink of insanity? Why did your scent make him feel like he was drowning and breathing for the first time all at once? Why did his body respond to yours like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire universe? Was it his human gene? Or his spider gene? And what was the case for you? He looked at you, really looked at you. You’re beautiful, yes. Kind, warm, impossibly patient with all his awkwardness and secrets. But there was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A normal human shouldn't be affected by his pheromones. Not like this. Not after his biological mutation had rewired his entire physiology. And yet here you were, sitting in his bed, your cheeks flushed, your eyes dark with the same desperate need that was consuming him.
"Is there something you haven't told me?" Peter asked you, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something you don't know about yourself?"
you blinked, confusion washing over your features. "What do you mean?"
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for not being able to articulate the thoughts swirling in his mind. His memories flashed back to the first day he'd met you the way you stood in his doorway with that pie in your hands, the way you had leaned in closer to him, your nose twitching slightly.
"Your nose," he said suddenly. "That first night. You said your nose was suddenly super sensitive. That has never happened to you before."
You nodded slowly. "I remember."
"And then, in the alley, when Spider-Man saved you... you smelled me again. You knew it was me, even though you couldn't see my face. You recognized my scent."
" YESS The same scent," you confirmed. "That's what made me suspicious."
Peter's eyes widened as the pieces began to fall into place. "Y/N," he said carefully, "there's something I need to explain. Something that's been bothering me since the moment I first smelled you." You shifted closer to him, your hand finding his. "I'm listening." "The pheromones, right.." he began. "They're supposed to be species-specific. Animals release them to communicate with other members of the same species. Mating signals, territory marking, that kind of thing."
You nodded at first, following his train of thought.
"But I've been around humans constantly since I was bitten," he continued. "Thousands of them. And not once has a person's pheromones ever affected me like this. Not once have I felt this... this pull. This need." A strange tension settled over the room.
"So why you?" Peter asked, his voice low. "Why you?"
you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were processing, thinking. He could practically see the gears turning behind your eyes. "You think I'm not... normal?" you finally asked, your voice a bit hesitant. "I think there's something about you that's different," he admitted. "Something that your body is doing that it shouldn't be doing. Because normal humans don't produce pheromones that affect me like this. And normal humans don't get affected by my pheromones either." He watched you process this, watched the confusion and dawning realization flicker across your face.
"You told me that night," he continued, "that your nose was suddenly sensitive. You said it had never happened before. But after that night, it kept happening. Every time you smelled me. Every time I get close to you."
Your brows furrowed. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"The spider bite," Peter said slowly, "it changed me. Mutated my DNA. Made me something... more than human. Something that shouldn't affect or be affected by normal human biology." He took a breath.
"But you do affect me. And I do affect you. It's mutual. It's... reciprocal. And that shouldn't be possible unless..."
"Unless what?"
He looked at you, really looked at you once more, and for the first time, he saw you through a different lens. "Unless there's something different about you too," he finished. "Something you might not even know about yourself yet." The weight of his words settled over you both like a blanket. Heavy and Unavoidable. You stayed silent for a long moment, processing his words. your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheet, and your gaze grew distant. "I don't... I've never..." you shook your head. "I've always been normal. Average. I've never had any special abilities or weird mutations or anything like that." "I'm not saying you're a superhero," Peter said gently. "I'm just saying there might be something in your biology. Something that makes your pheromones different. Something that makes you compatible with someone like me."
"Compatible?" you repeated the word like it was foreign.
"We're drawn to each other," he said softly. "Our bodies recognize something in each other that they've never recognized in anyone else. That's not normal, Y/N. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"I'm not trying to scare you," he said. "I just... I need to know. I need to understand why this is happening. Because if there's something about you that makes you vulnerable, something that puts you in danger—" "Then you'd protect me," you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. "Isn't that what you do? Protect people?"
"You," he corrected, his voice fierce. "I will protect you. Above anyone else. Above everyone else." Your smile softened, and you leaned into his touch. "I don't know what I am now," you admitted. "I've never been anything special. I'm just... me."
"I need you to promise me something," he said, his voice turning serious again. "If you ever notice anything strange like anything at all you'll tell me. Okay? If your body starts doing things it shouldn't do, if you start feeling different, if you discover something about yourself that doesn't make sense... you'll come to me."
You searched his eyes. "You're worried about me."
"I'm always going to be worried about you now" He pressed a kiss to your palm. "It's my new default setting. The Peter Parker obtained worry mode."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you love it."
You were quiet for a moment, both just looking at each other. The weight of everything that had been said hung in the air, but it wasn't heavy. Not anymore.
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Author note: everything you just read was actually a dream I had the night after watching the new spider-man movie, hope you enjoyed what goes on in my head 😭