The day had been fine. Annoying, maybe, but nothing new.
(Y/N) had slept through her alarm, forgotten her lunch, and bombed a pop quiz in physics, but it was Thursday — which meant survival before the weekend. Which meant seeing Peter at lunch, where he always managed to make the rest of the world feel less… much.
That was usually enough.
But today, Peter had to leave school early. Something “came up,” which was Peter-code for Spider-Man related, and he didn’t have time to walk her home.
“It’s totally fine,” she told him when they met during free period. “Seriously. Go save New York or help an old lady cross the street or whatever.”
“You sure?” His voice was soft, concerned. “I can try to be quick-”
“Peter,” she said, smiling despite her exhaustion, “I’ve got two legs and zero aliens chasing me. I’ll manage.”
He’d hesitated, then said, “Okay. I’ll call when I’m done.”
“Deal.”
“I love you.” Peter said, giving her a chaste kiss.
“I love you too, Parker,” (Y/N) replied, smiling into the kiss.
Walking home wasn’t usually a problem. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops. Her earbuds were dead, but the breeze was nice and the sidewalk mostly empty.
Until it wasn’t.
Her left foot caught on a crack in the pavement — stupid uneven concrete — and before she could even yelp, her ankle twisted underneath her with a sickening pop.
(Y/N) crashed to the ground, knees scraping against the sidewalk.
“Shit—!” Her voice was sharp, breathy.
Pain shot up her leg like lightning. She clutched her ankle instinctively, eyes already welling up. It was bad. Throbbing. And she couldn’t even test putting weight on it.
Her bag had flown a few feet away. Her phone, of course, was completely dead. Dead screen. No way to call Peter, or anyone. Just her, her useless leg, and the nearest crosswalk looking like a marathon away.
She sat there on the curb for a minute, head tipped back toward the sky. “Awesome,” she muttered. “Perfect. Fantastic.”
The logical thing would’ve been to sit and wait for someone. But (Y/N) had too much pride and far too much stubbornness to give up that easily.
So she got up and tried to walk as if nothing had happened, giving awkward smiles to those who passed by and stared at her curiously.
But she couldn’t.
Each step was agony. Her ankle pulsed like it had its own heartbeat, and her hands trembled from the sheer effort it took not to cry. She clenched her jaw. Ten minutes. That’s all. Just ten minutes.
By the time she made it home, she was drenched in sweat. Her hands were shaking too badly to unlock the door on the first try. When she finally got inside, she dropped her bag by the wall and hobbled to the freezer.
She collapsed onto the couch, slapped an ice pack on her ankle, and let out a groan so long it turned into a whimper.
“God, I am so stupid.”
Peter would’ve walked her home. Would’ve held her bag and made dumb sidewalk jokes. And most importantly, he would’ve caught her effortlessly if she so much as took a wrong step.
But she told him she’d be fine.
(Y/N) pressed the ice tighter against her skin and closed her eyes.
Later that night, it was worse. Sore was an understatement — it was miserable.
Navigating her room on one foot felt like some cursed video game level with no save points. She bumped into her desk, knocked her water off the nightstand, and nearly face-planted trying to get into pajamas. She didn’t even bother brushing her hair; she just collapsed into bed with her ankle elevated, face buried in a pillow that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and exhaustion.
Sleep came in broken pieces. She woke up at least three times, each time startled by the deep, throbbing ache. Once, she thought she heard her phone buzz, but it was just a phantom sound.
Peter would call tomorrow, she knew he would. She just hoped she’d feel better by then.
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The next morning hit like a truck.
(Y/N) groaned before she even opened her eyes. Her ankle throbbed with the same dull intensity as before, maybe worse, but that wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was the sudden, low, twisting pain in her stomach.
It was the kind of pain that felt alive, like something had curled up inside her gut and started clawing its way out. Sharp enough to make her forget how to breathe, deep enough to make her want to curl up and disappear.
She rolled over, clutching her stomach with a hiss, and felt something wet beneath her.
“…oh, fuck.”
(Y/N) sat up too fast, earning a wince from both her stomach and her ankle. A dark stain bloomed across her bedsheets, and her thighs were already sticky with blood.
“Worse fucking combo,” she groaned. “Why not just throw in a tornado? A broken arm? Maybe lightning through the ceiling?”
She reached for her drawer, trying to grab painkillers, but her ankle protested with a sharp stab the second she dangled it off the bed. Even looking at it made her wince; the swelling had doubled overnight, skin mottled in ugly shades of blue and purple.
Her phone was finally charged, enabling her to fire off a group text:
(Y/N): not going to school today lol. period + sprained ankle = i’d rather die 💀💀💀
MJ responded immediately.
MJ: wtf girl how do u combo break yourself like that
Ned: did you try turning your uterus off and on again?
MJ: let’s amputate the ankle and the womb. full reset.
(Y/N): cute. very helpful. thanks.
But Peter didn’t text.
He called.
She answered on the third ring.
“(Y/N)?”
His voice was already laced with panic.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I’m fine. Just… you know. Got cursed.”
“What happened?”
“I fell yesterday. Ankle’s a mess. And then my period started this morning. So I’m taking a sick day. No biggie.”
Silence. Not the empty kind — the heavy kind, where you can feel the other person thinking.
“(Y/N),” Peter said slowly, “did you walk all the way home yesterday? On a sprained ankle?”
“I mean… yeah.”
“And now you’re bleeding and in pain and trying to play it cool?”
She didn’t answer that.
He sighed. Not angry, just worried. “I’m coming over.”
“What? No. Pete-”
“It’s Friday. Barely anything happens.”
“Peter-”
“I’ll catch up next week. You need someone right now.”
“You’ll be late.”
“I’d rather be late for school than late hearing you collapsed again.” His voice softened, but the steel in it stayed. “It’s final (Y/N), I’m skipping school today. As a matter of fact, I’m already grabbing my bag. You want snacks?”
She hesitated.
“…Bring Cheez-Its and a sandwich from Delmar’s, or don’t come.”
He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
And then he hung up.
(Y/N) stared at her phone, heart thudding in a weird, warm way.
She set it on her chest and let herself smile.
Everything still hurt. Her sheets were a mess. Her ankle was swollen. Her uterus was staging a coup.
But Peter was coming.
And that made all the difference.
By the time Peter knocked on the door, (Y/N) had managed to clean herself up — barely.
She’d changed into an oversized hoodie and some loose pajama shorts (which felt like the only things that didn’t make her body scream), tied her hair up in a half-hearted bun, and limped around the room while cradling a hot water bottle against her stomach like it was a newborn.
The front door clicked open, he had the spare key, and she heard his soft footsteps immediately.
“(Y/N)?” Peter’s voice echoed gently from the hall. “I brought the sacred snacks and painkillers. Also, extra hoodie. You said yours was cursed.”
“In my room!” she called out, not daring to move from where she’d finally collapsed on the bed (the side blessedly free of any period stain), her ankle propped on a pillow.
Peter appeared in the doorway two seconds later. His hair was tousled, backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing his Midtown sweatshirt over a NASA tee.
His eyes scanned her in an instant. Her pale skin, the dark shadows under her eyes, the swelling on her ankle and he softened visibly, lips parting with a breath that sounded like guilt.
“Oh, baby,” he said, walking over fast. “You look like death.”
“You’re not supposed to say that to your injured girlfriend.”
“I’m saying it lovingly.”
He dropped his bag on the floor and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, brushing a hand over her hair. She smelled like lavender shampoo and menthol balm.
“I thought I told you not to come,” she mumbled, but didn’t pull away.
“And I thought I told you I wasn’t going to school.”
“You should be more responsible.”
“You should text me when you almost break your ankle,” he shot back.
Peter crouched at the edge of her bed and took a look at her foot. He winced just looking at it. “You definitely should’ve gone to the nurse.”
“No nurse was going to walk me home.”
Peter looked up, eyes narrowing. “So you walked all ten minutes like this?”
“Limped,” she corrected weakly.
“(Y/N).”
“I know, okay?” she sighed, wincing as she adjusted her leg. “It was stupid. But I didn’t want to call attention to it. I figured I’d just sleep it off.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
“Well, considering I bled on my sheets and almost passed out from pain, I’d say five stars.”
Peter groaned and shook his head, grabbing her hand. “You always downplay when you’re hurting.”
“I don’t mean to.”
He looked at her, serious now. “You don’t have to handle everything alone. You know that, right?”
The words hung in the air, heavy and sincere. She didn’t reply right away.
“I guess…” (Y/N) squeezed his hand. “I’m just used to pushing through. Doesn’t always occur to me that… I don’t have to.”
“You don’t,” Peter said softly. “Especially not with me.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out what looked like a small pharmacy: Advil, Midol, an extra water bottle, a microwaveable heating pad — and of course, Cheez-Its and her favorite sandwich from Delmar’s.
(Y/N) let out a dramatic gasp. “You did bring them.”
“I wouldn’t risk death by girlfriend.”
“Smart boy.”
He helped her take her pain medication first, then gently helped her change her sheets. (Y/N) felt so embarrassed about the mess she’d made because of her period, but Peter didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
After that, he carefully placed the heating pad on her stomach, adjusting it as though it was something delicate and precious. His hands lingered — not in a flirty way, but in a soft, careful manner. Almost as if afraid that she might break.
When he tucked a blanket over her legs, (Y/N) let out a sigh so deep it sounded like relief in its purest form.
“Better?” he asked.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do.”
She gave him a sleepy smile. “You sure you don’t mind missing school for this?”
Peter scoffed. “Baby, please. The most exciting thing in chem today is probably Mr. Harrington microwaving another beaker.”
She giggled, then winced. “Ow.”
“Okay, no laughing. New rule.”
“Impossible. You’re here.”
Peter grinned and climbed up onto the bed next to her, careful not to jostle her leg. He sat with his back against the headboard and pulled her gently into his side.
“Lean on me,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I got you.”
(Y/N) nestled against him with a tired, grateful hum. Her hand slid under his hoodie and rested over his heartbeat like it grounded her.
For a while, neither of them said anything. The room was filled with the hum of the heating pad and the distant sound of car horns outside.
(Y/N) finally spoke again, voice small. “I really hate being helpless like this.”
“You’re not helpless,” Peter said immediately. “You’re hurting. There’s a difference.”
She blinked. That wasn’t something people usually said.
Most people just told her to tough it out. Shake it off and smile through it. Peter never made her do that.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“Always.”
They spent the next hour half-watching a dumb romcom on her laptop while Peter fed her one by one like she was some ancient queen and he was her loyal snack butler. She pretended not to enjoy it. He pretended not to notice.
Eventually, the painkillers kicked in, and (Y/N)’s eyelids started to flutter.
Peter looked down and saw that she’d stopped watching the movie entirely. Her head had slipped from his shoulder to his chest, cheek pressing over his heartbeat.
Her breathing had evened out. Her body finally relaxed.
Peter didn’t move.
He just held her there — his arms wrapped loosely around her, blanket covering them both, heating pad warm between them. Every few minutes, he brushed his fingers through her hair.
It wasn’t romantic in the cinematic way; no dramatic music or perfect timing.
But it was real.
And it was enough.
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When (Y/N) finally stirred, it was already late afternoon. Golden light slanted through the blinds, turning everything soft and slow.
“You stayed,” she mumbled, voice scratchy with sleep.
Peter smiled. “Of course I did.”
“I drooled on you.”
“You’re cute when you drool.”
“You’re weird.”
“Still cute, though.”
She stretched carefully, wincing a little as her ankle twinged. But the cramps had eased, and the warmth in her belly wasn’t just from the heating pad anymore.
“Hey,” she said, quieter now, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “Thanks for coming.”
Peter kissed her temple. “You never have to thank me for that.”
“I know. Just… still wanted to.”
They lay there a while longer, tangled in warmth and safety.
Eventually, she tilted her face up toward his.
“You know,” she said, “this might be the worst day my body’s ever had. And somehow… also one of the best?”
Peter chuckled. “That’s either really sweet or kind of disturbing.”
“Take it how you want.”
“I’ll take it as proof I’m doing my job.”
“Which is?”
“Loving you. Especially on your worst days.”
She stared at him for a moment, heart stuttering a little.
“Okay, that was borderline cheesy.”
“Borderline?”
“Okay, full cheese.”
Peter smirked. “Yeah, well. You’re worth it.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. She leaned up just enough to kiss him — soft, slow, and filled with everything she couldn’t quite put into words.
When they pulled apart, Peter whispered, “Still not going to school.”
“Fine,” she said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Peter’s grin widened as he brushed his thumb over her hand. “Good. Now I get to spoil you properly.”
She shook her head, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away.
The next morning greeted them with overcast skies and the soft pitter-patter of early drizzle on the windowpane.
Peter was still asleep beside (Y/N), wrapped in her blanket, his arm flung over his eyes. He looked adorably uncomfortable. Hair sticking out in five directions, hoodie half unzipped, lips parted like he was snoring without the sound.
(Y/N), already half-awake thanks to a cramp flaring in her lower belly, lay curled in bed with a heating pad once again balanced over her stomach. Her ankle still throbbed with every small movement, but it had settled into a manageable dull ache.
And despite her physical misery, there was something incredibly peaceful about waking up like this — in the aftermath of vulnerability, and still not alone.
She stared at Peter through heavy lashes, watching him shift and mumble something incoherent in his sleep. Probably arguing with Ned in a dream about Star Wars again.
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She winced, it tugged at the cramp, but she still smiled.
She reached for her phone quietly, snapping a quick photo of Peter passed out beside her, just in case she ever needed proof that her boyfriend was, in fact, the cutest boy alive.
The shutter click woke him up.
“Mmm — huh?” Peter sat up fast, eyes barely open. “Did the building explode?”
“No,” she giggled. “You just snore with your mouth open like a golden retriever.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You literally barked at one point.”
“I hate you,” he mumbled, rubbing his face.
“You love me,” she corrected.
He paused, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah. I really do.”
After tea (well, three mugs of it because Peter forgot how strong chamomile was supposed to be), he helped her out of bed and into the living room couch. She had protested at first, her ankle was killing her again, but Peter insisted she needed a change of scenery and some daylight.
He set her up with her favorite blanket, tucked in around her legs, heating pad freshly zapped and cozy against her stomach. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, he emerged with grilled cheese and soup.
“Peter,” she said, trying not to cry. “You made the perfect sick day combo.”
He beamed. “Thank May. I made her teach me. Said I needed to be able to feed myself before I tried saving the city.”
They ate together in peaceful silence. The TV played reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine in the background, but neither of them paid much attention.
Halfway through the meal, (Y/N) paused and looked at him with soft eyes.
“Thank you for staying,” she said.
Peter gave her a quizzical look. “Of course.”
“No, I mean it.” Her voice was a little hoarse, but steady. “You didn’t have to. But you did. And… I needed that.”
Peter’s expression melted into something warmer than sunlight.
“You always stay for the people you love,” he said, then gave her a meaningful kiss on the forehead. “Now, eat up love.”
(Y/N) let that settle in her chest like a song. Maybe it was the painkillers. Maybe it was the comfort but she felt safe. Deeply, and fully safe, in a way she hadn’t in a long time.
And that was the thing about them.
They didn’t need sweeping declarations or fairy tale endings.
All they needed was one room, one quiet afternoon, and each other.
Because sometimes, love wasn’t the grand gesture.
Sometimes, love was warmth over everything — a steady heartbeat under your cheek, the smell of soup in the air, and the certainty that tomorrow, you wouldn’t have to face the ache alone.
summary: after a mission leaves peter shaken and unstable, (y/n)’s told to keep her distance for his safety and hers. but when he shows up at her door in the middle of the night, trembling and barely holding on, it becomes clear: this is more than just recovery. whatever’s happening to him, it’s changing everything. and he only wants one thing to feel whole again — her.
pairing: peter parker x fem! reader
genre: SMUT, little bit of angst and soft post-chaos fluff
word count: 4.2k
warnings: sex pollen, explicit smut, soft!dom peter, praise kink, overstimulation, (mild) feral behavior, public(ish) elevator sex, avengers cameos lol, mentions of broken furniture (rip stark tower)
a/n: i'm sorry this part took so long. uni’s been hectic, but we’re finally on break YAYY. i really hope this chapter was worth the wait. thank u so much for all the love on part 1. feedback is welcome, and i love hearing from you guys. enjoy the chaos, the smut, and the soft moments. luv y’all <33
MINORS DNI
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
(Y/N) had always considered herself fairly resilient.
She’d once broken her wrist during a Krav Maga sparring match and didn’t even cry. She’d stared down a HYDRA drone at age sixteen. She’d even taken a punch from Flash Thompson in tenth grade and had the satisfaction of watching Peter make him regret it thirty seconds later.
But this?
This was worse than all of that combined.
Because (Y/N) — twenty, deeply in love, and sore in places she didn’t know could be sore; was now sitting in a wheelchair. Wrapped in one of Peter’s too-large MIT hoodies. Looking like she’d been hit by a truck. Or, more accurately, Spider-Man on sex pollen.
And worst of all?
The Avengers were here.
Steve Rogers stood frozen near the doorway, blinking slowly like he’d walked in on something unseeable. Clint was choking on his own laughter in the corner. Bruce had turned pink and immediately started scribbling on a clipboard, eyes anywhere but on her. And Tony — oh, Tony — was pacing in front of her like a dad trying not to explode after catching his teenage kid sneaking in after curfew.
(Y/N)’s face was in her hands.
Peter, for his part, stood behind her chair. His hands gripping the handles like she might try to escape which was hilarious, considering she couldn’t feel her legs. He looked suspiciously proud for someone who was technically in trouble.
Tony finally turned to him.
“Kid. The hell.”
Peter cleared his throat. “So uh… Funny story.”
“No,” Tony said immediately. “No stories. I don’t want the details. I can see the details. They’re written all over her face and, Jesus, is that a bite mark on her neck?!”
(Y/N) groaned. “Please kill me.”
“You broke containment,” Tony continued, glaring now. “You ignored protocol, FRIDAY’s lockdown measures, and about five separate international-level agreements about containment of extraterrestrial biological influence-”
“I was fine Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted. “FRIDAY ran the scans. The compound was harmless once uh… once the effects were…” He paused, glancing down at (Y/N), and his voice dropped into something almost sheepish. “…resolved.”
“I hate that you used that word,” Clint muttered.
Steve sighed deeply. “How many rounds?”
(Y/N) made a sound of pure horror.
Peter blinked. “…I lost count after four.”
Bruce made a tiny squeak. Tony pointed at the ceiling.
“FRIDAY, disable his access to the main lab for a week. And get this boy a goddamn chastity belt.”
“I hate all of you,” (Y/N) mumbled into her hoodie.
“You’re still glowing, by the way,” Clint added helpfully. “And is that bed frame broken? Did you — oh man.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “It was an accident.”
“I’m never looking either of you in the eye again,” Bruce muttered as he fled the room.
A heavy pause followed. Then—
“So,” came Thor’s booming voice from the hallway, “is this what Midgardian mating rituals typically entail? Because I must say, I am very impressed.”
(Y/N) groaned louder. “Oh my God.”
The God of Thunder stepped into view, completely unbothered, munching on a Pop-Tart like he hadn’t just wandered into post-coital ground zero. “Truly,” he added, nodding solemnly, “a bed shattered by pure passion is the mark of a warrior. I applaud you both.”
“Thor, stop,” Peter hissed, mortified.
“Don’t encourage them,” Tony snapped, spinning toward the Asgardian. “This was your idea, by the way. ‘Let’s bring the sex pollen infested kid back to the lab, Stark! He’s perfectly harmless!’”
Thor looked affronted. “I said it was harmless in theory,” Thor repeated indignantly, waving his half-eaten Pop-Tart. “How was I to know Midgardians lacked the willpower to resist such effects?”
Tony stared at him. “They just turned 20, Thor. Barely adults, still act like teenagers. Their willpower barely exists on a good day.”
“I am standing right here,” Peter muttered, red-faced.
(Y/N) buried her face further into her hoodie. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Nat leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, smirking. “I’m just surprised Peter’s still standing. You looked like you’d been folded in half, (Y/N).”
“I was,” Y/N muttered, drawing the hoodie tighter around herself like it could erase her from existence. “Multiple times.”
“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered, now holding a hand over his eyes. “I’ve seen war. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Oh, we’re never letting this go,” Tony declared, already pulling up the holographic footage of the compound logs. “I’m naming this Incident Spider-Bang. Don’t test me.”
Peter groaned. “Please don’t name it.”
“Too late,” Tony said smugly.
“I’m going to die,” (Y/N) muttered. “Right here in this wheelchair.”
Thor clapped Peter on the shoulder so hard he stumbled. “Well done, son of Parker. You have honored your lady most gloriously. Truly, this day shall be sung about for ages.”
“No one is singing about this,” Peter said, face red as his suit.
“Oh, I am absolutely writing a ballad,” Clint said, taking out his phone. “Do you rhyme anything with ‘broken pelvis’? Because I feel like that’s important context.”
Steve let out a long, long breath and rubbed his temples. “I miss the days when the biggest scandal was someone stealing Cap’s shield to impress a girl.”
FRIDAY chimed in politely, “Would you like me to initiate a search for suitable chastity belt models, Mr. Stark?”
Tony blinked. “You know what? Yeah. Go nuts.”
Peter muttered something unintelligible and slumped further behind (Y/N)’s chair. She reached up to squeeze his hand. Both of them humiliated, exhausted, and deeply aware that this would never be forgotten.
The moment was silent for a beat.
Then Clint snorted. “So, what you’re saying is… sex pollen actually works?”
Tony turned to him slowly. “Get. Out.”
And just like that, chaos resumed.
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Once the room was cleared — save for Peter, who looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or kiss her forehead again — (Y/N) rolled her eyes.
“I can’t believe I let you touch me.”
He leaned down, brushing her hair back gently. “You did more than let me, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“You came so hard you saw stars.”
“Peter Benjamin Parker-”
“You said I could break you and worship you,” he whispered, lips near her ear. “And I did both, didn’t I?”
Her body betrayed her with a shiver.
Peter’s expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes.
“But seriously… are you okay?”
She nodded, more or less. “Sore. Emotionally scarred. But fine.”
He knelt beside the chair, resting his head on her thigh. “I’m sorry I scared you. And for everything else… the mission, disappearing, the tower locking you out. I wanted you near me so bad it felt like I was dying.”
“I know,” she said softly. “You didn’t choose what happened to you. But you still asked for consent. Even when your body was screaming for it.”
He looked up at her, eyes wide. “Of course I did. (Y/N), I would never touch you without-”
She kissed him, shutting him up. “I know. That’s why I trusted you.”
His cheeks flushed.
Then, after a beat: “Does this mean I’m not in trouble?”
“No. You’re in so much trouble,” she said sweetly. “But we’ll circle back once I can walk again.”
He groaned and kissed her knee.
Two hours later, MJ and Ned showed up.
(Y/N) was still in the wheelchair, now in a different hoodie (Peter’s, of course), with a pillow wedged under her thighs, sipping tea like her dignity hadn’t just been shattered. Peter sat beside her, one hand gripping hers like he was afraid she might float away.
Ned entered first. Cheery and oblivious, and then immediately stopped.
MJ followed. Looked between them. And smirked.
“Oh my god,” Ned whispered.
Peter cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“You broke her pelvis,” MJ said flatly, one eyebrow raised.
“I did not-” Peter started, scandalized.
“I literally had to be wheeled in,” (Y/N) muttered into her tea.
Ned choked on his own spit. “What the hell did you do to her, dude?!”
Peter turned bright red. “Okay — look, it’s a long story, but-”
“You went full freak mode, didn’t you,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes. “The spider-senses. The pheromones. I knew this would happen.”
“Actually, it was due to a sex poll-” (Y/N) started, only for MJ to wave a hand.
“Save it. Honestly, I’m not even mad. I’m just surprised the tower is still standing.”
Peter buried his face in (Y/N) shoulder. “I’m never living this down.”
MJ smirked. “Correct.”
Later that night, after MJ and Ned had left with entirely too much ammunition, Peter helped (Y/N) into bed.
His eyes were softer now. No hunger. Just devotion.
“You okay?”
“Still can’t walk. But you’ve asked me that six times.”
“I’m just making sure,” he said quietly. “Because part of me is still terrified that I lost control.”
She touched his cheek. “You didn’t. You were you, Peter. Even when you were wrecked.”
“I didn’t mean to break the bed.”
She laughed, even as her hips protested the movement. “We’ll bill Mr. Stark.”
He smiled faintly, then lay beside her, arms wrapping gently around her waist. His hand found hers under the covers.
“I love you,” he murmured. “I said it a hundred times last night, but… I’ll say it again. I love you.”
She turned to him, heart full.
“I love you too, Peter. Even when you’re feral.”
He kissed her shoulder.
And despite the soreness, the exhaustion, the lingering embarrassment — she felt safe.
Like maybe, in all the chaos, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
By the third day, (Y/N) was walking again.
Not well. Not fast. But upright.
She shuffled down the Stark Tower hallway in her softest sweats, hair piled in a bun, and a slight wobble in her step in which Peter noticed instantly.
He nearly dropped his breakfast burrito.
“Are you — wait, are you walking?”
“I’m limping,” she corrected, gripping the wall as she moved toward the kitchen. “There’s a difference.”
Peter was at her side in two seconds, one hand on her lower back, the other hovering like he wanted to catch her if she so much as sneezed wrong. “You should’ve called me. You didn’t have to walk all the way here.”
“You were across the hall, not on Mars.”
“You limped across the hall,” he murmured, voice low, soft. “Because of me.”
She turned to him slowly. “Yeah. Because of what you did to me.”
He froze.
Her voice was different this morning. Still soft, still teasing. But there was an edge to it. A heat beneath the words. And Peter, hypersensitive still from the leftover side effects of that damn alien pollen, felt it.
Felt her.
Her scent, warm and familiar like home, wrapped around him like a noose. Not the choking kind, but the kind that tugged him closer, coaxing him to lean in and never pull away. It was her, entirely her, and it hit him like gravity, pulling him down. Every nerve in his body lit up. The air between them thinned.
(Y/N) smirked. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”
Peter swallowed. “I — uh… maybe-”
She stepped closer. Her fingers danced along the hem of his MIT hoodie — her hoodie, technically, but it had always smelled like him. “You broke the bed, Parker. Left me walking funny for two days.”
“I know, and I’m sor-”
“I didn’t say I minded.”
Peter blinked. “…what?”
She pressed up onto her toes, whispering into his ear, “I liked the way you begged. I liked when you asked for permission to wreck me. Like you couldn’t breathe until I said yes.”
His knees nearly gave out.
“Baby,” he whispered, jaw tight. “Please. You can’t do this right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because Steve is in the other room. And if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna throw you on the nearest surface and-”
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his jaw. “You think I’d mind?”
Peter whimpered.
They didn’t even make it out of the hallway.
(Y/N) shoved him into the elevator with trembling hands and fire in her eyes. She pressed all the buttons in a hurry. The doors slid shut, sealing them inside that small, mirrored box; and she didn’t hesitate.
She grabbed his hoodie, fisting the fabric, and kissed him like she’d been holding her breath since the last time their bodies collided. Peter responded instantly, lips crashing against hers with a bruising, aching need. His hands flying to her hips, gripping like she might vanish.
Her hands were everywhere — on his jaw, in his hair, under his hoodie. She tugged it up, fingers skating along his stomach, memorizing the planes of muscle like she’d been starved of him. And maybe she had. Three days of tension, of silence, of his gentle hands and guilty eyes, had burned between them like a fuse. It was snapping now. Loud. Violent. Beautiful.
“You’re so mean,” he gasped between kisses. “You know what you do to me. You know.”
“You’ve been babying me for days,” she whispered, licking into his mouth. “I needed to remind you I can make you fall apart too.”
He shuddered.
“You’ve been so sweet,” she continued, brushing her lips along his ear. “So careful. Like I’m glass.”
“I’m trying to behave,” he panted, forehead falling against hers. “I told myself I’d let you rest, give you time, be good-”
“But you’re not good, are you?” she said sweetly, grinding her hips into his. “You’re so close to snapping.”
Her hips rolled against his, deliberately slow, deliberately cruel. The friction was just enough to make him whimper.
“I needed to remind you,” she said, eyes locked on his. “That I can take it. That I want all of you.”
She ground against him again, slower this time, letting the drag of her body against his show him exactly what she meant. His breath hitched.
Peter’s whole body shuddered. “I’m gonna fucking cry.”
“You’re holding back,” she whispered. “But I don’t want you to.”
He dropped to his knees. Not out of dominance. Not even out of lust. It was reverence. He looked up at her like she hung the stars, hands settling on her hips like they were meant to be there.
“Wait, Peter — what are you —”
“I’ve missed this,” he whispered as his hands wrapped around her thighs, pushing her up against the wall as he nuzzled against her center through her sweats. “I’ve been aching for this. Let me make you come. Please. Right here. Just one. Just let me taste-”
“Peter,” she gasped and stared at him, shocked by the sheer desperation in his voice, the way he trembled under the weight of wanting her.
“Say yes,” he begged, looking up at her. “Say yes and I’ll be gentle. I’ll be sweet. I’ll lick you until you forget where we are.”
Her breath caught.
“Say no,” he whispered, “and I’ll stop. I swear. But please don’t say no.”
Her fingers threaded into his curls. “Yes,” she said, voice barely more than a breath. “Yes, Peter.”
That was all he needed.
Her sweats were gone in one swift pull, her underwear with them, and he didn’t waste a second. His mouth was on her, hot and soft and relentless. She gasped, knees buckling slightly as his tongue parted her, licking slow and deep. He moaned like her taste was everything he’d ever wanted, like it had been haunting him since the moment he walked out of that bedroom.
The elevator kept rising, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t even think. Peter’s tongue was hot and wet and sinful against her, licking and sucking like he was worshipping, and she felt herself coming undone fast — faster than she expected.
His grip tightened on her thighs as she rocked against his face, her fingers buried in his hair, anchoring herself to something real while the world spun.
Her hips bucked. He held her down.
“You taste so good,” he groaned, licking deeper. “You always do. I’ll never get enough.”
“Peter — someone might —“ she whimpered, voice cracking.
“I don’t care,” he said, voice raw. “Let them see. Let them see how good I make you feel,” he murmured between strokes, his lips slick and reverent. “I could die right here and not regret a thing.”
She was already close. Too close. It was overwhelming; his tongue, his praise, the look in his eyes every time he glanced up at her. And when he moaned again, dragging the flat of his tongue against her with long, desperate strokes, she snapped.
Her back hit the mirror. Her hips jerked. She cried out, clutching his curls and Peter just held her there, groaning against her as if her pleasure was enough to undo him completely.
She came with a sharp cry as her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, legs trembling, and Peter moaned against her. Seeing her become undone fed something inside him.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and breathing ragged.
And he was so hard it looked painful.
“(Y/N),” he panted, standing slowly, hands finding her waist again like he was afraid to let go. “Please.”
“What do you need?”
“You. All of you. Right now, please.”
“Then take me.”
They didn’t make it to a bed this time.
He spun her gently, pressing her against the mirrored wall. She could see their reflection now. Her flushed cheeks, his blown pupils, the way his hands trembled slightly as they gripped her hips.
He pulled his sweats low enough, lined himself up, and pushed inside with one slow, careful thrust. They both gasped — not from pain, but from relief. From finally giving in.
Peter stilled, forehead resting on her shoulder. His hands held her hips like glass. “Tell me if I go too far.”
“You won’t,” she moaned, backing into him. “I want all of it.”
He moved slowly at first, savoring the drag of her around him, the sounds she made, the way her breath hitched every time he bottomed out.
But (Y/N) pushed back harder. “More.”
He gripped her hips tighter.
“Say it again.”
“Harder, Peter. I can take it. I want it.”
That did it.
The pace shifted; deeper, rougher, desperate. Each thrust came with a groan, a whispered confession, a kiss to her shoulder. His grip was bruising, but careful. His mouth trailed along her neck as he moved, panting her name like it was the only word he remembered.
“You feel so good,” he panted. “So perfect. You were made for me.”
“You’re ruining me in an elevator,” she gasped. “What would the Avengers think?”
“That I’m the luckiest man alive,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her neck. “And that you’re everything.”
She clenched around him — tight, pulsing — and he lost all rhythm.
“I’m close,” he gasped, voice breaking. “I love you. I love you so much, I — ”
He came with a cry, buried deep inside her, his whole body trembling as he wrapped his arms around her from behind like she was the only thing holding him up.
The elevator dinged.
Peter caught her before she could collapse, holding her against his chest, breathing her in.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like that,” he whispered. “I’m sorry if-”
She silenced him with a kiss. “You don’t ever have to apologize for loving me like that.”
His eyes were glassy. “I just wanted to be good.”
“You are, Peter,” she promised, and smiled. Her hands went to cup his jaw. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
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For once, Stark Tower was quiet.
Peter sat in Tony’s office, fidgeting with a stress cube that clicked with every twitch of his fingers. Across from him, Tony stared silently, sipping scotch at ten in the morning like it was coffee.
“You done wrecking my furniture?” he finally asked.
Peter coughed. “Yeah… For now.”
Tony’s brow raised. “So you’re saying you’re open to a payment plan.”
“I can… fix the frame?” Peter offered. “And the wall. And the door. And probably part of the ceiling.”
“You dented the ceiling?”
Peter turned red. “I had enhanced strength and a biological mating drive, Mr. Stark. What do you want from me?”
“Control,” Tony said, setting the glass down. “Which you miraculously still had, apparently. You could’ve hurt her.”
“I’d rather die.”
Tony didn’t smile. But his expression softened just slightly.
“Look. I’m not gonna give you the sex talk. God knows your girlfriend already limped through the aftermath, but if you’re gonna keep getting tangled up in Avengers-level bullshit, you need to be prepared for what happens when biology, stress, and superpowers mix.”
Peter nodded.
“Does she know what she signed up for?” Tony asked.
Peter thought of (Y/N)’s hands. Her voice. Her eyes when she told him yes, every single time.
“She knows,” Peter said. “She always knows.”
Tony grunted. “Good. Then stop breaking my elevators.”
Meanwhile, MJ had cornered (Y/N) in the media room with a chai latte and a face that screamed we’re gonna talk about it whether you like it or not.
“So,” she said, sitting cross-legged beside her. “You okay?”
(Y/N) blinked. “You mean emotionally? Or like… still wobbly from getting my soul rearranged?”
“Both.”
“I’m okay,” (Y/N) said softly. “Tired. Sore. And a little stunned that Tony didn’t have me escorted out by force.”
MJ smirked. “He likes you. Hates to admit it, but you ground Peter. He gets… weird without you.”
“Yeah,” (Y/N) whispered. “I noticed.”
MJ nudged her shoulder. “Was it weird weird? Or like, ‘you’d do it again if no one was watching’ weird?”
“MJ!” (Y/N)’s hands flew to her face as it flushed bright red.
“What? I was just asking.” MJ grinned unapologetically. “You’re glowing, babe. I had to check in.”
(Y/N) gave her a look but then her expression softened. A shy, faraway smile tugged at her lips.
“It wasn’t even about the sex,” she murmured. “I mean yeah, it was insane, but it was how he looked at me. Like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.”
MJ’s smirk faded into something gentler.
“He begged for my consent like it was air,” (Y/N) continued. “Even when he could barely think straight. He could’ve snapped, but he didn’t. He held on for me.”
“That’s love, babe,” MJ said quietly. “The real kind.”
(Y/N) nodded. “It really is.”
MJ handed her the chai. “You deserve it.”
(Y/N) smiled. “So do you.”
MJ leaned her head on her shoulder. “Okay, well now I’m gonna cry. And you still look like you’ve been thoroughly railed, so let’s call it even.”
They both burst out laughing.
That night, (Y/N) found Peter on the rooftop, hoodie pulled up over his curls, the wind ruffling the hem as the lights of New York buzzed quietly below them. He stood near the edge, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
She stepped beside him, the cool air catching strands of her hair.
“You’re brooding,” she said gently.
“I’m recovering from being the Tower menace.”
She smiled. “You’re not. Well… maybe a little.”
He glanced at her, his expression serious. “I keep thinking about what could’ve happened. If I’d lost control.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I could have.”
She reached up, cupping his jaw. Her thumb brushed along the edge of his cheekbone.
“You gave me the choice. Every time. You never took.”
Peter’s eyes searched hers, shimmering in the rooftop glow.
“I wanted to make love to you,” he whispered. “Even when I was losing it. Especially then. It was never just about the heat. It was you. It’s always been you.”
“You did,” she whispered back. “You made me feel safe. Wanted. Like I was yours… in the softest way.”
A long silence fell between them, full but comforting.
Then she tilted her head. “Come to bed?”
Peter took her hand, kissing the back of it. “Yeah. Okay.”
This time, there was no frenzy. No tearing of clothes. No desperation.
Just quiet hands. Warm skin. Deep breaths in the dark.
They laid tangled in the sheets, their limbs wrapped around each other like vines. Peter pulled her close, bare chests pressed together, and kissed her temple.
“You’re my home,” he whispered.
(Y/N) smiled sleepily, resting her head against his chest.
“Then you’d better get used to me being around,” she mumbled. “Because I’m never leaving.”
He didn’t say anything. Just held her tighter.
Outside, the city kept buzzing; neon lights flickering, taxis flying past, voices echoing through the streets.
But inside, in the quiet of her arms, the world slowed down.
It was warm, gentle, and safe.
She was curled into him like she belonged there, like she’d always known where to fit — and Peter didn’t need spider-sense to feel it. He just knew.
Her fingers rested over his heart. His breathing matched hers.
And for the first time in a long, long while, he wasn’t thinking about saving the world.
He was thinking about her laugh. Her skin. The way she looked at him like he was worth loving, even when he didn’t believe it himself.
And just like that, with her heartbeat beneath his fingertips, her presence filling every quiet corner of him — Peter finally, finally felt like he wasn’t falling.
summary: after a mission leaves peter shaken and unstable, (y/n)’s told to keep her distance for his safety and hers. but when he shows up at her door in the middle of the night, trembling and barely holding on, it becomes clear: this is more than just recovery. whatever’s happening to him, it’s changing everything. and he only wants one thing to feel whole again — her.
a/n: ok so the timeline? not accurate. we're pretending tony is alive & well for the sake of this one-shot thank u. also yes, this is my take on the classic "sex pollen" trope. i've read it like twice and couldn't resist doing my own version lol. and because it's 1D's 15th anniv... u already know i had to do it, hence the title wink wink
MINORS DNI
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
The first time (Y/N) saw Peter Parker hurt, she was fourteen and sitting on the edge of his hospital bed in Queens after a run-in with muggers had gone sideways. His arm was in a cast, his ribs were taped, and yet somehow, he still looked at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Now, six years later, she couldn’t even see him through the damn glass.
“Why won’t anyone tell me what the hell is going on?” (Y/N)'s voice echoed off the sleek, too-sterile walls of the floor Tony Stark used for emergencies. She wasn’t stupid — she knew something was wrong, something bad — but all anyone would tell her was that Peter was “stable,” and that “this is for his safety and yours.”
Which was bullshit.
“Please sit down,” FRIDAY’s voice said gently, for the fourth time. “Mr. Stark has asked that you remain calm.”
“I'll sit when I see him.” (Y/N)’s jaw clenched as she approached the locked observation room, her boots striking the polished floor. Through the small circular window of the reinforced door, she could just barely make out the figure pacing behind the frosted glass. Peter. She would know that silhouette anywhere; tense shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching, restlessness radiating off of him in waves.
They hadn’t seen each other in three days. Three excruciating days since the mission on Kepler-49X, where the avengers encountered a flora-based species with some bizarre biological effects. Thor had cracked jokes about “pollen and mating seasons.” Tony had gone completely silent, and Peter… Peter hadn’t come back the same.
(Y/N) is his girlfriend. His mate, as Thor annoyingly called it. She had every right to know what was happening to the boy who had been her everything since junior year.
The intercom clicked.
“(Y/N)?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Peter?”
His voice was strained. It was low, gravel-edged in a way she’d never heard before. “You need to go. I'm not safe right now.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Not safe? What the hell are you talking about? What happened to you?”
Silence. Then a slow, ragged inhale.
“They hit us with something,” he said, voice tight. “Some kind of compound. It's like a sex pollen, or a hormone trigger, or I — I don’t know. Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are trying to figure it out, but it’s designed to bond people. Or make them m-mate. I — fuck, (Y/N), it’s so much worse than it sounds.”
Her mouth went dry.
“Mating? Peter, are you in pain?”
“Yes,” he breathed, and it wasn’t just pain she heard. There was a need behind it — something primal. “Not the kind you can stitch up. It's in my head. My blood. It's like every nerve is begging for you. Every second I'm not touching you, I feel like I'm burning alive.”
(Y/N)'s heart twisted, torn between panic and something far darker, deeper; a sharp sting of want. “Peter…”
He groaned. A sound that was entirely too feral for the boy she knew. “You can’t be here. I'm barely holding on. Every time I even hear your voice, it gets worse. My senses are locked on you. I can smell you through the glass. I need you.”
Her thighs clenched involuntarily.
“Peter-”
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry. If I touch you like this, I don't know if I'll be able to stop.”
The door opened behind her.
“Jesus, kid,” Tony muttered, walking in with Steve close behind. “What did we just say about using the intercom?”
(Y/N) turned on them, fury igniting in her chest. “What the hell is happening to him?!”
Steve gave Tony a look, and Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“He’s been dosed with an alien compound that heightens mating instincts. We think it’s temporary, but it’s… aggressive. The last thing we need is him losing control and accidentally hurting someone.”
“You mean me.” Her voice trembled.
“I mean anyone,” Tony replied flatly. “But yes, given your history, we’re trying to keep you safe.”
(Y/N) stepped forward. “He would never hurt me.”
“We’re not taking that chance,” Steve said, softer but firm.
“Maybe she’d help,” Thor’s booming voice came from behind them. He was eating grapes, leaning against the doorframe. “The boy is clearly bonded. His instincts are driving him to his mate. Let them be.”
Tony threw him a sharp glare. “This isn’t Asgard.”
“No, it’s Earth. Where you lot still think locking a love-drunk spiderboy in a room is gonna fix a chemical problem with his balls.”
“Thor,” Steve warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. But (Y/N) was frozen.
Mate.
Was that what Peter had been trying to say? That this wasn’t just about sex? That some part of his body, his DNA, knew her as his? It was crazy. And yet not.
They’d been each other’s firsts. Each other’s constants. They'd grown up tangled in each other’s lives, so tightly wound it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
If what they were saying was true — if this was physical and emotional and biological — then how the hell was she supposed to walk away?
That night, Tony agreed to let her stay, but not on Peter's floor.
“If you so much as breathe near his containment room again, I'll have you escorted off the premises.”
“But-“
“Look, I’m sorry, I mean that. But this is for both your safety. Understood?”
She agreed. Begrudgingly.
(Y/N) was staying in one of the guest rooms four levels below, tucked beneath layers of biometric locks. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t sleep, and she could barely think. Her skin buzzed with anticipation and dread; and under it all, longing.
Because as wrong as it was, some dark part of her wanted him — needed him.
It happened just after 3AM.
A crash echoed through her room, followed by a loud thump. (Y/N) shot up in bed, heart pounding and frozen.
He was there.
Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit. Torn, unzipped halfway to his navel, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His curls were damp with sweat, eyes blown wide with black-dilated pupils. And he was on his knees at the foot of her bed.
“(Y/N),” he rasped.
“What—Peter—How did you—”
“I couldn't stay away.” His voice broke, and there was raw desperation in it. “I tried. I fought it. But my body, every cell in me, wants you… I need you. I need to touch you. I'm begging you.”
Her breath hitched.
“Did you break out?”
He nodded, almost ashamed. “I didn't mean to. I think — I think FRIDAY let me out. She scanned my vitals and said something about a fail-safe.”
“You can’t be here,” she whispered, though her thighs were already pressing together, heat pooling low in her belly.
“I know,” he said. “And if you tell me to leave, I will. I swear. But I can’t take this anymore.”
He looked up at her, eyes glassy, face flushed.
“Say the word, (Y/N). Just say no, and I'll crawl right back to the cell and lock myself in.”
There was nothing in his posture but reverence. Nothing but worship.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry with shock and confusion. Then she whispered:
“Come here.”
Peter didn’t move at first.
Even when (Y/N) said the words “Come here,” his body trembled, as though the permission alone had set him on fire.
She sat upright on the bed, hair a little messy from sleep, tank top clinging to her skin. Her lips were parted, unsure. But she didn’t pull away when he crawled toward her, every movement careful, reverent, like he was approaching something divine.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, hovering just above her, his voice shredded with restraint. “If you even hesitate, I’ll back off. I’ll crawl back to that cell and-”
“Peter,” she whispered, touching his cheek. Her thumb grazed the high arch of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw. “You said you needed me. So take me. Please.”
That was all it took.
Peter crashed his mouth into hers like he was starving — and in truth, he was. Not just for her body, but for her presence, her voice, her soul. His tongue swept into her mouth with desperation, tasting her, mapping her. His hands were already under her shirt, calloused palms dragging across her skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.
He groaned, deep and low, as he pressed her back into the mattress. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he gasped against her neck. “I’ve been losing my mind, (Y/N). I can smell you. Hear you. I dream about you and wake up hard and aching.”
Her breath hitched. “Peter-”
“I need you to say yes.” His voice cracked, his lips trembling against her collarbone. “Say it again. Please.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Always.”
He shuddered, letting out a relieved sob, and then his mouth was everywhere. Kissing her neck, sucking gently, nipping just enough to leave heat in his wake. He dragged her tank top up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her nipples pebbled instantly in the cool air, and Peter moaned as he bent down, taking one into his mouth.
“Fuck—Pete—”
He groaned in response, flicking his tongue over her nipple, then gently sucking before switching to the other. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”
She arched into him, fingers threading through his curls.
Peter’s suit had come half-undone in his escape, and now (Y/N) reached to peel the rest of it off, revealing the lithe, trembling power of his body beneath. His skin was flushed pink, damp with sweat, muscles twitching like he was barely holding himself together. She grazed her fingers down his stomach and he whimpered.
“You’re sensitive.”
“You have no idea,” he groaned, leaning into her touch. “My senses are in overdrive. Every time you touch me it’s like, I don’t even know how to describe it.”
He was rock-hard against his thigh, cock flushed dark and leaking at the tip.
She wrapped her fingers around him, gently, and he cried out — dropping his forehead to her shoulder.
“(Y/N)—fuck—baby—please be careful—if you keep doing that I’m gonna come just from your hand,”
She smiled. “You’re really this desperate?”
His hips bucked, and he nodded against her skin. “You don’t get it. I can feel the air on me and it makes me wanna explode. But it’s not just that. It’s you. You. The way you smell, the way you feel near me — I’m going crazy.”
She guided him back to her lips. “Then go ahead, Peter. Show me.”
Something snapped in him.
He pulled her panties down in one frantic motion, exposing her soaked core. When he saw how wet she was, he groaned like it physically hurt him.
“Is this for me?” he asked, voice ragged. “Did I do this to you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s always been you.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Peter dropped to his stomach and buried his face between her thighs.
“Peter — oh my god — ”
His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up her slit before he sucked her clit into his mouth, groaning like she was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. She bucked beneath him, hands gripping the sheets as his tongue worked her in steady, firm laps, his fingers gripping her thighs like anchors.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, dragging his tongue in lazy circles. “Could live here. Would live here.”
(Y/N) moaned, thrashing under him as the coil in her belly began to tighten. “Pete — I’m gonna — I can’t”
He flattened his tongue against her, flicked, then sucked hard — and she came with a loud, shaking cry, thighs clamping around his head.
He didn’t stop.
Peter kept licking her through it, slower now but persistent, tongue gentle as she trembled. And when she started to squirm, overstimulated, he held her down.
“Just one more,” he begged. “Please. One more. I’ve been dreaming about this. About making you fall apart over and over until you forget your own name.”
(Y/N) gasped, teetering on the edge again. “I can’t — I don’t — Pete —oh fuck— ”
He slipped one long finger into her, crooking just right and that was it. She came again, louder this time, body arching off the bed as he worshipped her like something sacred.
When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening, pupils blown. His voice was low and reverent.
“Let me fuck you, baby. Let me show you how much I love you.”
She nodded, dazed, chest heaving.
Peter lined himself up, pushing the tip in slowly. He was thick, and the stretch made her gasp. But he moved gently, watching her face with trembling control.
“You’re so tight, love. Fuck. You feel like heaven.”
“Go slow,” she whispered.
“I’ll go as slow as you want. Just don’t ask me to stop.”
He slid in deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her. They both gasped; the connection blinding. Peter dropped his forehead to hers, eyes clenched shut.
“Don’t move,” he begged. “Just — just let me breathe in this for a second. Being inside you is the only thing that’s made me feel sane in days.”
She cupped his cheek. “Then take what you need.”
He moved.
Slow at first, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that made her toes curl. But it didn’t take long for the need to rise again — the sex pollen in his system twisting pleasure into something ravenous.
Soon he was pounding into her, moaning her name, gasping things like “so good”, and “you were made for me.” He begged her to come again, to scream for him, to let him give her everything.
When she clenched around him, nails raking down his back, Peter lost it. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, groaning her name like it was a prayer.
But he didn’t stop. Not even after.
He kissed her feverishly, still hard, and pulled back just enough to look in her eyes.
“Again,” he whispered. “I can’t stop. I need more.”
And she let him.
They went three more rounds. Each more intense, more desperate, more consuming than the last.
By the time they collapsed into each other, the sun was rising, Peter was trembling with aftershocks, and (Y/N) couldn’t walk.
Literally.
When she tried to stand, her legs gave out.
Peter caught her mid-stumble, arms wrapping around her like instinct. He was utterly wrecked, drenched in sweat, but still strong enough to lift her effortlessly. “I got you. FRIDAY?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Wheelchair. Please.”
(Y/N) groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, kissing her temple as he cradled her tighter. “You love me.”
“…I do,” she mumbled.
His smile turned boyish and warm. The kind that always made her stomach flip. And he kissed her again, slower this time, and whispered, “And I love you. So fucking much.”
And with her nestled in his arms, the morning light pouring over them, it was impossible to tell where the heat ended and the love began.
a/n: ik this is a one-shot, but should i do a part 2 or what?
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
fr tho why is everything smut😭😭 i wanna read angst that would ruin me, make me sick to my stomach and cry like there's no tomorrow bro i want a fanfic that is so devastating that i won't be able to function for the next few months
Can you write something with reader always "attracting" animals wherever she goes and tom calls her snow white because of that? 💗💗
Snow white || th.
pairing – Tom x reader
w/c – 601
It's another Saturday in London, the weather is a little chilly, but the sun is finally starting to come out here in April, which makes up for the small breeze of wind. A good weather to walk Tessa in the park.
So that's what you and Tom do. The park is almost empty when you get there, only a few other people walking their dogs, and some out on a run.
It's very quiet and peaceful in the park. Only the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees, as well as some birds chirping and singing can be heard.
It's a beautiful sight, seeing the few flowers beginning to grow, into big colorful ones. But for Tom, you are the most beautiful sight. He goes over to some of the spring flowers, and picks one up.
"Come here." He tells you, you turn around to face him, Tessa following behind you. Tom shows you the flower, then tugging some hair behind your ear, so the flower can sit there in the front and look pretty.
The light pink color from the flower compliments your eyes fabulously, and Tom can't help but stare at you, admiring your beauty.
"What?" You ask, as you let out a quiet giggle, which makes Tom smile even brighter.
"Nothing, you just look beautiful, m'love." He answers, and pecks your temple. He takes your hand in his after you free Tessa, letting her do whatever she wants.
Without acknowledging it, the time passes by quickly, you and Tom have just been walking and talking, sharing kisses here and there.
Tessa had been running all around the park, but had finally calmed down, and was back to walking slowly right next to you, as she had used most of her energy to chase squirrels and other birds.
"Look!" You point to a row of bushes, where you can see a swarm of butterflies, and you walk towards the beautiful creatures, fascinated by all their patterns and colors.
You would have thought Tessa was tired from all the running and chasing before, but yet she still has loads of energy to jump up after the butterflies. Just as fascinated by them as you.
A big smile spreads across Tom's lips, looking at his two girls, both of you so focused. He slips his phone out of his pocket, and starts a video. He is trying his best to film the both of you, switching between you and Tessa.
"Tom look!" You say excited, and when Tom focuses back on you, he finds you wearing the biggest smile, a butterfly sitting on your index finger. And to make it even more perfect, the rest of the butterflies hover around your head, almost firming an angel's glory.
When the butterfly eases from your hand, Tom ends the video, and looks back at it.
"Did you get it?" You ask, referring to your encounter with the butterfly. Tom shows you the video, and as it gets to you, he takes a screenshot. At first you are confused, but then your heart melts when he changes it to his new lockscreen.
He gives you a big kiss, then hooks the leach back on Tessa, and extends his hand for you to take.
"Ready to go home, Snow White?" When he sees your confused look, he explains. "Because the animals love you." You let out a small 'oh' and then smile, looking into his honey brown eyes. And then your smile turns into a mischievous smirk.
"Are you then my prince, or are you one of the dwars, cause your height says-"
“If I cared about the other seven billion out there, instead of just me, that’s probably a much better use of my time. See, if I were Princess of Genovia, then my thoughts and the thoughts of people smarter than me would be much better heard and just maybe, those thoughts could be turned into actions.”
Anne Hathaway as Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi in The Princess Diaries (2001)
Prompt #7"How long have you been standing there?" & #12" It's not what it looks like." with Dom! Geralt of Rivia (from The Witcher on Netflix, if you've seen it, if not then young Charles Xavier) x shy reader. I think these two prompts would go well with the reader being caught masturbating and projecting thoughts of Charles/Geralt and they sensed wisps of it so they thought reader was in danger and stumbles upon the scenario. They help (😉) her "get" 'there'. It's me again. - Nyx 🌚
Warnings: voyeurism, mentions of sex and masturbation
"How long have you been standing there?" " It's not what it looks like."
--------
"If you wanted me so badly, you could've just asked."
You snatched your blanket and covered your bottom half before looking up with wide eyes at the source of the voice. There was Charles, gorgeous as ever, leaning against your doorframe.
"Charles? H-how long have you been standing there?" You asked with a small voice as you pulled your knees up to your chest. He was the one you'd been fantasizing about while you touched yourself, and seeing him right there had you throbbing even more.
"Long enough to see what you were doing."
"It wasn't what you think. It's not what it looks like."
"Oh, darling," Charles came to stand next to the bed, placing his hand on your thigh over the blanket. He tapped his temple with the other hand. "I'm a telepath, remember? I heard all of the filty things you were thinking about me."
You blushed a deep red and looked down at the blanket, but he carefully tipped your chin up to look into his usually bright eyes, which were dark with lust. "Let me help."
Warning: cussing, SMUT, UNPROTECTED SMUT(WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT)
Pairing: Charles Xavier x reader, Raven, mentions Hank
Request: How about a nice smutty fic where Charles is using Cerebro to have an important conversation with a mutant and you decide to have some fun. You go down on him and he is trying to stay focused but just when he thinks it’s over you start riding him. ~anonny
A/n: Sorry it took so long to do. I hope this is somewhat what you were wanting. I hand wrote this first then typed it up. I really hope you like this, I think it’s not my complete best but this is what I came up with while dealing with the heat and crappy AC.
Charles was down using Cerebro, talking to someone whose name you didn’t quite catch. You knew that Hank had to go out of state for something he said was important. You didn’t pay much attention to what Hank was going on about since you were obviously and blatantly staring at your telepathic, super smart boyfriend/ You had decided that about 20 minutes ago that you were going to make this call interesting. You put on one of your silk robes that went down to mid-thigh. You pulled your hair up in a quick pony tail before you made your way out of your bedroom.
You couldn’t hear any of the others walking around. Making your way to the elevator to go down to the lower levels. As you walked, Raven looked up at you from where she was sitting reading. She smiled, knowing that you had something up your sleeve but she didn’t know what. Once to the elevator, you made your way down. You saw the doors to Cerebro were open as you quietly made your way to the man sitting inside. You could hear Charles talking inside, his voice only spurred you on. You walked through the doors and got closer to the man you’ve been looking for.
You ran your hand across his shoulders causing him to jump slightly at your unexpected touch. You only giggle softly as he continued the conversation he was having. You placed a kiss on the skin of his shoulder as you pulled back the collar of his shirt. He loved it when you had your lips on him and you knew it. What you had in mind, you knew that he was going to “punish” you later but you didn’t care. You made your way around the mutant, dropping down to your knees in front of him. You gently ran your hands up the insides of his legs causing his breath to hitch in his throat but he quickly recovered. His voice remained even as she spoke to the unknown person. Your hands made their way up higher, reaching the button of his pants and feeling how hard you had made him already. Undoing the button and then pulling the zipper down, you heard a slight warning in your mind. You smirked up at Charles as you pulled him from the confides of his pants, letting your hand gently and softly slide up and down his harden length. Charles bit his lip, trying to focus on his conversation. His legs unconsciously opened to allow you to get closer, which you took complete advantage of. You place a kiss on the head of his hard dick.
You place your tongue at the base of his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, you dragged your tongue up the underside of his hard length. Applying slight pressure as you traced the vein there before flicking the head lightly. Giving it kitten licks as your hand started moving up and down his cock. You knew that Charles was trying hard to keep his mind off what you were doing. That was when you decided to kick things up a notch. You slid your mouth around the head, letting your tongue caress it from all sides. Then you slowly took more of him into your mouth, humming around him as beads of pre-cum fell onto the back of your tongue. You took as much of him as you could fit without gagging. You stayed still for a moment before you started bobbing your head, sucking lightly as your lips move up and down his length and you pump what couldn’t fit into your mouth.
Charles bit his lip as you continued working on him. His hands gripping the sides of his pant legs. With your free hand, you reached up and grabbed one of his hands and placed it on the back of your head. His hand gripped your hair tightly causing you to moan around him. He tried not to jerk his hips up, you could feel that he was trying. His voice wavered a bit but nothing anyone would notice. You took it upon yourself to grant him mercy, pulling your mouth off with a wet pop. You could hear a sigh of relief fall from his lips as he continued his conversation. Little did he know that you weren’t done with him just yet.
You climbed up into his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. His cock brushed against your folds which caused him to look at you in disbelief. You smirked down at him as you gripped his length with your soft hand, lining him up at your entrance. In the back of your mind you heard Charles say, “Don’t you dare.” He sounded breathy and everything but intimidating. You leaned forward a little, placing soft kisses to his chest and collar bone as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. Your eyes never left his as you took him completely inside you. You moaned at the sensation of him completely filling you, stretching you perfectly. His hands subconsciously went right to your hips, gripping tightly and biting his lip to keep himself from moaning. You slowly start to ride him, lifting yourself up and down on him. Your soft moans filled the room as you continued to ride him. You started picking up pace, using more force as you fucked yourself with his dick. You didn’t know when his hands left your hips because without warning you were lifted up and gently laid back onto Cerebro’s control panel.
“That wasn’t nice, love.” His voice low and husky. “I should punish you for what you did.” You looked up at him, biting your lip innocently. He pulled back and slammed into you, pulling a loud, long scream of pleasure from your lips. He finally let all the sounds he’s been wanting to make flow free. He leaned forward and took the strap holding your robe together off your body, letting your robe fall away exposing your bare body underneath. He took one nipple into his mouth causing you to arch your back, pushing your nipple further into his mouth. His pace never faltered as he continued to slam into you. Suddenly he pulled out of you, a whimper of loss fell from your lips. He smirked down at you before flipping you over so your chest pressed against the panel. You felt his hand on you, he pealed your robe off your back before letting one hand settle on your hip while the other gripped himself lining up at your entrance. He started to push in, slowly. Knowing that you need him. You needed him to fuck you and fuck you hard. He stopped moving when he was fully seated inside you, his hands gripping your sides tightly.
“Please, Daddy.” Your voice was breathy as you spoke. You felt him twitch deep inside you. You’ve always loved calling him daddy and he loved the way you said it.
“Please what, baby girl? Tell me what you want, tell me what you need.” He kissed up your spine. His lips soft against your skin.
“I need you Daddy, please. I need your hard cock moving and thrusting deep inside me.”
That was all it took. He pulled back and as he thrusts forward, he pulls you back to him. You scream out in pleasure as he kept this action. Your knuckles gripped the edge of the panel, turning white from your death grip. The tangled sounds that sounds that fell from the both of you mixed with the sounds of skin slapping skin filled the large room. This only spurred Charles on, pounding into you harder and faster than before. Your cries continued to echo around and possibly down the hall. You felt that know in your stomach build as he continued to brutally pound into you. One of his hands slid from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight harsh circles on it. That was all you needed. You came on a silent scream, pulling Charles along with you as you clamped down around him hard.
“(Y/n)” He moaned your name as he worked the both of your through your orgasms, gradually slowing to a stop. You moaned softly as he pulled out of you then pulling you with him as he sat back down in his seat. You laid your head against his shoulder as he ran his fingers through your hair, basking in the post-sex high. He kissed the top of your head sweetly. “You know, that was very naughty of you doing what you did while I was having a conversation with Hank.” He chuckled lightly as you smirked at yourself proudly. “Now, let’s go up to the bedroom so I can punish you some more.”
You slid off his lap and grabbed your robe, slipping it back on with a wink sent towards Charles. You turned back towards Charles and wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands landing on your hips. “Whatever Daddy wants, Daddy gets. At least when it comes from me and only with me.” You leaned up and pressed your lips to his before pulling away. You turned and started to walk away with a smile on your face.
“Only you my love, always you.” He got up and followed you to the elevator.
You don’t know why you decided to wear a skirt that day. It wasn’t even that hot, but you made that decision and the consequences were only just starting to become apparent.
It was the middle of Mutant History, taught by some lady with a tree growing out the back of her thick skull, and you were seriously contemplating impaling yourself with the thing if you had to sit through one more minute of class.
‘You look like you’re having fun.’ The voice spoke in your mind and immediately you relaxed, knowing that you were about to be saved from the next 40 minutes.
‘Way too much, now get me out of here.’ You thought back, adjusting your skirt as it kept slipping up your thighs, which the kid next to you seemed to be enjoying immensely.
‘I quite enjoy seeing you sit there and stew.’ Came his smug reply. You huffed and crossed your legs because simply hearing his deep British accent was enough to get you started. You scanned the room, looking for a head of brown hair and blue eyes, finally resting on the smirk leaning against the door.
‘Really?’ You questioned, a hoisted an eyebrow. ‘But isn’t there much better things we could be doing?’ His eyes narrowed marginally and he moved his gaze from you and pretended to pay attention to the teacher.
‘Do you really want to start this kind of conversation right now?’ The teacher finally acknowledged his presence and introduced him to the class as Professor Charles Xavier, as if none of us knew who he was. ‘Because I can only begin to imagine how embarrassing it would be to cum all over your legs without a single person touching you.’ He thought this all with a straight face whilst listening to the tree-headed teacher explain to him the curriculum. He politely nodded and gestured for her to continue.
I have no self control and like two people expressed interest in a part two so ta daaa!! Here ya go @commissioner23 and @possessedxparrot , this one is for you! I have mixed feelings about this, it started in one direction and the story ended up taking me completely in another that I originally had not intended on exploring, but I also adored writing it and think this might be some of my best work (?). Idk I’m lowkey proud of it
Read Part One Here
Prompt/Summary: Y/N is an empath on the way to her first mission with the X-Men, she may not be able to hear Charles’ thoughts on the jet, but she can certainly feel them
Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader
Warnings: Angst! Fluff! Smut!
Word Count: 7386 (I got carried away…)
Your mission had been successful, and whilst you were elated, really it was the last thing on your mind. Your thoughts were plagued by a certain handsome telepath and his actions, and to make matters worse you were hyperaware that he could hear you, which was only increasing your inner turmoil as you tried your hardest to not only act but also think normal when you felt like you were losing your grip on all that you had known to be normal.
It didn’t help that Charles hadn’t so much as acknowledged your little rendezvous on the jet. In fact, he was acting as if nothing at all had happened. And if you were being honest with yourself you’d rather he ignored you than his current, friendly demeanour. You were beginning to feel a little used and it wasn’t sitting so well with you. After two weeks of this strange torture, you were on edge and nervous all the time. Every time you saw Charles striding down the halls you’d be unable to control yourself, becoming so involved in controlling your thoughts around him that you ended up blushing and stumbling over your greetings, succeeding only in embarrassing yourself further. The only solace you had was that no one else knew what had happened.
Or so you thought. You had been avoiding Charles’ friendship as much as possible by keeping to your quarters, avoiding his training sessions and, most importantly, picking antisocial times to eat. You were pretty good at it too, you’d found the sweet spot when the majority of people had finished eating and you could sneak in and get yours before the leftovers had been wolfed down by the boys who would not-so-subtly pop back and polish off the rest over the course of the evening. You really did think you were doing well until you bumped into both Charles and Raven on your late-night kitchen adventure one Wednesday. You were suddenly frozen to your spot.
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