Hi, I'm Buffy. The Bravest Warrior. Strategic Misdirection Queen. Pacific Princess. Sydney, Australia. Idgaf I love everything and this blog has no order. Shoot me a message/ask if you feel like a chat!
Do you ever think about how 1 of the 1st waterbending moves that Katara learns, that she doesnāt come up with herself, is the water whip that she learns from that waterbending scroll, which also happens to be 1 of the final moves that she uses against Azula, using that move to manoeuvre Azula into a place more favourable for Katara??
Do you ever think about how in that same episode that Katara learns that, Sokka tries to steer a boat, and laments how he doesnāt know how, because that boat wasnāt made by The Southern Water Tribe, and then, later, steers an entire Fire Nation war balloon with precision and intent, and knows how to destroy them effectively and efficiently, while also being a co-inventor of the inspiration invention of those Fire Nation war balloons??
Do you ever think about how, when face-to-face with The Avatar in the Avatar State, after repeatedly threatening to imminently kill that Avatar like the other Air Nomads, Ozaiās 1st move is to firebend directly towards Aangās left side of his face, the exact same spot that Zuko has his scar on??
Do you ever think about how Zuko was challenged to his 1st Angi Kai due to his desire to protect people being unnecessarily put in harms way, and his final Angi Kai was ended due to the same reason??
summary: peterās new arachnid senses often leave him disorientedāhibernating and waking up in places he doesnāt recognise. itās a small problem, one he's willing to deal with on his own, till he wakes in your apartment with his arms wrapped around you.
pairing: peter parker x reader
content: no bnd movie spoilers (feel free to read if you haven't seen bnd), FLUFF, clingy! peter parker, comfort, light banter, arachnid! peter, peter goes through it, yearning
Peter hates most of the new developments that arrived with the enhanced levels of his arachnid halfāand migraines are definitely top of the list. Particularly the ones that start early in the morning, muffling his senses and rendering him a zombie slob for the entire start of the day. He stirs in his sleep, a soft, pounding ache burrowed in the back of his skull. It's an irritating sensation, one he's already grown familiar with, worsening the overheating, the sensitivity that comes with his overloaded senses, the pull of nerves behind his eyeballs.
His nose burrows deeper into a comforting scent, arms tightening around something soft. Letting out a dragged sigh, low against his throat, the pain fades into something barely noticeable. A sort of relaxed relief that hasn't hit him in years, with his entire body growing slack and heavy, the kind that only comes after a restful sleep. One he hasn't achieved sinceāhis gaze peers open, blinking heavily as his eyes adjust to his surroundings.
The first thing he catches sight of is a familiar bundled sight of hair, and the curve of a shoulder. He must be dreaming. The sunlight stings the sensitivity of his eyes, and he blinks harsher in an effort to recollect himself. His brows furrow as he loosens a hand, parting from his tight grip to run his fingers gently over the loosened hair.
He wasn't dreaming. Somehow, he was laying in your bed, hugging you like an oversized koala.
"What?" He mumbles, the word falling soft out of his cotton mouth.
You stir slightly in response to the grazing of his touch, and it kicks Peter-Tingle on high-alert that this was not a figment of his imagination. He's quick to un-hand you, scooting backwards towards the edgeāand tumbling harshly onto the floorboards with a loud thump, snatching the sheets with him.
The noise echoes in his eardrums, curls splaying out over the floorboards, and Peter is completely frozen. In absolute cold, drowning terror, he watches you stir fully, turning around and stretching at your limbsāa dissatisfied frown perched in your lips at the sudden loss of warmth.
What has he done?
"Spider-Man?" You mumble, voice groggy, almost muffled as your nose dips deeper into the pillow, the one he occupied seconds ago.
Your gaze finally peers open, one palm coming to rub at your undereyesābefore meeting his own widened, nearly terrified expression.
"You're awake." You state, as if his existence within the walls of your apartment is a daily, common occurrence. Even if he hasnāt stepped foot into his most favourite apartment, in years. "Hm, you've got brown eyes, who would've thought?"
Why is he here? Why are you so calm about this?
āIāmāso, so sorry.ā His words fumble over each other, ears reddened at the tips. Feeling awfully exposed, he wraps his arms around his knees as he lifts himself into a sitting position, caving in on himself as he averts his gaze. āI donāt know whyāor howāoh god. Was I hugging you? How did I evenāIām so sorry, I swear I have no clue on how I ended up here.ā
Worse, he wasn't wearing a mask. Or much of anything really, aside from an old t-shirt, and Hello Kitty shorts that barely fit his thighs. As his fingers grip at the edge of the shirt, running over the hem, it hits him that these are his clothes. Ones he never stole back from your place, that he had merely assumed was lost to time.
Nothing could have prepared him for this situation, no prep-time or warnings from E.V.I.E.. He didn't have the protection of being Spider-Man and the mask that's become his second skin. No, he had landed bottom-first as bare-faced, shell-shocked Peter.
"You really don't remember how you got here?" You question, lashes fluttering shut as you struggle to stir awake. "Damn, I was wondering if you could tell me."
"NoāI swear, I completely blacked out." He scrambles for a response. "Next thing I knew, I was in your bedāI can't believe I just said that."
Running a hand past the bridge of his nose, he hides pathetically behind his fingers, his best attempt of a mask against the chaotic churn of nerves bundling through his gut. He had promised to keep you safe by staying as far away as he couldāaside from the daily checking of your social media pages and the occasional swing down your usual coffee shop just to see if your favourite order remained the same, but this? How was he ever going to forgive himself for it?
He hears shuffling, in the normal sense and not the heightened echoes heās used to ever since his arachnid side started spinning out of control. Strangely, his senses have been dialed down to normal since he regained consciousnessāand he canāt dumb it down to just a good rest. It has to be cause of you.
His lashes flutter against the pads of his fingers as he meets your gaze through the gaps. You face him head-on, sitting cross legged right in front of him, head tilted in innocent curiosity.
āYouāre a cuddler.ā You hum in acknowledgment.
He was genuinely going to be the first Spider-person to ever die of shame, not that he's met many, but he's sure Peter 1 and Peter 2 have never unknowingly climbed into the bed of their special someone because they couldn't control their own DNA evolution. A low sound escapes his throat, clenched through his teethācompletely at a lost for words.
He has no clue on what heās supposed to do, not when there's no routine or steps to fall back on. Be Spider-Man (Mask's gone). The man the city actually wanted (One who preferably doesn't have panic attacks wearing Hello Kitty pants). Stay far away from his previous life (Scored a huge FAIL here). Get flowers for May (Done). Scroll through your social media pages (..Done). Feel the thrumming vibrations of the washing machine after patrols (Skipped, was too nauseous). Rinse and repeat.
Thereās no coming back from this, and it wasnāt even in his control. He hadnāt meant to find you. The last thing he could recall before passing out in his apartment wasāhe had just wanted to go home. He swore that was all he intended.
āHey.ā Your voice, soft and warm, finally coaxes him out of his thoughts. He hadnāt even realised just how tight he had been clenching his eyes shutāas his gaze takes a few seconds to adjust back into colour with you in his full view.
Slowly and gently, your own fingers raise to pry his away from his face. Heās sure he has hand marks all over his skin, but you look at him with such a soft expressionāhe nearly keens.
āI got you. You're safe.ā You reassure, repeating it as a mantra. āYouāre safe here.ā
His Adamās apple bobs harshly, and he feels the tightening of his chest nearly burst at the seams. God, he missed you. All he wanted was to hug you, and tell you he was sorryāfor all of it. That he hadnāt gone a single day without wanting to hear your voice, to be exactly where he was right nowāthat this was all he needed if he wasnāt so weak. If he wasnāt cursed.
āSorry.ā Thatās all that comes out, a croak in his voice that he failed to swallow back.
Your lips quirk into a soft smile, and you look like home. He feels his muscles physically deflate in tension at the sight, something no inhibitor or invention could ever replicate. His life has been spinning out of control, and you've just set the needle aside without even blinking.
āYouāre all good, Spidey.ā Your voice is warm, comforting. āAside from hogging the blankets, it wasnāt half-bad for my first sleepover with a vigilante.ā
His lips part, a laugh caught in his throatāhalf shattered, half hopeful.
āCould youāI donāt know, explain to me what happened?ā He raises his hands, gesturing to your apartment. āI canāt believe I lost controlāI donāt remember anything.ā
Your lips part, a small grin tucked between your lips. "If you insist."
A loud crash resounds behind you, kick-starting your frightened senses. Head whipping to the window, you spot your window ledge shoved half-way with brutal force, and a body covered in deep reds and blues on your wooden floorboards.
"Holy shit." You mutter to yourself, skillet pan still in hand, the oil coating its surface bubbling into tiny pops.
Spider-Man is in your living room. Spider-Man is spread out across your floorboards, seemingly knocked out cold, in your apartment.
Another sizzling pop snaps you out of your stump, and you realise the collapsed vigilante is your responsibility. Your fingers fumble to switch off your stove with a click, skillet haphazardly placed over the stove burnerāapron still hanging around your neck as you rush towards the body. God, you hope it wasn't an actual body.
"Spider-Man?" You call out tentatively, and you're struck by how his body moves in response, the stretch of his back with that familiar logo disappearing to reveal a mop of dark brown curls.
He wasn't wearing a mask. You didn't know what you expected from a hero who seemed nearly indestructible on the news, even when in the process of being smashed into buildings by tanks, but Spider-Man looks much younger than you expected, ahead of you by at most a couple yearsābearing a youth that is almost frightening.
He certainly did look battered. Bruises littered his cheek, as if he had slammed himself into bricks or concrete on the way, before he had landed himself in your apartment. Dark circles pooled as a dark shadow under his eye-bags, and his hair was a wet, clumped mess from the rain.
You didn't know where to begināif you were even allowed to touch him to check if he's hurt, or to call a professional. Did the professionals even know who he was, of his true identity? What if you doomed New York City's most beloved vigilante to his fate, just because you made the wrong call?
Your knees meet carpet, hands trembling in indecision and nerves, coming to rest on his shoulder. At your touch, a hiss escapes his lips and you immediately snatch your hand back, clutching it at the wrist. Who were you kidding, you were the last person equipped to save a person's lifeāmuch less a hero's.
You rise halfway, head swinging around to locate your phoneāwhen you feel an insistent pull of your apron, tripping you back to land on the carpet.
"Don't go." He whispers.
Your gaze snaps back to his face, and find his eyes open. Or at least, that's where his pupils should've been. He must be half-unconscious, with the way his eyes are blown into a darkened void, lips parted in some sort of daze.
"I'm going to get help." Your words form despite the panic arising in your chest at the state of him. Is this poisoning? What else could explain the blackened sclera, the way darkened veins coated his skin in an almost bluish-purple. "I'll be right back." You promise.
He shakes his head, almost insistently stubborn, jaw clenching in panic. "No, don't go." His grip tightens almost instantly, and you're swept by his abnormal strength with a sudden tug, tumbling on top of him. "Please."
You freeze, feeling the wet raindrops from his suit seep into the cotton of your apron. Before you even have a chance to push yourself off, his arms wrap around you protectively. Squashed between his broad chest and the tight grip of his hold, your nose is buried into the crook of his shoulder. You smell fresh detergent, sweat, and something so achingly familiarāit churns your senses into mush that it takes you a few seconds to register.
He's shaking, and almost feverishly warm.
"Spider-Man." You plead. "Listen to me. You don't look good. And I do not want a dead Spider on my conscience, so pleaseāyou have to let me go so I can find some professionals, just someone to check if you're alright."
His touch is a sizzling heat as the warmth envelopes you, almost like a weighted, heated blanket.
"No. Stay." He pleads. "Please, I don't wantāI just need you."
He sounds so exhausted. Why wouldn't he be? Before he had suffocated you into this strange circumstance of a hug, his entire face had been dull in colour, sweat pooling at the curls over his forehead, and he just lookedāfragile. Completely unlike the hero of the city you're used to seeing on screen, whether it be receiving the keys to the city or those cheerful quips that make its frequent rounds through the internet when he swoops in to save the day.
"Spidey." You call him gently, trying to think of how to persuade him. "āI won't leave you alone, I promise. Just let me get up, to at least fetch you a change of clothes. You're soaked."
The seconds passing by without a response, or the loosening of his muscles, feel like the longest beats of your life. Your own heart thumps along with the rise and fall of his chest, waiting with bated breath.
"Promise?" He murmurs weakly.
"I promise." You whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."
You feel the slow release of warm breath against your skin, the way his fingers tremor over the small of your back. Something in him relaxes just enough, and his arms give in, thumping heavily at his sides. You rise instantly, palms pushing at his chest and falling back onto the carpet. Feeling the wet residue of the rain coat your apron, and the side of your cheek that had been buried in his shoulderāyour cheeks grow impossibly hot.
You need to snap out of it. He needs clean clothes. Yeah, that's a start.
Stumbling in your step, you rush towards your wardrobeādigging through the unorganised mess for a bag of clothes you had kept hidden in the most corner nook. One you hadn't thrown out since your first discovery of its existence, containing Hello Kitty shorts, some old, faded T-shirtsāchoices you would've never purchased for yourself but had for as long as you could remember.
You had run through a list of reasons for its existence, seemingly packed for an overnight guest. Maybe from that house-warming party you had thrown once before deciding you much preferred your space being reserved for only you, and someone had left their clothes mistakenly. Despite whatever plausibility or excuseāyou never found the strength to throw them away. Even when you had every reason to, your mind instinctively buries the thought and the bag remained exactly where it was, kept in a zip-locked bag for it to be used by someone.
Apparently, today was its much-needed day.
Hoisting the bag over to the living room where he still laid, cheek pressed to the carpet, youāre relieved that the tension that previously consumed his expression has faded somewhat, with his lips parted slightly in slow exhales. His body seemed to be recalibrating, instinctively calming down right in the centre of your home.
Your hand comes to rest on his cheek, tapping it gently. Although his eyes with that dark void don't open, a low rumble escapes his throatāconvincing you that he's still somewhat conscious.
"Hey, Spidey." You whisper. "I brought some clothes. Do you have the energy to change?"
He doesn't respond, and you poke your tongue into your cheek, analysing the length of him with dawning dread. It's no big deal, you just have to peel off this ridiculously tight suit with no zipper in sight without making it weird, and attempt at successfully pulling a T-shirt over his head.
Making your choice of a 'I Survived My Trip To NYC' graphic tee found at the top of the pile inside, your gaze switches back to the sprawled vigilante. From how heavy his arms had been earlier, rendering you immobile when pinned under them, you wouldn't dare make the mistake of assuming his weight would be easy to flip over. You could attempt to at least expose his back for you to take off that suitāassuming the costume even had a zipper.
Your long calculation apparently does the job for you as Spider-Man senses you near, and his arm curls protectively around your thigh, burying his nose into the crook below your knee. Your entire body stills, a tight grip over the tee as he gently rests his head over your knee, the soft texture of his curls brushing goosebumps against your skin. HIs body turns just enough to expose the expanse of his backāand the sight of a hidden zipper beneath that familiar symbol is a good sign.
Okay, sure. You could work with that.
He was ripped. You should've expected that, but the slow rise and fall of his chest expands the muscles across his exposed torso. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from the sight, reassuring yourself that your eyes were purely looking for possible injuries. You wouldn't go that low to check out a vigilante who was passed out in your living room.
Your fingers press into the sides of his cheeks, maneuvering his head so you could fit the opening of the tee over his head. Curls run through the white fabric before landing over his shoulder blades. It's strangely intimate, the way he's easily pliable in your handsātrusting you so completely. His lashes flutter once every few seconds, but he remains exactly where he is, body wrapped almost completely around yoursāacting as a human barrier to you and the outside worldāas you dress him in something soft and clean.
He's not supposed to be here, and you're not supposed to feel this protective over a stranger who dresses in two primary colours. Yet, seeing him at restāmakes you feel calm. The quiet of the apartment is a low hum rather than the empty chasm youāre used to, and your fingers run through his hair almost habitually.
You can't just leave him on the floor. There's also the latter half of his suit you don't want to deal with.
"Spidey." You whisper.
He lets out a low groan, wincing as his eyes shut tighterāburying himself deeper into your skin.
"No-no." Your hands come up to gently cup his cheek, coercing him.
His lashes part, and you're met with that same, expansive void, finding your own reflection in his gaze. He's still not quite himself, you believeābut he is able and willing to listen to you.
"I need you to put on these shorts." You gesture to the Hello Kitty pants you laid out for him. "Then, I need you to come to bed."
His brows furrow, lashes fluttering slowly as he processes your request. "Bed."
"Yes." You repeat. "You're exhausted, and I'm not leaving you on my floorboards. It's not too far, so pleaseāhelp me out a little, Spidey."
His gaze doesn't blink, but you feel the shift in his muscles at your command. He stumbles as he raises himself, body slumping into youābut you steady him with your own grip. His nose buries itself once more into a crook to inhale your scent, this time being your shoulder.
"Okay." You mutter. "That's progress. Come on, up."
It takes you a couple minutes, mostly because he clings to you with every step and he is made of heavy weight. Whatever they feed the heroes of New York, it was clearly something out of limits from your measly grocery bill. By the time he managed to slip himself into those Hello Kitty shorts while you kept your gaze heavily fixated on the ceiling, making sure only to look when the waistband was tight around his torso, it wasn't long before he tripped himself face-first into your blankets. Your own body collapses beside himāequally tired as he is.
You attempt to form a pillow fort in your daze, a barrier of sorts. More for him than you, as you're sure in the morning once this side of him disappearsāhe'll have a much different reaction to waking up in an apartment with a stranger he doesn't know.
It gets demolished within seconds.
As if the pillows have formed a personal vendetta against him, they're thrown aggressively onto the floorboards. Your hand reaches out to grab them because you had just put them in the laundryābut your wrist is snatched too and you're tugged into his embrace.
You land back into the sheets, cheek smothered against his chest, and there he goes again, wrapping himself around you like a cocoon.
Here in your bed with his arms wrapped around you like you're his only anchor, brows furrowed tightāSpider-Man looked so human. Soft, and incredibly vulnerable. His arm still grips limply onto you even if you can feel his consciousness fading, as if the lack of contact would have you disappearing completely from his reach.
"Those pillows were meant for you, y'know." You mutter, unable to hide your amusement.
His lips curl into a stubborn pout. "Don't want them." He grumbles, words nearly incoherent with the small parting of his lips. "In my way."
You snort softly, before noting the dirt that coats his cheeks. With such a close proximity, you see everything. The soft lines at the corners of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, and just how beautiful he was.
"You've got dirt on your face." You whisper softly. "I should help you with that."
His grip tightens considerably, and you're dragged up so close to his face that your noses nearly bump into one another.
"Okay-okay. I'm not going anywhere." You feel the need to remind him, hand slowly lifting to press against his bruised cheek.
If the press of your finger-pads against the bruise was painful, he didn't show itāonly burrowing his face deeper into the curve of your palm, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. The crease between his brows finally unfolds, and the years coated on his expression fades with itāleaving him looking impossibly young.
"Smells like you." He grumbles lowly, pressing the tip of his nose deeper into your palm.
Your heart skips a beat, traitorously even when you're sure he won't remember any of this by the morning.
āDo you have anyone?ā You ask gently. āSomeone I need to call?ā
Itās heart-breaking, the way he immediately shakes his head, his curls ruffled against the sheets. For someone so beloved by the city, even in such a weakened state, he still believes that he has no one.
"Why are you here?" You murmur more for yourself, gazing openly over the fanning of his lashes over his darkened circles.
If it weren't for the expansive heat seeping from his broad chest through the cotton tee you tugged over his head, you would've believed yourself to be in the thick of a sweet, non-sensical dream.
You expect him to be fully asleep, but you hear it, low and almost inaudible. "Home."
Your heart tremors, barely able to comprehend it. "What?"
His words grow muffled against the sheets, the mess of his curls sinking deeper into the pillowsābut you hear it. āWanted to come home.ā
Peter watches as you wring a cloth of its excess water over the sink, and the familiarity is dangerously luring. How many times has he sat here on your couch, watching as you prepped a medicine kit or a towel after his patrols? Itās almost unfathomable how quickly the new routines, rigorous with repetition and duty, all that controlāthat responsibility that leashed him tight falls apart the second he is in your proximity. Where old overpowers the new, because there is nothing he craves more than this. The pastāthe memories that became more present than reminder, when his own life had pressed āpauseā the moment he lost you.
He shouldāve insisted on leaving when you offered to clean up the dirt that still coated his face. He shouldāve shattered the hope that gleamed in your eyes when he gave you the barest nod, knowing how dangerous that fleeting belief could be when his own had never held value.
He did none of what he was supposed to doāand he didnāt even have the gull to feel ashamed for it, taking in the sight of you with unconditional hunger, absorbing every trace of movement and the way your voice resonated in the hearth of your home. He belonged in your life once, the same way the remains of his old t-shirts were kept in your wardrobe, or how the bathroom door still has the replaced hinges he fixed once on your third home date. Thereās him all around, and the sight was its own guilty pleasure that the universe hadnāt completely stripped away the parts of him that used to exist in your life.
"You didn't do anything." You reassure him from across the kitchen counter. "Trust me, when you showed up in my apartmentāyou weren't in a state of anything other than being near-collapse."
His expression contorts. As if he needed more reasons to hate these new changes to his bodyāmessing up all that is predictable. Predictable is good. It's safe. What isn't within even the remote levels of safe, is forcing you to look after him the entire night because he isn't even in control of his own body.
You stop in front of him, brushing some magazines and half-littered candy wrappers to the side as you sit on the coffee-table, knees brushing against his.
"Breathe." You murmur softly, eyes crinkling with a soft teasing expression.
He hadn't even realised he was holding his breath, being so close to you that it makes him feel faint. Oxygen swoops back into his lungs, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you openly with his mouth slightly gaped.
The cloth in hand raises to press against his cheek, and he feels the slight sting of its cool temperature against the warmth of his skin, the bruise above his cheekbone.
It doesn't truly register for him, not when you're staring at him so keenly he feels the need to ask. "What?"
"I just didn't expect Spider-Man to be soā" You struggle to find the words. "Human. I don't know. I suppose that sounds stupid, but you could pass by me in a coffee shop and I'd just sum you up as a cute stranger I'd never see again, not an actual crime-fighting vigilante."
The two of you were together, so it shouldnāt have struck him with elated surprise to hear it, but the admission that you still found himāhe feels sixteen again, taken back to when you had first pressed a kiss onto his cheek and he understood immediately on what it meant to fall in love so completely that you could never look back.
You're too focused on dapping the wet cloth to notice his widened gaze, or the way he swallows drylyālicking at his lips. "You think I'm cute?"
"I meanāthis entire time, I half-expected Spider-Man to be at least half-spider. Plus, I have eyes." You tease, your fingers gently brushing the wet cloth over the darkened soot across his cheek, rubbing off the marks. "I meant to do this last night, but you kept protesting when I tried to leave the bed. Clinging onto meā"
"Okay, okay." He raises his hand, catching you by the wrist. He's definitely flustered now. "I don't need to hear the details. I believe you."
You snort softly. "Thought you wanted the full story."
"Yeah, summed upāminus the details." He splutters. "I'm already dying inside from shame, and I've definitely ruined my impression with you forever."
"That's not true." You hum.
He blinks slowly, processing your words.
"There's no shame in reaching out for help, hero or not. I know youāre under a lot of public scrutiny butāit doesn't change who you are, y'know? You're deserving of support, just as much as everyone else. Even if the world expects you to be a heroā" You state. "You're still a person, and it seemed like you really needed someone."
He stiffens, jaw tightening as his eyes avert from yours to pinpoint his focus elsewhereāanywhere but you.
"You're not just someone." He mumbles lowly.
The press of the cloth against his cheek falters. "What?"
"You'reā" His voice trails off, jaw clenching tight. āYou werenāt scared of me?ā
He understands how he can get when he loses control. The way his vision blacks out, and how his mind caves into silenceāwith his body moving on instinct rather than command. The reflection of a monster in the mirror, everything he swore not to be. The version of him that snuck into your apartment, clinging onto you as a lifelineāwas stripped of the rules and promises he had made to keep everything together.
It was him at his most selfishādoing what his instincts pleadedāno, begged for him to do, and he had caved in for all of it. That's why he's here, and why you're staring with an expression he didn't dare uncover.
āI think youāre a lot more scared of yourself right now than I am.ā You answer truthfully. āYou were in a lot of pain. The last thing I would be was scared, when all you needed was someone to look out for you. Even if it's just for a little while.ā
"Iā" What is he supposed to say to that? That you're right on, and you've always been even without knowing who he is, and that he's been losing himself ever since he lost you? He swallows thickly. "I haven't been myself lately."
Your fingers tighten imperceptibly, grounding him. "You're still you, maybe you've just been putting aside what reminds you of that. I'm no vigilante, but working yourself to the bone and collapsing in a stranger's apartmentāI think that's a signal for a horrible work-life balance."
"I have been resting." He argues. "I get enough hours, I have proof."
"Yeah, that's definitely why you slept like a log last night."
His lips part, gaze finally meeting yours, staring at you wordlessly. Eventually, a laugh escapes his lips, deepening the lines near the corners of his eyes. It's a little sad, and you wonder just how much he had to carry on his ownāfor a laugh to sound that broken.
"This is hard. I'm not supposed toā" He mutters, and that's the closest thing to raw honesty that you've pulled out of his mouth. "You're way too good for me."
Your smile deepens, and your fingers trace gently over his cheek where the bruise was finally fading. That must've been the mistake of itāthe familiarity of muscle memory after a long patrol. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek in thank you.
Itās only when he spots your frozen expression that he realises what he's done.
"I was not supposed to do that." He mutters to himself, widened eyes locked onto the spot where he left the kiss.
You blink, and he follows the movementāstaring at each other in complete silence. His expression contorts, and you can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you.
"That wasāwow." You choke back on your laughter. "I think you're running out of things you're not supposed to do, Spidey."
His own gaze crinkles into a smile, abashed. "I'm sorry, I justāI wanted to thank you. It was out of habit."
"Habitāyou crash into people's apartments often and give out these free kisses?" You tease. "Is it part of the job description?"
He shakes his head immediately, terrified by the suggestion. "Noāno. I swear this is my first time ever doing anything like this. I got the habit from my aunt, she used toāum..."
His expression dampens considerably. "Kiss my cheek for good luck."
Your gaze softens. "She sounds sweet."
"Yeah." His laugh churns awkwardly with a wince. "You would've loved her."
You watch him, and you sense it againāthat chasm that ran deeper than the surface of his winced smiles. The way he shook his head when you asked if he had anyone, and even now, the way he fumbled with his fingers as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself in your gazeāand how he hadn't suggested once since waking up that he wanted to leave.
He was waiting, the way one waits for permission to exist in a room when they haven't been invited in one for years.
"Spidey." You call out.
He whips his head to look at you, pupils still widened in some perpetual disbelief, over the fact that he was in your apartmentāthat you were right in front of him.
"I'm going to make breakfast." You start, not leaving room for argument. "And you're going to help me."
He blinks once, then twice in astonishment. He swallows dryly. "O-Okay."
Your smile loosens into something reserved for a vigilante you had stayed up all night checking his temperature for.
You find that Spider-Man is pretty good in making pancakes, and that he easily maneuvers himself around your kitchen as if he had already memorised the layout. Of where your favourite mugs are, and how he didn't question twice when taking out the ice-cream tub without you needing to say it.
You could narrow it down to Spidey-senses, or whatever theories that's come up on your feed for his inhuman capabilitiesābut could it really just be that? Could his super-human abilities be the only reason behind why the warm hazel of his eyes light into the tiniest fireworks as he watches you scourge on your pancake, smiling at him with butter at the corner of your lipsāas if the sight of you eating breakfast was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen?
Or why he picked you as his destination for home, or the slip of his tongue on how you meant a great deal more to him than just a someone who so happened to let him stay the night.
You have so much to uncover, but for now, he's just a boy in a NYC graphic tee thatās his exact size, and fluorescent shorts that do nothing for his thighs. He catches your gaze on his peculiar outfit, and his own lips purse in amusement.
"Any reason for the outfit choice?" He murmurs, a knowing smile covered by his fist as he rests his chin over his wrist, head tilting slightly as he gazes at you. "It's inventive."
"Ohā" You blink. "I don't know. I kinda always had them. They don't belong to me, but I just didn't see a need to throw out free clothes."
Your lips quirk up, teasing. "Suits you though. Think you'll keep it?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I think I'll have to return it."
"Why?"
"So I can borrow it again." He suggests slowly.
You stare at him, unable to hide your growing grin. "Smooth, Spidey. Real smooth."
His gaze lights up. "Better than the cheek kiss?"
"Tons better. You could try it againāI'll see if I can adjust the scores." You tease.
"Really?" He stutters, akin to a flustered high-schooler.
"Yeah, but you'll have to tell me your name." You gesture with a point of your fork. "Can't go around giving free kisses without ID."
You meant it as a joke. You're no expert in superhero protocols, but you're sure the codenames meant no personal information spilled outside their work-life. Even when you've already seen his face, and shared a bed with him, and let him take your second favourite mug though he can't possibly know that last one. There's lines you've certainly crossed, but his name?
You part your lips to take back your impulsive request, to brush it offāonly to find genuine consideration forming in his expression. Your smile falls slack in wonder. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't possibly.
Yet, he looks at you, almost peering deep into your soul. He looks at you as if he knows you, all boyish and unguarded. Whatever he sees, past the bed-hair and ice-cream smothered lipsāit's worth it to him. It's worth something honest, and sacredāa truth he'll never be able to take back. It's a genuine, soft thingāa precious smile that lifts his lips, one you have no idea how brave he is for keeping. He has made his choice, and you're a part of it, always.
Peter looks at you, and he sees the only present he'll ever want. Past spells and starting-overs and stupid choicesāat the centre of it all, it all becomes so simple. Youāwho his body sought out of instinct, who inhabited his mind with your own personal island, who had taken his heart from the first time he saw you. You're home, and no rules or lines drawn could've stopped him from returning back to you. His everything.
"Peter. Peter Parker."
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3!!
marvel masterlist - coming soon! (do let me know if you'd like to be added to a peter parker taglist, i may be making one as i have more fics coming up for him <3).
There is a theory that watching unbearable stories about other people lost in grief and rage is good for youāmay cleanse you of your darkness. Do you want to go down to the pits of yourself all alone? Not much. What if an actor could do it for you? Isn't that why they are called actors? They act for you. You sacrifice them to action. And this sacrifice is a mode of deepest intimacy of you with your own life.
Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides; Tragedy: A Curious Art Form
š°šš«š§š¢š§š š¬: 18+, explicit sexual content ā MDNI , graphic descriptions , excessive cum , kinda gentle to rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation , creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), porn with little plot, needy peter parker , love confessions , touch starvation , college au , post nwh , smut , fem!reader , pussy drunk peter , first time together , confessions , the L word !!
š°š: 4.9k (i think. might be more, might be less. idk.)
š/š§: i may have gone overboard with this but itās my first smut fic. LOL! no spoilers for brand new day! this is semi proofread, so sorry in advance for mistakes. enjoy!!
the thing about Peter Parker is that he doesn't realize how tactile he is.
or maybe he does now, after four years of forcing himself not to be.
youāre sprawled across his dorm room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you like academic shrapnel. your Organic Chemistry problem set is due tomorrow, and Peter's trying to explain electron orbital hybridization for the third time while you're trying not to notice the way his hands move when he talks.
"okay, soāwait, are you even listening?" he glances up from the molecular model he's been gesturing at, catching you staring.
"yes," you lie. "orbitals. hybridization. very sexy stuff."
Peter's ears go pink. they always do. "itās actually kind of cool if you think about it. like, the atoms are literally reshaping themselves to form stronger bondsā"
"Peter."
"āwhich is sort of romantic in a way? no? okay, yeah, I hear how that sounds."
you grin, nudging his knee with your foot. "youāre such a nerd."
the contact makes him freeze for just a secondāso brief you almost miss it. but you've been Peter's best friend since freshman orientation, when you found him eating lunch alone in the dining hall, and you've gotten good at reading him. the way his breath catches. how his eyes track the movement of your leg as you pull it back.
"takes one to know one," he manages, but his voice is slightly rough.
youāve been noticing things like this more lately. the way he leans into your touch when you grab his arm. how he finds excuses to be closeāsitting next to you even when there's a whole empty couch, walking you home when your dorm is barely three buildings away. the looks that last a fraction too long.
at first, you thought you were imagining it. Peter Parker, who spent freshman year obviously pining after someone he wouldn't talk about, who kept a careful distance from everyone like he was afraid of breaking something. but somewhere between late-night study sessions and 2 AM bodega runs and him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, something shifted.
now he's watching you chew on your pen cap, and there's heat in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.
"we should take a break," you suggest. "my brain is melting."
"yeah, okay." Peter runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up adorably. "iāve gotāuh, i think there's some leftover pizza? and definitely Red Bull, which is probably not great to mix with the coffee we already had, butā"
"Peter."
"hmm?"
youāre not sure what you were going to say. something about how he's rambling, maybe, or how cute he looks when he's nervous. but you're sitting close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and the words dissolve on your tongue.
he swallows hard. "youāre looking at me weird."
"weird how?"
"i don't know! like..." he trails off, and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth before snapping back up. "never mind."
the air feels thick suddenly, charged with something that's been building for months. you think about all the almost-momentsāhands brushing when passing coffee cups, the time he caught you when you slipped on ice and held on longer than necessary, the way he said your name last week, soft and wondering, like he was testing how it felt.
"Peter," you say again, and this time his name sounds different. heavier.
"yes?" it comes out barely above a whisper.
you lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he tilts forward like you're gravity and he's been in orbit too long, and when your lips finally meet, the small sound he makes goes straight through you.
the kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before Peter's hand comes up to cup your face and it turns desperate. he kisses like he's starving, like you're air and he's been underwater for years. his other hand finds your waist, gripping tight enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers.
"sorry," he gasps against your mouth. "sorry, i justā"
"donāt apologize." you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently. the noise he makes is almost pained.
"iāve wantedā" he breaks off, kissing you again, harder. "god, iāve wanted this for so long."
you end up in his lap somehow, textbooks scattering as he pulls you closer. Peter's hands are everywhereāyour hips, your back, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. when you roll your hips experimentally, he actually whimpers.
"fuck," he breathes. "fuck, you can'tāiām trying toā"
"trying to what?" you do it again, feeling him harden beneath you.
his head falls back against the bed frame. "be good. go slow. not justā" his hips buck up involuntarily. "not just maul you like some kind ofāoh fuck, are you taking off your shirt?"
you are, in fact, pulling your shirt over your head. "is that okay?"
Peter's eyes go wide and dark. "is thatāare you seriously asking ifāyeah. yeah, itās okay. are you kidding?" he reaches for you with shaking hands, then stops himself. "i need you to tell me this is real."
"itās real." you guide his hands to your waist. "iām real. touch me, Peter."
he surges up to kiss you, lifting you and gently laying you back against the bed, he follows you downāhis weight pressing you into the mattress. heās kissing the spot behind your ear now, your neck, your jawline, your collarbone, working his way down with single-minded focus. all he can think about is you. you, you you you you.
"youāre so soft," he murmurs against your skin. "so fucking soft, i can't get enough. so soft, and smooth.ā
his hands shake as he reaches for your bra clasp. it takes him two tries, and he laughs breathlessly against your shoulder. "sorry, iāmāit's been a while.ā
your heart clenches. you know Peter has secretsāeveryone doesābut sometimes he lets things slip that make you wonder what he's been through. "we can slow down if you want."
"no." it comes out fierce. "no, i don't want slow. i wantā" he drags his hands down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "i want to touch every part of you. want to taste you. want toāfuck, i want so many things."
he gets your bra off and just stares for a moment, reverent. whenās the last time heās seen tits up close? then he's ducking his head to take your nipple in his mouth, and the feeling shoots straight between your legs. his tongue works in circles while his hand palms your other breast, and you arch into him with a gasp.
"Peterā"
heās grinding against your thigh now, seemingly unconscious of it, completely focused on mapping your body with his mouth. when he kisses down your stomach, just above your navel, your muscles jump under his lips.
"can i?" his fingers are on the button of your shorts. "please. pleasepleaseplease."
"yes." you lift your hips to help him, and he drags your shorts and underwear down in one motion like he can't wait another second.
Peter sits back on his heels, just looking, and the expression on his face makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. "holy shit," he breathes. "youāre soāi can't believe you're letting meāfuck.ā
"Peter." you reach for him. "come here."
but he shakes his head, lowering himself between your thighs instead. "i need to taste you first. iāve been thinking about this for monthsāi felt like a pervert but.. i just couldnāt stop thinking about you. shit, baby.ā
the first broad lick of his tongue through your folds makes you both moan. Peter grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open obscenely as he buries his face between your legs like a man starving. thereās no technique to it at first, just raw desperate hungerāhe's licking and sucking messily, his tongue exploring every fold, every inch of you like he needs to memorize the taste.
"oh my god," you manage, watching him devour you. watching his messy curls between your legs. āPeter, that'sāfuuuuck!ā
he moans against your cunt, the vibration making your legs shake. his tongue finds your clit and circles it sloppily before dipping lower, the tip of his tongue pushing into your entrance. "fuck," he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin already shiny with your arousal. "jesus, you're so wet. youāre drippingāall for me?ā he dives back in, licking into you deeper, his nose pressed against your clit as he tries to fuck you with his tongue.
you can feel how soaked you are, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he works you over. Peter's completely lost in it, grinding his hard cock against the mattress as he eats you out like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. because you are. if he knew, he wouldāve confessed long ago.
"you taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled and desperate. "could do this forever. could just live between your legsāfuck, you're getting wetter. fuck, honey."
he slides two fingers into you without warning, and you cry out at the stretch. your walls clench around the intrusion, and Peter whimpers at the feeling. "oh god, you're so tight. so fucking tight and warm. holy fuck.ā he curls his fingers, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you, your back arches off the bed.
āthere!" you gasp. "right there, Peter, don't stopā"
"here?" he does it again, his fingers pumping in and out while his mouth seals around your clit. he sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. you can see him grinding desperately against the mattress, seeking friction, his hips rolling in time with his fingers fucking into you.
"Peter, iām gonnaā"
"please," he begs against your clit, the word vibrating through you. "please cum for me, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my fingers, wanna taste you cumming on my tongue. please? will you cum for me, baby? please, i need it. i need you.ā
his encouragements and the fullness combined with his mouth on your clit sends you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you, and Peter moans like he's the one cumming as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. he works you through it, fingers still pumping, tongue still lapping at your clit until you're shaking and oversensitive and have to physically push his head away.
when he lifts his head, his face is a messālips swollen and shiny, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes absolutely blown black with lust. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. āthat was the hottest thing iāve ever done," he says, voice completely wrecked. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "youāre the hottest thing iāve ever seen. i canātāi need to be inside you right now or iām gonna lose my mind."
you reach for his shirt with shaking hands. "off. please."
he strips so fast he nearly falls over, hopping on one foot as he shoves his jeans and boxers down. itās almost comical, if you werenāt so desperate right now. when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate himālean muscle, the cut of his hipbones, his cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. the head is already leaking precum, and as you watch, another bead forms at the tip.
"come here," you say, and he practically lunges back onto the bed.
the first touch of skin on skin makes him shudder violently. "oh shit," he breathes, his cock sliding against your wet pussy. "ah fuck, you feel so good. jesus. your skin. fuckfuckfuck.ā
your wrap your hand around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, fucking into your fist. heās hot and hard and silky in your palm, and when you stroke him once, experimentally, precum leaks over your fingers. the sound he makes is almost pained. he bites his lip so hard, youāre afraid heāll break skin.
"iām not gonna last," he warns, voice breaking. "iām already so close, iāve been so close just from tasting you, from feeling you cum on my face.ā
"itās okay." you guide him to your entrance, notching the head of his cock against your opening. youāre so wet that he slides through your folds easily. "i want you inside me. want to feel you cum inside me.ā
Peterās hand shakes as he reaches between you, gripping his cock to line himself up properly. "i don'tādo you have aā"
"pill," you manage. "iām on the pill. clean. are youā
"of course i am. iāi mean. yes.ā
youād normally never do this raw. but right now, all you care about is the way he's looking at you like you're everything, as he slowly pushes inside.
the stretch is intenseāhe's thick and the angle is deep and you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that every inch feels like too much and not enough all at once. you both groan as he sinks in, and you can feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion.
"oh my god," Peter gasps, his whole body trembling. "oh my god, you're so tight, i can feelāfuck, i can feel everythingā" his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow, his face buried in your neck. "youāre squeezing me so tight, oh, fuuuuck.ā
when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt inside you, he stops, breathing hard against your skin. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel how close he already is. "need a second," he pants. "just need a second or iām gonna cum right now.ā
you run your hands down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself perfectly still. "itās okay. take your time."
"donāt want it to be over." he lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are almost desperate, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left. "feels too good. you feel too good. likeālike you were made for me, like your pussy was made to take my cock.ā
you rock your hips slightly, and his eyes nearly roll back. "Peter, you can move. please move. i need you to fuck me."
he does, pulling out slowlyāagonizingly slowlyāand you can feel everything. every ridge, every vein, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way you're stretched around him. the sensation is so intense it makes your toes curl, makes you whimper at the loss of fullness.
"oh, fuck," Peter breathes, watching where you're joined, watching himself slide out of you. "you look so good taking my cock. so fucking good.ā
then he slides back in, just as slowly, and you both moan at the same time. the sound he makes is broken, almost pained, like it feels too good to bear. his whole body shudders as he bottoms out again, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he does it again, pulling out painfully slowābefore sliding back in. the feeling is so perfect. yet, your body craves more. he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, but you can feel him holding back, trying to maintain control, his jaw clenched with the effort.
"canātā" he gasps. "canāt believe how good you feel. so tight and wet and warm. how are you so tight, baby? god.ā
he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, his cock plunging deep inside of your pussy, over and over. each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. but you can see the effort it's taking himāhis jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, his arms trembling where they're braced on either side of you, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"ahāyes!" you encourage, running your hands up his back. "you feel so good inside me."
his hips stutter slightly at your words, the rhythm faltering for just a second before he regains control. "yeah? you like feeling me fuck you?"
"yes, pete! love it! love feeling you stretch me openā!ā
"fuckā" his next thrust is slightly harder, slightly faster, and he immediately tries to slow down again. "sorry, sorry, iām trying toātrying to go slow but you feel so fucking good.ā
"let go," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want to feel you lose control. want you to fuck me like you've been dreaming about."
he groans as he feels your walls clench around him. āiām sorry, honey. māsorry. iām too rough, arenāt i? māso sorry.ā
"donāt apologize." you roll your hips to meet his next thrust, and the angle makes him hit deeper. "want to feel you."
the pleasure is building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your belly with each stroke. Peter's breathing is getting heavier, his control visibly slipping. his thrusts are getting incrementally faster, harder, like his body is moving on instinct despite his attempts to hold back.
"youāre soāah!āperfect," he pants against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder. "so fucking perfect, taking my cock so wellā" another thrust, faster this time. "been dreaming about this, about being inside you, about feeling you on my cock.ā
his rhythm is getting less controlled now, more erratic. you can feel him starting to lose it, his careful restraint crumbling with each thrust. heās sweating more, his skin slick against yours, his breathing ragged and desperate.
"Peterā" you dig your nails into his back. "more. need more."
he shakes his head. ācanātāif i go harder i won't be able to stopā" but even as he says it, his hips are moving faster, driving into you with more force. "what are you doing to me? fuuuck, i can'tāiām trying to be gentle but you feel too good.ā
āthen don't be gentle." you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "want you to fuck me harder."
he makes a sound that's almost a whimper, his hips stuttering before he slams into you harder than before. "like that? you want it like that?"
"yes!āfuck, yesā"
his control is slipping faster now. each thrust is harder, faster, more desperate. he tries to slow down, you can feel him trying, but his body won't listen. his hips keep moving, keep driving into you with increasing intensity.
"canāt stop," he gasps, his voice breaking. "canāt fucking stop, you feel too good, your pussy is so tightā" heās babbling now, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. "want to fuck you so hard, want to make you feel so good, want to hear you scream my name.ā
"mātrying toātrying to hold backā" but his hips are moving faster, pounding into you with a force that makes the bed shake. "donāt want to hurt youā"
"you won't. please, Peter, i need it.ā
his next thrust makes you both cry out. heās completely losing it now, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic, his body taking over despite his attempts at control. you can feel him shaking, trembling with the effort of holding himself back even as his hips betray him.
"iāll hurt youāiām stronger than i lookāā
"shut up, Peter." you pull him deeper with your legs, and the angle makes you both gasp. "stopāfuckingāah!, stop apologizing. i want all of you. want you to use me, fuck me as hard as you need.ā
his eyes roll back at the depth and his fragile restraint snaps. he eyes go dark and feral, and suddenly he's pounding into you, his hips snapping against yours with force that would probably hurt if you weren't so turned on. the bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, and Peter's completely gone, his filter destroyed.
"fuckfuck, shit, your pussy feels so good," he babbles against your neck, his voice broken and desperate. he reaches up, his hand palming your breast, squeezing the weight in his hand. his thumb circling over your nipple as he moans into your neck. "so tight and wet and perfectācan't believe i get to have this, have you. been wanting to fuck you for so long..ā he changes the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "there? can you feel me there? can you feel how deep i am?"
"yes!" youāre clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Peter, oh my god!ā
"shitā! wanted to bend you over the library table," he confesses, words tumbling out in a rush as he fucks into you relentlessly. "wanted to pull you into the bathroom at that party last month and fuck you against the sink. wanted to wake up with my face between your legs, wanted to fall asleep with my cock still inside youā" heās rambling now, completely unfiltered, telling you every desperate fantasy as his hips piston. "used to jerk off thinking about this, about how you'd feel, how you'd sound, what your pussy would look like stretched around my cock.ā
the world outside his dorm room falls away, all you can feel is his cock pumping in and out of you. you can barely think, heās barely giving you time to think. all you can hear is his moans, your own desperate cries and the wet slap! of his skin against yours.
you can feel another orgasm building, the angle hitting perfectly with every brutal thrust. your walls are fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it because he moans and somehow speeds up even more. like heās superhuman.
"Peter, iām closeā"
"i know, sweet girl. i can feel it." he reaches between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit. the touch is almost too much on your oversensitive flesh, but then he's rubbing tight circles and you're flying. "cum on my cock. please baby, need to feel it, need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock. just like you did on my fingers.ā
tne combination of his thumb and the relentless thrust of his hips and his desperate words sends you over the edge. your second orgasm hits even harder than the first, your whole body seizing as pleasure whites out your vision. you clench around him rhythmically, and Peter makes a sound like he's been punched, his rhythm faltering.
āoh shit, shitshitshit, you're squeezing me so tight, i can'tāiām gonna cumāwhere? tell me where. please.ā
"inside," you gasp, still riding the waves. "cum inside me, Peter, want to feel it.ā
he buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a broken moan of your name.
you can feel it immediatelyāthe first hot pulse of cum flooding into you, but it doesn't stop. it keeps coming, wave after wave, his cock jerking violently inside you as he empties himself. thereās so muchāmore than should be possibleāeach pulse filling you fuller, the warmth spreading deep inside as he shakes apart above you.
"oh god, oh god.ā his voice is completely destroyed, words slurring together as another massive wave hits him. "iām sorry, baby. i know itās a lotāfuuuuck. imsorryimsorryimsorry.ā
another pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily, grinding deeper like he's trying to fuck his cum even further inside you.
his arms are shaking so badly he can barely hold himself up. you can see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming intensity, his face twisted in almost painful pleasure.
when his orgasm finally, finally starts to subside, he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress because he literally cannot hold himself up anymore. heās shaking like a leaf, gasping against your neck, and you can feel the obscene amount of cum leaking out of you.
"holy shit," he finally says, voice absolutely destroyed. "that wasāi mean, i knew it would be good, but that wasāi think i saw the heavens. god, i feel like iām gonna pass out.ā
"that was so hot," you manage, because words are hard right now and your limbs feel like jelly.
he lifts his head to look at you, and his expression is soft and wondering and a little hungry. "i love you," he says. "i know that's probably too soon to say, and we should probably talk about what this means, but i love you. iāve been in love with you for months, maybe longer, and i thought iād never get overāsomeone elseābut then you smiled at me in the dining hall freshman year and i just.. i donāt know. you definitely donāt have to say it back, because i sound insane, but i just want you to know thatāā
you kiss him, cutting off the ramble. "i know. i think i love you too.ā
his answering smile is bright enough to power the sun. "yeah?"
"yeah.ā
he kisses you again, soft and sweet this time, and you can feel him starting to harden inside you again, his cock thickening and lengthening where it's still buried in your pussy.
"Peter," you say, mock-stern even as your body responds.
he grins, sheepish and hungry all at once, and rolls his hips experimentally. the slide is easy, slick with cum and arousal. "i have months to make up for. hope you didn't have plans tomorrow."
you definitely don't have plans. and when he starts moving againāslow and deep and perfect, his cum making obscene wet sounds as he fucks it back into youāyou can't think of anywhere else you'd rather be than here, in his messy dorm room, with the boy who's been touch-starved for too long finally letting himself feel everything.
the Organic Chemistry homework can wait.
authors note: whewww.. hi guysā¦ yes.. yes.. iāve been gone for a few weeks but IM HERE NOW! and here with a smut.. wooo!! babyās first smutfic yum yum. i saw bnd on the 29th and holy fan service.. any who i have a love hate relationship with this. iām SCARED to post this and i will delete if it doesnāt do well (kidding). i just get embarrassed writing smut so.. hope you love it.. and if you do, i might make more !! bye loves <3
š°šš«š§š¢š§š š¬: 18+, explicit sexual content ā MDNI , graphic descriptions , excessive cum , kinda gentle to rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation , creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), porn with little plot, needy peter parker , love confessions , touch starvation , college au , post nwh , smut , fem!reader , pussy drunk peter , first time together , confessions , the L word !!
š°š: 4.9k (i think. might be more, might be less. idk.)
š/š§: i may have gone overboard with this but itās my first smut fic. LOL! no spoilers for brand new day! this is semi proofread, so sorry in advance for mistakes. enjoy!!
the thing about Peter Parker is that he doesn't realize how tactile he is.
or maybe he does now, after four years of forcing himself not to be.
youāre sprawled across his dorm room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you like academic shrapnel. your Organic Chemistry problem set is due tomorrow, and Peter's trying to explain electron orbital hybridization for the third time while you're trying not to notice the way his hands move when he talks.
"okay, soāwait, are you even listening?" he glances up from the molecular model he's been gesturing at, catching you staring.
"yes," you lie. "orbitals. hybridization. very sexy stuff."
Peter's ears go pink. they always do. "itās actually kind of cool if you think about it. like, the atoms are literally reshaping themselves to form stronger bondsā"
"Peter."
"āwhich is sort of romantic in a way? no? okay, yeah, I hear how that sounds."
you grin, nudging his knee with your foot. "youāre such a nerd."
the contact makes him freeze for just a secondāso brief you almost miss it. but you've been Peter's best friend since freshman orientation, when you found him eating lunch alone in the dining hall, and you've gotten good at reading him. the way his breath catches. how his eyes track the movement of your leg as you pull it back.
"takes one to know one," he manages, but his voice is slightly rough.
youāve been noticing things like this more lately. the way he leans into your touch when you grab his arm. how he finds excuses to be closeāsitting next to you even when there's a whole empty couch, walking you home when your dorm is barely three buildings away. the looks that last a fraction too long.
at first, you thought you were imagining it. Peter Parker, who spent freshman year obviously pining after someone he wouldn't talk about, who kept a careful distance from everyone like he was afraid of breaking something. but somewhere between late-night study sessions and 2 AM bodega runs and him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, something shifted.
now he's watching you chew on your pen cap, and there's heat in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.
"we should take a break," you suggest. "my brain is melting."
"yeah, okay." Peter runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up adorably. "iāve gotāuh, i think there's some leftover pizza? and definitely Red Bull, which is probably not great to mix with the coffee we already had, butā"
"Peter."
"hmm?"
youāre not sure what you were going to say. something about how he's rambling, maybe, or how cute he looks when he's nervous. but you're sitting close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and the words dissolve on your tongue.
he swallows hard. "youāre looking at me weird."
"weird how?"
"i don't know! like..." he trails off, and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth before snapping back up. "never mind."
the air feels thick suddenly, charged with something that's been building for months. you think about all the almost-momentsāhands brushing when passing coffee cups, the time he caught you when you slipped on ice and held on longer than necessary, the way he said your name last week, soft and wondering, like he was testing how it felt.
"Peter," you say again, and this time his name sounds different. heavier.
"yes?" it comes out barely above a whisper.
you lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he tilts forward like you're gravity and he's been in orbit too long, and when your lips finally meet, the small sound he makes goes straight through you.
the kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before Peter's hand comes up to cup your face and it turns desperate. he kisses like he's starving, like you're air and he's been underwater for years. his other hand finds your waist, gripping tight enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers.
"sorry," he gasps against your mouth. "sorry, i justā"
"donāt apologize." you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently. the noise he makes is almost pained.
"iāve wantedā" he breaks off, kissing you again, harder. "god, iāve wanted this for so long."
you end up in his lap somehow, textbooks scattering as he pulls you closer. Peter's hands are everywhereāyour hips, your back, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. when you roll your hips experimentally, he actually whimpers.
"fuck," he breathes. "fuck, you can'tāiām trying toā"
"trying to what?" you do it again, feeling him harden beneath you.
his head falls back against the bed frame. "be good. go slow. not justā" his hips buck up involuntarily. "not just maul you like some kind ofāoh fuck, are you taking off your shirt?"
you are, in fact, pulling your shirt over your head. "is that okay?"
Peter's eyes go wide and dark. "is thatāare you seriously asking ifāyeah. yeah, itās okay. are you kidding?" he reaches for you with shaking hands, then stops himself. "i need you to tell me this is real."
"itās real." you guide his hands to your waist. "iām real. touch me, Peter."
he surges up to kiss you, lifting you and gently laying you back against the bed, he follows you downāhis weight pressing you into the mattress. heās kissing the spot behind your ear now, your neck, your jawline, your collarbone, working his way down with single-minded focus. all he can think about is you. you, you you you you.
"youāre so soft," he murmurs against your skin. "so fucking soft, i can't get enough. so soft, and smooth.ā
his hands shake as he reaches for your bra clasp. it takes him two tries, and he laughs breathlessly against your shoulder. "sorry, iāmāit's been a while.ā
your heart clenches. you know Peter has secretsāeveryone doesābut sometimes he lets things slip that make you wonder what he's been through. "we can slow down if you want."
"no." it comes out fierce. "no, i don't want slow. i wantā" he drags his hands down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "i want to touch every part of you. want to taste you. want toāfuck, i want so many things."
he gets your bra off and just stares for a moment, reverent. whenās the last time heās seen tits up close? then he's ducking his head to take your nipple in his mouth, and the feeling shoots straight between your legs. his tongue works in circles while his hand palms your other breast, and you arch into him with a gasp.
"Peterā"
heās grinding against your thigh now, seemingly unconscious of it, completely focused on mapping your body with his mouth. when he kisses down your stomach, just above your navel, your muscles jump under his lips.
"can i?" his fingers are on the button of your shorts. "please. pleasepleaseplease."
"yes." you lift your hips to help him, and he drags your shorts and underwear down in one motion like he can't wait another second.
Peter sits back on his heels, just looking, and the expression on his face makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. "holy shit," he breathes. "youāre soāi can't believe you're letting meāfuck.ā
"Peter." you reach for him. "come here."
but he shakes his head, lowering himself between your thighs instead. "i need to taste you first. iāve been thinking about this for monthsāi felt like a pervert but.. i just couldnāt stop thinking about you. shit, baby.ā
the first broad lick of his tongue through your folds makes you both moan. Peter grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open obscenely as he buries his face between your legs like a man starving. thereās no technique to it at first, just raw desperate hungerāhe's licking and sucking messily, his tongue exploring every fold, every inch of you like he needs to memorize the taste.
"oh my god," you manage, watching him devour you. watching his messy curls between your legs. āPeter, that'sāfuuuuck!ā
he moans against your cunt, the vibration making your legs shake. his tongue finds your clit and circles it sloppily before dipping lower, the tip of his tongue pushing into your entrance. "fuck," he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin already shiny with your arousal. "jesus, you're so wet. youāre drippingāall for me?ā he dives back in, licking into you deeper, his nose pressed against your clit as he tries to fuck you with his tongue.
you can feel how soaked you are, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he works you over. Peter's completely lost in it, grinding his hard cock against the mattress as he eats you out like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. because you are. if he knew, he wouldāve confessed long ago.
"you taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled and desperate. "could do this forever. could just live between your legsāfuck, you're getting wetter. fuck, honey."
he slides two fingers into you without warning, and you cry out at the stretch. your walls clench around the intrusion, and Peter whimpers at the feeling. "oh god, you're so tight. so fucking tight and warm. holy fuck.ā he curls his fingers, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you, your back arches off the bed.
āthere!" you gasp. "right there, Peter, don't stopā"
"here?" he does it again, his fingers pumping in and out while his mouth seals around your clit. he sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. you can see him grinding desperately against the mattress, seeking friction, his hips rolling in time with his fingers fucking into you.
"Peter, iām gonnaā"
"please," he begs against your clit, the word vibrating through you. "please cum for me, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my fingers, wanna taste you cumming on my tongue. please? will you cum for me, baby? please, i need it. i need you.ā
his encouragements and the fullness combined with his mouth on your clit sends you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you, and Peter moans like he's the one cumming as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. he works you through it, fingers still pumping, tongue still lapping at your clit until you're shaking and oversensitive and have to physically push his head away.
when he lifts his head, his face is a messālips swollen and shiny, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes absolutely blown black with lust. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. āthat was the hottest thing iāve ever done," he says, voice completely wrecked. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "youāre the hottest thing iāve ever seen. i canātāi need to be inside you right now or iām gonna lose my mind."
you reach for his shirt with shaking hands. "off. please."
he strips so fast he nearly falls over, hopping on one foot as he shoves his jeans and boxers down. itās almost comical, if you werenāt so desperate right now. when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate himālean muscle, the cut of his hipbones, his cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. the head is already leaking precum, and as you watch, another bead forms at the tip.
"come here," you say, and he practically lunges back onto the bed.
the first touch of skin on skin makes him shudder violently. "oh shit," he breathes, his cock sliding against your wet pussy. "ah fuck, you feel so good. jesus. your skin. fuckfuckfuck.ā
your wrap your hand around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, fucking into your fist. heās hot and hard and silky in your palm, and when you stroke him once, experimentally, precum leaks over your fingers. the sound he makes is almost pained. he bites his lip so hard, youāre afraid heāll break skin.
"iām not gonna last," he warns, voice breaking. "iām already so close, iāve been so close just from tasting you, from feeling you cum on my face.ā
"itās okay." you guide him to your entrance, notching the head of his cock against your opening. youāre so wet that he slides through your folds easily. "i want you inside me. want to feel you cum inside me.ā
Peterās hand shakes as he reaches between you, gripping his cock to line himself up properly. "i don'tādo you have aā"
"pill," you manage. "iām on the pill. clean. are youā
"of course i am. iāi mean. yes.ā
youād normally never do this raw. but right now, all you care about is the way he's looking at you like you're everything, as he slowly pushes inside.
the stretch is intenseāhe's thick and the angle is deep and you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that every inch feels like too much and not enough all at once. you both groan as he sinks in, and you can feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion.
"oh my god," Peter gasps, his whole body trembling. "oh my god, you're so tight, i can feelāfuck, i can feel everythingā" his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow, his face buried in your neck. "youāre squeezing me so tight, oh, fuuuuck.ā
when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt inside you, he stops, breathing hard against your skin. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel how close he already is. "need a second," he pants. "just need a second or iām gonna cum right now.ā
you run your hands down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself perfectly still. "itās okay. take your time."
"donāt want it to be over." he lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are almost desperate, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left. "feels too good. you feel too good. likeālike you were made for me, like your pussy was made to take my cock.ā
you rock your hips slightly, and his eyes nearly roll back. "Peter, you can move. please move. i need you to fuck me."
he does, pulling out slowlyāagonizingly slowlyāand you can feel everything. every ridge, every vein, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way you're stretched around him. the sensation is so intense it makes your toes curl, makes you whimper at the loss of fullness.
"oh, fuck," Peter breathes, watching where you're joined, watching himself slide out of you. "you look so good taking my cock. so fucking good.ā
then he slides back in, just as slowly, and you both moan at the same time. the sound he makes is broken, almost pained, like it feels too good to bear. his whole body shudders as he bottoms out again, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he does it again, pulling out painfully slowābefore sliding back in. the feeling is so perfect. yet, your body craves more. he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, but you can feel him holding back, trying to maintain control, his jaw clenched with the effort.
"canātā" he gasps. "canāt believe how good you feel. so tight and wet and warm. how are you so tight, baby? god.ā
he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, his cock plunging deep inside of your pussy, over and over. each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. but you can see the effort it's taking himāhis jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, his arms trembling where they're braced on either side of you, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"ahāyes!" you encourage, running your hands up his back. "you feel so good inside me."
his hips stutter slightly at your words, the rhythm faltering for just a second before he regains control. "yeah? you like feeling me fuck you?"
"yes, pete! love it! love feeling you stretch me openā!ā
"fuckā" his next thrust is slightly harder, slightly faster, and he immediately tries to slow down again. "sorry, sorry, iām trying toātrying to go slow but you feel so fucking good.ā
"let go," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want to feel you lose control. want you to fuck me like you've been dreaming about."
he groans as he feels your walls clench around him. āiām sorry, honey. māsorry. iām too rough, arenāt i? māso sorry.ā
"donāt apologize." you roll your hips to meet his next thrust, and the angle makes him hit deeper. "want to feel you."
the pleasure is building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your belly with each stroke. Peter's breathing is getting heavier, his control visibly slipping. his thrusts are getting incrementally faster, harder, like his body is moving on instinct despite his attempts to hold back.
"youāre soāah!āperfect," he pants against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder. "so fucking perfect, taking my cock so wellā" another thrust, faster this time. "been dreaming about this, about being inside you, about feeling you on my cock.ā
his rhythm is getting less controlled now, more erratic. you can feel him starting to lose it, his careful restraint crumbling with each thrust. heās sweating more, his skin slick against yours, his breathing ragged and desperate.
"Peterā" you dig your nails into his back. "more. need more."
he shakes his head. ācanātāif i go harder i won't be able to stopā" but even as he says it, his hips are moving faster, driving into you with more force. "what are you doing to me? fuuuck, i can'tāiām trying to be gentle but you feel too good.ā
āthen don't be gentle." you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "want you to fuck me harder."
he makes a sound that's almost a whimper, his hips stuttering before he slams into you harder than before. "like that? you want it like that?"
"yes!āfuck, yesā"
his control is slipping faster now. each thrust is harder, faster, more desperate. he tries to slow down, you can feel him trying, but his body won't listen. his hips keep moving, keep driving into you with increasing intensity.
"canāt stop," he gasps, his voice breaking. "canāt fucking stop, you feel too good, your pussy is so tightā" heās babbling now, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. "want to fuck you so hard, want to make you feel so good, want to hear you scream my name.ā
"mātrying toātrying to hold backā" but his hips are moving faster, pounding into you with a force that makes the bed shake. "donāt want to hurt youā"
"you won't. please, Peter, i need it.ā
his next thrust makes you both cry out. heās completely losing it now, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic, his body taking over despite his attempts at control. you can feel him shaking, trembling with the effort of holding himself back even as his hips betray him.
"iāll hurt youāiām stronger than i lookāā
"shut up, Peter." you pull him deeper with your legs, and the angle makes you both gasp. "stopāfuckingāah!, stop apologizing. i want all of you. want you to use me, fuck me as hard as you need.ā
his eyes roll back at the depth and his fragile restraint snaps. he eyes go dark and feral, and suddenly he's pounding into you, his hips snapping against yours with force that would probably hurt if you weren't so turned on. the bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, and Peter's completely gone, his filter destroyed.
"fuckfuck, shit, your pussy feels so good," he babbles against your neck, his voice broken and desperate. he reaches up, his hand palming your breast, squeezing the weight in his hand. his thumb circling over your nipple as he moans into your neck. "so tight and wet and perfectācan't believe i get to have this, have you. been wanting to fuck you for so long..ā he changes the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "there? can you feel me there? can you feel how deep i am?"
"yes!" youāre clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Peter, oh my god!ā
"shitā! wanted to bend you over the library table," he confesses, words tumbling out in a rush as he fucks into you relentlessly. "wanted to pull you into the bathroom at that party last month and fuck you against the sink. wanted to wake up with my face between your legs, wanted to fall asleep with my cock still inside youā" heās rambling now, completely unfiltered, telling you every desperate fantasy as his hips piston. "used to jerk off thinking about this, about how you'd feel, how you'd sound, what your pussy would look like stretched around my cock.ā
the world outside his dorm room falls away, all you can feel is his cock pumping in and out of you. you can barely think, heās barely giving you time to think. all you can hear is his moans, your own desperate cries and the wet slap! of his skin against yours.
you can feel another orgasm building, the angle hitting perfectly with every brutal thrust. your walls are fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it because he moans and somehow speeds up even more. like heās superhuman.
"Peter, iām closeā"
"i know, sweet girl. i can feel it." he reaches between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit. the touch is almost too much on your oversensitive flesh, but then he's rubbing tight circles and you're flying. "cum on my cock. please baby, need to feel it, need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock. just like you did on my fingers.ā
tne combination of his thumb and the relentless thrust of his hips and his desperate words sends you over the edge. your second orgasm hits even harder than the first, your whole body seizing as pleasure whites out your vision. you clench around him rhythmically, and Peter makes a sound like he's been punched, his rhythm faltering.
āoh shit, shitshitshit, you're squeezing me so tight, i can'tāiām gonna cumāwhere? tell me where. please.ā
"inside," you gasp, still riding the waves. "cum inside me, Peter, want to feel it.ā
he buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a broken moan of your name.
you can feel it immediatelyāthe first hot pulse of cum flooding into you, but it doesn't stop. it keeps coming, wave after wave, his cock jerking violently inside you as he empties himself. thereās so muchāmore than should be possibleāeach pulse filling you fuller, the warmth spreading deep inside as he shakes apart above you.
"oh god, oh god.ā his voice is completely destroyed, words slurring together as another massive wave hits him. "iām sorry, baby. i know itās a lotāfuuuuck. imsorryimsorryimsorry.ā
another pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily, grinding deeper like he's trying to fuck his cum even further inside you.
his arms are shaking so badly he can barely hold himself up. you can see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming intensity, his face twisted in almost painful pleasure.
when his orgasm finally, finally starts to subside, he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress because he literally cannot hold himself up anymore. heās shaking like a leaf, gasping against your neck, and you can feel the obscene amount of cum leaking out of you.
"holy shit," he finally says, voice absolutely destroyed. "that wasāi mean, i knew it would be good, but that wasāi think i saw the heavens. god, i feel like iām gonna pass out.ā
"that was so hot," you manage, because words are hard right now and your limbs feel like jelly.
he lifts his head to look at you, and his expression is soft and wondering and a little hungry. "i love you," he says. "i know that's probably too soon to say, and we should probably talk about what this means, but i love you. iāve been in love with you for months, maybe longer, and i thought iād never get overāsomeone elseābut then you smiled at me in the dining hall freshman year and i just.. i donāt know. you definitely donāt have to say it back, because i sound insane, but i just want you to know thatāā
you kiss him, cutting off the ramble. "i know. i think i love you too.ā
his answering smile is bright enough to power the sun. "yeah?"
"yeah.ā
he kisses you again, soft and sweet this time, and you can feel him starting to harden inside you again, his cock thickening and lengthening where it's still buried in your pussy.
"Peter," you say, mock-stern even as your body responds.
he grins, sheepish and hungry all at once, and rolls his hips experimentally. the slide is easy, slick with cum and arousal. "i have months to make up for. hope you didn't have plans tomorrow."
you definitely don't have plans. and when he starts moving againāslow and deep and perfect, his cum making obscene wet sounds as he fucks it back into youāyou can't think of anywhere else you'd rather be than here, in his messy dorm room, with the boy who's been touch-starved for too long finally letting himself feel everything.
the Organic Chemistry homework can wait.
authors note: whewww.. hi guysā¦ yes.. yes.. iāve been gone for a few weeks but IM HERE NOW! and here with a smut.. wooo!! babyās first smutfic yum yum. i saw bnd on the 29th and holy fan service.. any who i have a love hate relationship with this. iām SCARED to post this and i will delete if it doesnāt do well (kidding). i just get embarrassed writing smut so.. hope you love it.. and if you do, i might make more !! bye loves <3
