[[First off, saree is an Indian long clothe, may it be cotton, silk, linen. Its draped around the waist as a full length skirt first and then the rest goes over your shoulder to cover your torso. Really, it depends on the way you drape and layer the long clothe around you, that gives a particular shape :)) ]]
((That!!! And beyond just one way, there are multiple ways you can drape a saree around your waist, depends, really :D))
Seonghwa:
It was surreal, when he thought his love wouldn't get any more gorgeous, she always found a way to surprise him. Really, in his eyes you could wear a plain t-shirt and shorts, he would shoot you the biggest heart eyes. Now, though seeing you in front of his own mirror, setting your hair was a usual sight,but you in a saree.
Holy mother of silky linen sheets.
Absolutely regal. Blue silk hugged your waist, flowing freely to your toes. And your back was on a full on display. The flowy fabric moved everytime you did, and he couldn't help but admire it all.
"Honey, could you help me a little?" She voiced out, glancing at him through the mirror. He moved, finally snapping out of the trance.
His eyes finally fell on what was in your hands. A straightener?
"I need to iron the pleats, help me? Please?" She pouted. "The pleats need to be perfect, apsara told me so."
He kneeled, taking the first pleat in between the heating pads and started straightening it. "Like this?" "Yes! All the pleats, please."
Finally, when he's done, he stands up putting the straightener away on the table.
"You look absolutely gorgeous, my love. Why don't you wear sarees often? I'll help you with wearing them. " she giggled, hearing him and turned saying," I'm not even done, sweetheart. And honestly, sarees aren't really my thing. I just like to dress up sometimes when meeting apsara. "
He pouts, "If you can wear a saree for your best friend, why can't you wear one for me?"
"Oh honey, I surely will . Even more if you get flustered like this everytime ".
Hongjoong:
Hongjoong and you both had the same eye when it came to fashion. He would share his and you would share yours. Months into dating, he remembered you mentioning sarees in particular. You loved sarees, but told him you never had the time to really get ready to the fullest. Kurtas were a regular for you and so were shirts and trousers.
One of your close friends, sejal was having her reception party. Today was the day, you both would get ready together at yours for the first time, and you promised him you would wear a saree.
Putting on the blouse and body skirt, you start to wrap the yellow sari around your waist and put the rest into pleats, slowly. Hongjoong, who was showering till now finally comes out, straight making a bee line towards you.
Wrapping hands around your smaller form, he stops your pleating with a giggle.
"Maybe you should wear a saree often, darling" he whispered into your ears.
"Joong, behave. Let me pleat this first please". All she could do was pout when he did not move. "Baby??"
Humming, he removes his hands off your form and starts getting ready himself. As he's putting his suit on and is about to put on makeup, he sees you struggling with a safety pin on the shoulder of your blouse.
"Want some help? You only need to pin it in place right, love?" But as he shifted even closer, he finally saw the back of your blouse, breath hitching as he saw the multiple strings one after the other, and only one of them tied. Closing off and sealing his thoughts shut, he ties the rest of the strings with trembling hands.
Her breath caught, but she stayed silent as he was still focused on the strings. When he's finally done, he pauses, laying his palm flat on your upper back.
"You look so beautiful, it makes me want to kiss you senseless. Backless? Really, love?"
Ears reddening, she only squealed when she felt him pull her closer. Now, lips tracing the line of her neck hongjoong couldn't help but smirk.
"Shoulder, joong. Please-"
His lips now reached the lower part of her neck, placing a kiss there.
"Joong. Safety pin."
Huffing, he takes a pin off the table nearby and comes close, clasping the clothe and pinning it onto your blouse.
"You wearing a saree and me behaving don't go well together, love".
Yunho:
Yunho never saw you in traditional. Both of you talked about it many times. You would joke of him fainting if you did wear anything close to traditional.
Yunho thought you were kidding.
Until now.
Until he actually saw you. You were standing only a few feet away, putting on a jhumka on your left ear and your hair on the right, let loose.
Once you're done, you turn to him with hands on hips and wink at him. All till now, he was staring but now? The full picture? He couldn't say a single word. He was all tongue till now, teasing and giggling like a toddler.
You step closer, and raise an eyebrow at him.
"So? How do I loo-"
"Divine. Like nothing can cut through you and mirrors, rivers and lakes you look into owe you rent for your beauty. Absolutely breathtaking. I could go on for hours".
Your smirk drops a little, but he catches it and grins widely.
He comes closer, meeting lips with you, and sighs pretending to faint.
"Yuyu~ stop it, please. We're going nowhere with you being like this,lord".
All he did was giggle, and hug you close.
"Blue looks marvelous on you ".
Yeosang:
He knew you were pretty. Your soft hair, your small shy smile, your cute little blush all of you, it drove him insane. Whenever you wore a saree, it would be heaven on earth for him. While you wore sarees not necessarily rarely, it was still once in a while whenever you felt like it.
Before, he always saw you in simple, plain sarees with blouses that were half sleeve and you would always say" simple sarees are cute, I like them. The fancy ones are harder to wear and muster up courage for".
Now, he was waiting on the living room couch and calming down his own heart.
Sure, it wasn't anything new. It's you in a saree!! That not so rare, it's fine. It's okay. It's gonna be okay.
All the times you did, he would have the time of his life. Hugging your bare waist, laying palm on the back of blouse. It may not seem like much, but you skin seemed like would burn through his hand, make him sweat.
Now, you were getting ready in there. Wearing a fancy saree, with more accessories than usual, extra careful makeup. It almost made him sob, when you said you want to try out something new, for your confidence.
He assured you, that you would be fine. Now he's not too sure whether he's fine.
You finally step out, jhumkas dangling and a necklace resting on you. Your eyeshadow matched your saree, and you even had Grey lenses on.
Yeosand forgot how to breathe, for a while.
"Holy fuck, darling.. look at you "
Shamelessly eyeing you up and down he only smirked when you looked away.
"You look like a goddess, and I am nothing but a mere mortal. Fucking hell. You should wear sarees like this often!!"
now that everyone is done watching bnd.. i’m expecting a shit ton of arachnid sensory overload! peter parker fics immediately at my desk by tomorrow morning with a side of canon compliance…
★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot
★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)
★ word count: 5.7k words
★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one idk i feel like i can’t write anymore this prob sucks
The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.
“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”
“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully.
Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.
“Were you expecting company?”
She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.
“Oh. Right.”
A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day.
Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”
“W-what?”
“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered.
“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?”
Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.”
His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“
“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.”
He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“
You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.”
His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger.
“…Seriously?”
You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.”
His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.
“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.”
You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?”
“I forgot.”
“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.
You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost.
Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.
The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.
You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately.
Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off.
“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?”
He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.”
“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“
You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago.
The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?”
You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again.
“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.”
“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.”
“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch.
“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”
You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”
“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement.
“Yes, can we?”
“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.”
“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet.
The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.
“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”
“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.
“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.
Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”
”It is more like possession."
You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.
Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”
You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs.
“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”
Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”
“I’ve seen your belly button.”
All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered.
“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”
“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”
The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.
”You’ve scared him off.”
“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.
Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.
News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last.
The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????”
You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything.
“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “
“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”
You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.
“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”
“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”
“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”
A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”
“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”
You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“So what’s next?”
“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”
He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”
“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing”
“Oh? That’s it huh?”
“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to.
Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”
“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.
Instead, silence answered you.
The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity.
You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.
I’m at your office. Where are you?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
running 2 get food
Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.
do u want blini
wait no dumplings
there's an ice cream cart do u want
of course u want why do i ask
Then another.
I'll get them all brb
there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country
You couldn’t help smiling.
thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea
Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.
yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time
Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.
You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.
By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.
A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.
So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.
”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.
“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.”
“Are you sure?”
”Yes.”
“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”
That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”
He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask.
“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”
“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”
”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.”
“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.
He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.
It was then your eyes caught the scar.
Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.
He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”
One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.
”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.”
“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.”
“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?”
He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.
You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.
“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”
“Y-Yeah…”
The word caught somewhere in his throat.
A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.
His eyes betrayed him.
For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.
“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.”
“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.
He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.
“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”
Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”
Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view.
“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated.
“Do you shoot webs from other places?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”
A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I said that’s a shame.”
“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”
For a long second he simply stared at you.
“What? I like spiders too, you know?”
Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.
“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.”
“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?”
He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you.
“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”
Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.”
He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.
For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.
“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?”
“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.
The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.”
“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?”
He shakes his head, “I try not to.”
You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.
“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek.
“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric.
You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.
“Is this okay?”
“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced.
Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones.
“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing.
“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch.
“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.”
He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins.
“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?”
“I-“
“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“
One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it.
He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?”
You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth.
One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds.
“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits.
“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit.
“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.”
Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist.
“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.”
“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”
There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically.
In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you.
He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt.
There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd.
“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.”
Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.”
“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out.
“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs.
“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you
Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh.
You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.
“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.”
“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again.
When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“
”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.”
“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm.
“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.
“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.”
“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time.
You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you.
“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.
“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him.
“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“
“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.”
He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his.
“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…”
“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.
You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs.
“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.
He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.”
“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened.
“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.
That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name.
You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again.
“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.”
The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries.
“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.”
“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.”
“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you.
“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.”
“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.
The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.
Everyone forgot who spiderman is—including his girlfriend Y/N. But her body remembers something her head can't. She wakes up in the middle of the night craving something she never knew she had. Peter ensures they find their way back to each other (very smutty)
WC: 16.4k, unprotected sex, restrained by Spiderman's webs during sex, dirty talk, kinda Dom!Peter, sex dreams (memories), reader is horny af, casual mentions of sex throughout the entire story, this is the same as my NCT Donghyuck story, this is a MCU ver! Part 1, part 2 at the end
----------------
Spiderman slips onto the fire escape outside Ned's apartment, the city humming below him like a heartbeat he can't quite feel anymore. He's not here to spy—he tells himself that. He's just checking. Making sure she's safe. That's what he does now: patrols her life like a ghost, invisible and aching.
But then he hears Ned's voice through the cracked window, and Y/N's laugh—that soft, familiar sound that used to be for him—and he can't tear himself away.
He crouches low, listening.
"So you're telling me you haven't gotten laid in, what, three months?" Ned's voice is teasing, light. He's sprawled on his couch, a beer in hand, grinning at Y/N like they're having the most casual conversation in the world.
She's curled on the other end, legs tucked under her, a throw pillow hugged to her chest. "That's not what I said."
"That's exactly what you said. You said you're 'too wound up, stressed, can't sleep.' That's textbook horny, babe."
"Ned!"
"What? I'm just saying." He takes a lazy sip of beer. "You're way too tense these days. You need to hook up with someone. Let off some steam."
She gasps, swatting at his leg. "I absolutely am not."
He grins, eyes glinting. "Yes you are. I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem so restless lately. Like you're crawling out of your skin."
"It's just stress over work." She pulls the pillow tighter. "Writing for the New York Chronicles is a lot of work. Deadlines, interviews, fact-checking—"
"Uh-huh. And when's the last time you got properly fucked?"
"Ned!"
He laughs, full and unbothered. "I'm serious. Maybe some good dick will help you. Relax those shoulders, clear that head of yours. You're practically vibrating."
On the fire escape, Peter's hands tighten into fists.
She's mine.
The thought crashes through him, possessive and raw. His jaw aches from clenching. He watches her through the window—her flustered expression, the way she hides her face in the pillow, the way she doesn't deny it. She's restless. He knows. He's seen her pace her apartment at 2 a.m., seen her press her thighs together in the bathtub, heard the soft, frustrated moans she thinks no one can hear.
And he knows Ned is right. She needs release. But the idea of her finding that release in someone else—some stranger's hands, some stranger's mouth, some stranger's cock inside her—makes his stomach twist with something dark and violent.
"You're impossible," she mutters, throwing the pillow at Ned.
He catches it easily. "And you're in denial. But okay. Keep telling yourself it's deadlines."
She stands, smoothing her shirt. "I'm leaving before you say something even more embarrassing."
"Text me if you change your mind! I know a guy—"
"Goodnight, Ned!"
The door clicks shut. Ned chuckles to himself, shaking his head.
Peter stays frozen on the fire escape long after she's gone, her scent still lingering in the air, her laugh still ringing in his ears.
He knows what he has to do.
He has to reintroduce himself. Casually, carefully. Slide back into her life before she finds someone else to release those frustrations on. Before some other man touches what's his.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he watches her walk home from a rooftop three blocks away, her silhouette moving under the amber streetlights. He watches her pause at her door, glance over her shoulder like she feels something watching her. She hugs herself, shivers, and disappears inside.
Soon, he tells himself, pressing a hand over his chest where his heart used to belong to her. Soon I'll make you remember. Or I'll make you want me again.
But for now, he waits.
Peter stands outside the coffee shop, his reflection staring back at him from the glass door. He checks his hair three times—runs his fingers through it, smooths the front, tucks a stray strand behind his ear. The black shirt hugs his shoulders just right, and the glasses frame his face in a way that used to make Y/N bite her lip and look at him twice.
She loved these glasses, he thinks, adjusting them once more. She used to say I looked like a secret librarian. A hot one.
He takes a breath, pushes the door open, and walks in with a confidence he's been practicing for weeks.
The bell above the door chimes. Y/N looks up from the counter where she's been scribbling in a notebook—probably working on another article for the New York Chronicles. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a simple apron over a cream sweater, and when she sees him, she smiles.
It's polite. Professional. The same smile she gives every customer working at her parent's cafe.
But it's still her smile, and his heart stumbles.
"Hi," she says, setting down her pen. "What can I get started for you?"
He steps up to the counter, leaning an elbow on the polished wood. "Hey. I'll take an iced americano and a chocolate donut."
She nods, writing it down. "Anything else?"
"No, thanks. That's perfect."
She turns to prepare the coffee, and he watches her movements—efficient, practiced. The way she scoops ice, pours the espresso, reaches for the donut with a tissue. When she turns back and hands him the cup, their fingers brush.
It's barely a second. Just a whisper of contact.
But she pauses, her eyes lifting to his face. A flicker of something—recognition? Curiosity?—passes through her gaze before she blinks it away.
"Here you go," she says softly.
He takes the cup, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks."
She smiles again, a little different this time—warmer, a hint of confusion. Then she turns back to the sink where a few dishes are waiting, rolling up her sleeves.
Peter takes a seat by the window, sipping his americano, watching her from behind his glasses. She's humming softly, something he doesn't recognize. From the back room, he hears Ned's voice, humming some pop song, the clatter of boxes being moved.
Over the next few weeks, he becomes a regular.
He comes in every other day, sometimes every day. Always orders the same thing—iced americano, chocolate donut. Sometimes he grabs a table and pretends to work on his laptop, but really he's watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her lip while reading. The way she laughs at something Ned says, bright and easy.
Their interactions are casual. Limited.
"Morning Peter." She learns his name.
"The usual?" She asks.
"You know it."
A smile. A quick exchange. Then she's busy, and he's left with the ghost of her attention.
It's not enough.
So one afternoon, when the shop is empty and Ned is in the back, he makes his move.
He walks up to the counter, coffee in hand, and as he reaches to pay, he lets his wrist go slack. The cup tips. The lid pops off. Brown liquid splashes across the floor, a puddle spreading near his feet.
"Shit," he mutters, a little too loud.
Y/N spins around from the espresso machine. "Oh no! Don't worry, I'll get it—"
She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the counter and moves to crouch down, but he's already there. He takes the roll from her hands, his fingers closing over hers for a brief, deliberate second.
"It was my fault," he says, meeting her eyes. "Don't worry about it."
"Really, I can—"
"Nope. I got it." He kneels, wiping up the mess quickly, ignoring her protests. "You have enough to do. Let me take care of this."
She stands there, hands on her hips, watching him clean up her floor with an expression caught between amused and impressed.
"You're not going to let me help, are you?" she asks.
"Nope." He finishes, tosses the wet paper towels in the trash, and straightens up. "See? All good."
She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're stubborn."
"I prefer determined."
"A determined mess-maker."
He laughs—a real laugh, not the careful one he's been using.
They stand there, the air between them easier now, the tension cracked open. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, studying him with fresh eyes.
"You come here a lot," she says.
"I do. Good coffee. Good donuts." He pauses, letting his voice drop just a fraction. "Good company."
Her cheeks flush. She looks down, then back up, a spark in her gaze. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Born and raised. Just... been away for a while."
"Ah. A returning native."
"Something like that."
She tilts her head. "What do you do, Peter? Besides cleaning up your own messes?"
"I'm a freelance photographer. I take pictures of the city, the people. Try to capture moments that don't last."
Her eyes light up. "That sounds beautiful."
"It has its moments." He holds her gaze. "Maybe I could show you sometime. If you're interested."
The offer hangs in the air, soft and deliberate. She bites her lower lip, considering, and he feels his pulse quicken.
"I'd like that," she says quietly.
A bell rings from the back—Ned calling something about a shipment. The moment breaks, but it doesn't shatter. It settles into something warm, something potential.
"I should let you get back to work," Peter says, stepping back. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?"
"Same time," she confirms, her smile lingering.
He walks out of the coffee shop, heart hammering, a grin threatening to break across his face. He doesn't look back, but he doesn't need to.
He knows he has her attention now.
Ned slides up beside Y/N the moment the door swings shut behind Peter. He nudges her shoulder with his, a knowing grin already spreading across his face.
"Okay, so that guy? Exactly your type."
Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Peter?"
"Obviously Peter." Ned leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Like, I get it. He's attractive in that nonchalant way. The whole I just rolled out of bed but I'm still hotter than you vibe. And that confidence? It's practically dripping off him." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Makes you horny, doesn't it?"
"Ned!" She smacks his shoulder, but she's laughing. "Shut up. He's just a nice guy."
"A nice guy who you've been staring at for three weeks straight."
"I have not—"
"You literally watched him walk to the door just now. Like a sad puppy."
She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. She did watch him. She always watches him.
Ned groans, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "When you two finally hook up, I'm going to be right there to say I told you so."
"He's just a customer, Injun."
"Mhmm. Sure." He pats her shoulder and heads toward the back room, already humming again, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.
She bites her lip.
He's just a customer, she tells herself. But her mind drifts anyway, unbidden.
His voice—low and warm, with a teasing edge that makes her stomach flip. The way he carries himself, relaxed but aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His baggy clothes, the way they hang off his frame, hiding and revealing at the same time. The silver rings on his fingers. That little smirk he gives her sometimes, like he's in on a joke she hasn't heard yet.
Her exes were... fine. Nice. Respectful. Boring.
They held doors open and said please and thank you. They kissed her forehead and asked if she was comfortable. They never made her pulse race. They never made her wonder what it would feel like to be pushed against a wall and taken.
Peter does.
He gives her mystery. Maybe even a little danger. The way he looks at her sometimes, like he's holding something back—something intense.
She shakes her head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. Crazy. You don't even know him.
But the thought lingers, hot and stubborn, all the way through the rest of her shift. It follows her home, past the subway, up the stairs to her apartment. It settles in her bones the moment she closes her door.
---
She's restless.
The apartment is quiet, dark except for the lamp by her bed. She changes into a tank top and shorts, lies down, tosses, turns. Her body feels tight—a coil wound too tight, needing release.
She gives in.
From the nightstand drawer, she pulls out her vibrator—a sleek pink thing she's had for years. She lies back, spreads her legs, and lets the hum of the motor fill the silence.
Her mind drifts to him.
To Peter. To his hands. Those rings. What they'd feel like gripping her thighs. His voice, low in her ear, telling her exactly what he's going to do to her.
She presses the vibrator harder against her clit, her breath hitching. She thinks about his smirk, his confidence, the way he holds her gaze a second too long. She chases the image, lets it build—
And then she comes.
A sharp, quick release. A gasp. The tension snaps, but it doesn't dissolve. It just... scatters. Falls apart unsatisfyingly.
She sighs, letting the vibrator drop onto the mattress. Her body feels hollow. Empty. Like the orgasm barely scratched the surface of what she actually needs.
"Fuck," she whispers to the ceiling.
She lies there, staring at the dark, her skin still buzzing with unresolved heat. She wants more. She wants him. But he's a stranger. A customer. Nothing.
She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket up, and tries to sleep.
---
Outside her window, perched on a fire escape three buildings over, Peter watches the dark shape of her bedroom through the gap in her curtains.
He didn't look. Not directly. He swung toward her building on instinct, drawn by the familiar pull of her presence, and he landed on the adjacent rooftop just in time to hear it.
The buzz of the vibrator. Her soft, breathy moans.
His name. She whispered his name—Peter—on a desperate exhale.
And then the sigh. That disappointed, hollow sigh at the end.
He heard it all.
His fingers curl into a fist against the brick wall beside him. A smirk spreads across his face, slow and predatory, mixing with the ache in his chest.
You're not satisfied, are you, baby?
He knows the feeling. He's been unsatisfied too—in a different way. Hungry for her touch, her voice, her warmth. But that hunger is about to be fed.
He pushes off the ledge, letting the night air rush past him as he swings into the darkness.
Soon. I'll take my rightful place soon.
Below him, the city blurs. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Another night of crime waits for him—thugs to stop, civilians to save. The usual.
But tonight, for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.
———
It starts slowly.
A whisper of warmth against her skin. The weight of a body behind her, pressed close, solid and familiar. She can't see his face, but she knows him—or rather, her body knows him. Her back arches into his chest instinctively, seeking more contact.
His hands. God, his hands. Calloused palms sliding up her thighs, fingers digging into her hips with just enough pressure to bruise. She feels the cool bite of metal rings against her overheated skin. A low chuckle rumbles against her ear.
"You've been so good for me, baby. But I'm gonna take what's mine now."
She opens her mouth to respond, but he's already rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her knees. The sheets are soft beneath her palms. She can feel his cock—thick, hard, pressing against her soaked entrance—and she whimpers, pushing back against him.
"Please," she breathes. "Please, I need—"
He cuts her off with a sharp thrust. He slams into her to the hilt, and she screams, her body clenching around him immediately. He doesn't stop. He fucks her like he owns her, like he's been waiting for this, each stroke deep and punishing, hitting a spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.
"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."
His voice is low, rough, almost unrecognizable through the fog of lust. She can't think. She can only feel—the stretch, the burn, the relentless pounding. He wraps a hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, tilting her head back so he can whisper directly into her ear.
"You missed me, didn't you? Your tight little pussy missed me. Say it."
"I—yes—fuck—I missed you—"
He groans, a sound so raw it vibrates through her bones. His pace quickens, his grip on her hip bruising. She feels the coil building, tighter and tighter, her moans turning into desperate sobs—
And then she wakes up.
---
Gasping.
Y/N bolts upright in bed, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with arousal. The sheets are twisted around her legs. Her pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, so empty it almost hurts.
She blinks at the ceiling, panting.
What the fuck was that?
The dream is already fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembers heat. A deep voice. Being pinned down and fucked senseless. But the face—she can't remember the face. Just a blur of dark hair, broad shoulders, a cruel smirk.
She presses her palm against her cunt, gasping at the sensitivity. She's soaked. Her thighs are slick. Her hole flutters, desperate to be filled.
"Fucking hell," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.
It's been like this for almost a week now. Every night, another dream. Some nights she's on her knees, sucking a thick cock while a hand tangles in her hair. Some nights she's tied to a bed, spread open, being fucked so slowly she can feel every inch drag against her walls. Some nights it's just a voice—a low, possessive voice—calling her filthy, desperate, mine.
She always wakes up the same way: wet, aching, unsatisfied.
She reaches for her vibrator on the nightstand, but even as she presses it against her clit, she knows it won't be enough. It never is anymore. She comes—hard, fast, grinding into the plastic—but the release is hollow. An echo of what her body actually craves.
She doesn't know what that is.
Her exes were boring. They never made her feel claimed. They never made her scream.
But her body wants something more, something she's never experienced. Or so she thinks.
She sighs, tossing the vibrator aside. Her cunt still throbs, still clenches, still weeps for something she can't name.
Why does this feel like grief?
---
Across the city, perched on a water tower overlooking her block, Peter watches the distant glow of her window with a dark, hungry expression.
He knows.
He's been watching her sleep through the gap in her curtains. He's heard her moans, her whimpers, the desperate sounds she makes when she's lost in a dream he put there—not consciously, but through the lingering threads of the spell that binds them. She can't remember him, but her body can. Her body is a traitor, whispering his name in the language of her muscles, her slick, her trembling thighs.
He clenches his fists, his cock hardening painfully in his suit.
He lets out a slow, shaky breath.
I'll give you what you're craving soon.
He pushes off the water tower, swinging into the night, leaving his mark on the rooftops like a promise.
But he doesn't go far. He lands on the fire escape just outside her window—close enough to hear her frustrated sigh, the rustle of sheets as she rolls over, the quiet, desperate whisper she thinks no one hears:
"What do I need? What's wrong with me?"
He presses a hand to the glass, his rings glinting in the moonlight.
Nothing's wrong with you, love. You just need me.
————
The morning rush at the coffee shop had been mercifully slow, leaving Y/N and Ned with nothing better to do than wipe down the already-clean countertops in a lazy, synchronized rhythm. The TV mounted in the corner murmured in the background—some local news broadcast about a bank robbery in Midtown. The anchor's voice was tinny, almost an afterthought.
"...and witnesses report that Spider-Man intervened just moments after the robbers entered. No casualties reported. The web-slinger made a quick escape as usual—"
Y/N didn't look up. Neither did Ned. It was New York. Spider-Man stopping a robbery was as routine as a subway delay. They'd both heard the name so many times it barely registered anymore—a ghost in red and blue, flickering across screens, saving lives, disappearing.
Ned hummed a tune under his breath, rubbing a smudge off the granite with his thumb. Y/N's mind was elsewhere. Still half-lost in the hazy aftertaste of another dream from last night—the echo of a deep voice, the phantom weight of hands on her hips, the ache between her legs that hadn't fully faded even after she'd come twice this morning.
She bit her lip, grip tightening on the rag.
Focus. Work. Coffee. Normal stuff.
The little bell above the door jingled.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Peter stepped inside, and she felt the air shift. He was breathing hard, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and under his arms. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in messy waves, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened over his neck and collarbones.
He looked exhausted. But also... good. Really good.
"Hey," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little too breathy. She cleared her throat. "You okay?"
He offered a tired smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just tired. Killed it at the gym today." He let out a huff of laughter, rolling one shoulder like it ached. "Didn't realize I pushed myself that hard."
She nodded, already moving to make his usual ice americano. Her body went through the motions automatically while her eyes trailed down his frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the tanned skin. The sweat highlighted every contour—the arch of his biceps, the column of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath.
Shit. She felt heat creep up her cheeks.
Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of silver at his wrist. A bracelet—woven black cord with a small metallic charm, a roughly shaped star. It looked handmade, well-worn, the edges smooth like it had been touched a thousand times.
She slid the cup across the counter toward him. "That's pretty," she said, nodding at the bracelet.
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of emotion too fast to name—hope? Pain? He opened his mouth, and she could've sworn she saw him about to say something, his throat bobbing with a swallow.
Do you remember that you gave this to me?
But the words didn't come. He just watched her as she pulled away from the counter, already turning back to the rag in her hand.
Of course she didn't remember.
"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, already distracted, moving toward the back to restock napkins.
Peter stared at the bracelet on his wrist. The star charm. She'd made it for him on their six-month anniversary, clumsily braiding the cord while sitting cross-legged on his bed, laughing about how she'd never made jewelry before. "So you don't forget me," she'd said, pressing it into his palm. "Wear it even when you're being Spider-Man. I want to be with you, always."
He clenched his jaw, forcing the ache down his throat.
She doesn't remember. Of course she doesn't. You knew that.
Ned slid off his stool and walked over, holding out a napkin. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your forehead's bleeding a bit."
Peter blinked, reaching up. His fingers came away with a smear of red. Shit. Must've caught a stray piece of debris during the takedown. He'd been too focused on getting there fast—on changing out of the suit in that alley, on making it to the shop before she closed—that he hadn't bothered to check for damage.
"Ah, that." He took the napkin with a casual shrug, pressing it to the cut. "Tripped on the way here. Almost ate pavement. Stupid, I know."
Ned's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, a quiet skepticism behind his gentle gaze. He didn't say anything, but Peter could feel the weight of his unspoken question.
That's a weird place to trip. And you're too banged up for just a fall. And you showed up right after Spider-Man was seen.
But Ned just nodded, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "Be careful," he said simply, and walked back to the counter.
Peter exhaled slowly, pressing the napkin harder against his temple. He watched Y/N move behind the counter, her hair tied in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was beautiful. She was his. And she didn't even know it.
He took a long sip of the coffee she'd made him, letting the bitterness ground him.
He smiled against the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on the curve of her back as she bent down to grab more cups from the low shelf.
The bracelet gleamed on his wrist like a promise.
The morning air in Manhattan carried the usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, pretzel cart steam, and distant sirens. Y/N walked with her messenger bag slung across her body, earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats keeping her grounded. The New York Chronicle skyscraper loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sun. She was running a little early today, which meant she could grab a decent coffee from the lobby cart before heading up to her desk.
She was two blocks away when the screaming started.
At first, it was distant—a ripple through the crowd ahead. Then it grew, a wave of panic rolling toward her. People began sprinting in her direction, faces twisted with fear, elbows knocking pamphlets and coffee cups out of the way. A woman clutching a toddler nearly collided with her.
"What—" Y/N pulled out her earbuds, heart lurching. "What's happening?"
No one stopped to answer. The tide of bodies pushed past her, and she stumbled sideways, grabbing a lamppost to steady herself. Then she saw it: a column of smoke rising from the base of the Chronicle building. Orange flames licked at a collapsed awning. Glass littered the street like crushed diamonds.
Oh god. That's the lobby.
Her feet started moving before her brain caught up. She had to get in there. Had to see if her coworkers—her editor, the layout team, Maria from HR who always gave her extra granola bars—were okay. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
"HEY!"
A blur of red and blue dropped from above, landing in front of her with a soft thud that cracked the asphalt. She yelped, skidding to a halt.
Spider-Man.
His lenses narrowed, body angled like he was about to grab her.
"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was modulated, sharp with urgency. "There's a gas leak—could blow again any second. Get back."
"I have to see if the people in that building are okay!" She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, a wall of spandex and muscle.
"I'll check. You stay here." He pointed a gloved finger at the sidewalk behind her. "Don't move."
She barely registered that she'd just been ordered around by a superhero. Her heart was hammering. The smoke stung her nostrils. "I'm not just going to—"
He was already turning, preparing to leap. She took a step forward, following him.
A sharp thwip sliced through the air.
Something snapped around her right wrist—a rope of white webbing, sticky and warm, yanking her arm sideways. She stumbled, grunting, and found herself anchored to the handle of a police cruiser parked at the curb. The web held fast, elastic but unyielding.
"What the hell?!" She yanked at her wrist, but the webbing stretched and held. "Are you serious right now?!"
Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. She could almost hear the smirk behind the mask. "Nope. Wait here. I'll free you after I'm sure it's safe."
And then he was gone, a red streak disappearing into the smoke-filled doorway.
Y/N stood there, arm stretched awkwardly toward the cop car, jaw hanging open. People were still running past her, but the immediate panic was thinning. She looked at her wrist, at the white strands wrapped snugly around it, and felt a jolt—not of anger, but of something else.
The texture. The pressure. The slight give when she pulled.
Her breath caught.
She was in her bedroom. The lights were dim. Her wrist was bound to the bedpost with...not a rope...not a scarf...something else entirely. Her arms stretched above her head and a dark figure hovered over her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his weight, his heat, the deep rumble of his voice against her ear.
"Stay still, baby. I'm not done with you yet."
The memory dissolved as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping on the sidewalk, knees weak.
What the fuck?
She shook her head violently, pressing her free hand to her flushed cheek. "I'm starting to feel like a fucking sex addict," she muttered under her breath. Of all the things to think about right now—tied to a car by Spider-Man—her brain was conjuring erotic flashbacks? With...Spider-Man? For all she knew, the guy was a forty-year-old accountant underneath that suit. He could be balding.
But he didn't move like a forty-year-old. And his voice, even through the modulator, had a certain quality—young, confident, teasing.
She shook her head again, harder. Stop it. Focus. The building.
A few minutes passed. The fire trucks arrived. EMTs started setting up a triage zone. Y/N strained her neck, trying to see if anyone was being carried out. She pulled at the web again, frustrated, but it held true.
Then Spider-Man emerged from the smoke, walking casually now, hands on his hips. He jogged over to her.
"Building's clear. No casualties. Gas leak was contained before it got worse. Minor injuries, but everyone's out." He reached for the web on her wrist and gave it a sharp tug setting her free.
She rubbed her wrist, red and slightly raw. "That wasn't cool. You could have just asked me to stay."
"I did. You didn't listen." He shrugged, the motion exaggerated by the suit's padding. "You should be more careful. People get hurt when they run toward explosions."
"I work there." She glared at him. "I was worried about my friends."
He was quiet for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his gaze through the white lenses, studying her. There was something familiar about the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.
Then he straightened. "Bye."
And with a single leap, he was gone, swinging between buildings, disappearing into the Manhattan skyline before she could even respond.
Y/N stood there, mouth half-open, hand still rubbing her wrist. The phantom sensation of the web lingered—soft, taut, possessive. Her skin tingled where it had been wrapped.
Why does that feel like a memory I can't reach?
She stared up at the empty sky, the smoke still curling into the gray clouds.
And for some reason, her thighs pressed together.
Get a grip, Y/N. He's a stranger in a mask.
But her body didn't believe that. Not for a second.
The evening air did nothing to cool the heat lingering beneath Y/N's skin. After the chaos at the Chronicle building, after being webbed to a police car like some disobedient puppy, after the shredded remains of her dignity scattered across Sixth Avenue—she'd gone through the motions. Talked to her editor. Confirmed everyone was safe. Filed a preliminary report on the gas leak. Smiled at Maria's thanks.
But all the way home, her wrist tingled. The ghost of that webbing refused to fade.
Now she stood in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat thrown over the armchair. The city lights bled through her window, painting amber stripes across her wooden floor. She should shower. Eat something. Answer the three texts Ned had sent asking if she was okay.
Instead, she grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, flipping it open.
YouTube.
Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it. She typed in the search bar: Spider-Man New York 2024.
The results flooded the screen. News clips. Fan edits. Compilations titled "Spider-Man's Top 10 Saves" and "Spider-Man Being a Menace for 12 Minutes Straight." She clicked the first one—a news report from two months ago, shaky cell phone footage of Spider-Man webbing a falling construction beam before it crushed a bus.
She watched it twice. Then a third time.
The comments section was a battlefield.
"whoever is under that suit is DEFINITELY packing i'm not taking questions"
"imagine getting railed by spider-man... the grip?? the stamina???"
"he literally fights crime every night and still has time to help old ladies cross the street... husband material"
"plot twist: he's actually a 50 year old dude with a beer belly and we're all just simping for spandex"
"even if he is 50 i'd still let him web me to the bed 🥴"
Y/N snorted despite herself, scrolling deeper. The thirst was real, embarrassingly real. These women were out there, posting paragraphs about what they'd let Spider-Man do to them. What they'd do to him. She felt a pang of something—not judgment, because who was she to judge—but recognition.
She'd felt that web around her wrist. She'd felt the possessiveness in that single thwip.
And God help her, she wanted to feel it again.
She clicked on another video. This one was different—a street interview, low-budget, filmed by someone's phone. The camera focused on Spider-Man, standing casually beside a hot dog cart, and standing next to him was a little boy—maybe eight years old, holding a notebook.
The interviewer says, "We've got a special guest today—this is Liam, and he wanted to ask Spider-Man a few questions."
Spider-Man crouched down to the boy's level. His lenses softened, tilted—the body language of someone genuinely engaged. He reached out and patted the kid's head, a casual, affectionate gesture.
"Go ahead, Liam. I'm all ears."
And he laughed—a low, warm chuckle that cut through the modulator like a blade through silk.
Y/N's breath hitched.
That laugh. She knew that laugh. It tickled something deep in her chest, a phantom sensation, like a voice calling from underwater. Her fingers tightened on the laptop. She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.
"I'm all ears."
The way he said it—teasing, gentle, familiar.
She shook her head, hard. You're projecting. Every guy laughs. It's not him. You don't even know who "him" is.
But her skin was prickling. Her thighs pressed together under the laptop.
She kept scrolling.
There was a Reddit link. r/SpiderManFantasies (NSFW). Her thumb hovered over it for a full ten seconds before she clicked.
The forum was a treasure trove of desperation. Women (and some men) posting photos they'd taken of Spider-Man mid-swing, or perched on a rooftop, or standing in the middle of a street after a rescue. The photos weren't explicit—they couldn't be, he was fully suited—but the captions were anything but.
"If I ever meet him I'm dropping to my knees immediately. That suit does NOT hide what he's working with."
"Imagine him pinning you down after a fight, all that adrenaline still pumping... you'd feel the bass in his chest."
"I don't even care what he looks like. I just want one night. ONE. NIGHT. With whoever is under that mask."
One post showed a blurry shot of Spider-Man crouched on a fire escape, his legs spread, the suit stretching taut across his thighs. The caption read: "I want to sit on his face and never get up."
Y/N closed the laptop so fast the screen clicked shut.
Her heart was hammering. Her cheeks burned. She pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning.
"I'm not above this," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm so far below this it's embarrassing."
She threw the laptop aside and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside—distant sirens, a neighbor's TV, the low bass of a car passing by. Her skin felt too tight. Her cunt ached, a dull, persistent throb that had been living in her bones for weeks now.
The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM when Y/N finally collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her jeans and a thin camisole.
Sleep came heavy and reluctant.
---
She woke with a gasp, thighs pressed together, a dull throb between her legs.
The clock read 2:47 AM.
Her skin was damp with sweat. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the cotton of her shirt. She'd been dreaming again—fragments of a body above her, weight pressing her into the mattress, a warm mouth trailing down her stomach. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his hands. Strong, calloused, knowing exactly where to touch.
"I've got you, baby. I've always got you."
She threw an arm over her eyes, breathing hard. She was wet, aching, clenching around nothing. She slid a hand down her belly, into her underwear, her fingers finding her clit swollen and desperate.
She rubbed herself slowly, trying to chase a release that never came. She imagined the web wrapped around her wrist again. Spider-Man's lenses staring down at her. The low laugh from the video.
"Fuck," she whimpered, fingers moving faster. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She could feel a shape just out of reach.
Her body remembered. Her mind didn't.
She pressed her palm harder, hips bucking, but the orgasm hovered like a mirage, untouchable. She let out a frustrated sob, pulling her hand away, her chest heaving.
Outside, on the fire escape, a shadow shifted.
Peter pressed his back against the brick wall, his own breathing uneven. He'd heard her whimper through the glass. Heard the wet sound of her fingers working. The whine of her frustration when she couldn't finish.
His cock was hard, straining against the suit. He'd come here to check on her after the explosion—to make sure she was safe, to watch her sleep like he did most nights. He hadn't expected this.
But he couldn't leave. Not while she was aching.
Not when he was the only one who could fix it.
He pressed a palm against the cold glass of her window, the mask hiding the anguish on his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll find a way.
But for now, he just listened to her breathe, and hated the spell that kept them apart.
———
The knock that rattled Ned's door at 11 PM was frantic—three sharp, pounding hits, then a pause, then another. He barely had time to unlatch the lock before Y/N pushed past him into his apartment, her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her chest heaving like she'd run the whole way.
"Okay," she said, hands on her hips, pacing his narrow living room. "You were right. You were fucking right."
Ned closed the door slowly, crossing his arms. He was in sweatpants and an old band tee, clearly winding down for the night. "Right about what, exactly? Because I'm right about a lot of things."
She whirled on him, jaw tight. "The sex thing. The needing-to-get-laid thing. The I'm crawling out of my skin thing." She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots. "It's not just being horny, Ned. It's like—" She stopped, struggling for words. "It's like my body is craving something specific. A specific touch. A specific rhythm. A specific person. But I don't know who or what. I don't remember. I just feel this ache that nothing fills."
Ned's teasing demeanor softened. He gestured to the couch, and she collapsed onto it, head in her hands.
He sat beside her, voice careful. "An ex? Someone you dated before? Maybe your brain locked away a breakup that hit you harder than you think."
She looked up, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "No. It's not an ex. I don't have any traumatic breakup memory. It's—" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know. It feels like a ghost. A phantom limb."
Ned was quiet for a moment. Then he said, slowly, "Maybe you don't need to find that specific person. Maybe you just need to try someone new."
She blinked at him. The idea hung in the air, fresh and foreign.
"Someone new," she repeated, tasting the words.
"Someone who doesn't come with baggage or memories. Someone who can just—" He made a vague gesture. "Fuck you into forgetting whatever's haunting you. A clean slate. A hot body. A night of no strings."
She stared at him. Then, slowly, a nod. "Maybe you're right."
His grin spread wide. "I am right. And I know exactly how to start." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "There's that new nightclub in midtown. Opened last week. 'Velvet Underground.' It's got black lights, VIP booths, and supposedly a very attractive bartender who does body shots. I've been dying to go."
"A club," she said flatly.
"A club where you can find a guy—or girl, no judgment—who will take you home and fuck you until you forget your own name. That kind of club."
She chewed her lip. The idea terrified her. Thrilled her. She thought of her empty bed, the wet sheets, the incomplete orgasms. She thought of the phantom hands in her dreams.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Let's do it."
Ned clapped his hands together. "Yes. I'll text you the details. Wear something slutty. I'm talking a dress that says 'I'm here to get railed.'"
She laughed—a real laugh, shaky but genuine. "You're such a bad influence."
"Someone has to be."
They spent the next hour planning. What time to arrive. Which drinks to order. An exit strategy if the guy was a creep. Y/N felt lighter than she had in weeks, a fragile hope blooming in her chest.
---
Outside, pressed against the brick wall of the adjacent building, a figure in red and blue watched through the sliver of curtain left uncovered.
Peter's hands curled into fists.
His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
Someone new.
The words echoed in his skull, each syllable a knife twist. She was going to let some stranger touch her. Some random guy from a club. He'd put his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat...
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, muffled by the mask.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
He pushed off the wall, landing silently on the fire escape below. His mind raced. He couldn't stop her—not directly. He couldn't reveal himself, couldn't break the spell. But he could intercept. He could follow. He could make sure that no one—no one—got close enough to touch what was his.
Even if she didn't remember it.
He swung into the night, a plan already forming. The club. He'd be there. Not as Spider-Man—too obvious. He'd ditch the suit, put on something tight, something that would make her look. He'd find her on the dance floor, buy her a drink, let the night unfold.
The hunt was on.
The strapless bodycon dress was a weapon, and Y/N knew it.
Black velvet hugged every curve from her collarbone to mid-thigh, the hem riding up just enough to make men's eyes glaze over. She'd paired it with strappy heels that made her legs look miles long and a thin silver necklace that caught the light. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup smoky and deliberate.
Ned let out a low whistle when she stepped out of her bedroom. "Holy shit."
"Too much?" She tugged at the neckline nervously.
"Not enough. You're going to break necks tonight. Possibly some hearts too, but who's counting." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
She took it, laughing. "Let's get me laid."
---
The Velvet Underground lived up to its name. The interior was all dark burgundy and dim gold lighting, with a massive dance floor pulsing under black lights that made white fabrics glow. Bodies moved together in a haze of sweat and bass, the air thick with perfume and alcohol.
They claimed a spot at the bar, and Ned ordered them both shots of tequila. "Warm-up," he shouted over the music.
Y/N downed hers, grimacing at the burn. A second followed. Then a third.
By the fourth, the edges of her anxiety had blurred into a pleasant haze. The bass thrummed through her bones, and she found herself swaying, scanning the crowd. Potential candidates everywhere—sharp jawlines, broad shoulders, confident grins.
None of them made her stomach flip.
But then the door opened.
And he walked in.
Peter had planned this.
Tight black jeans that hugged his thighs and sat low on his hips. A simple white T-shirt, thin enough that the outline of his chest was visible when he moved. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms. He'd styled his hair messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he wore that lazy half-smirk that had always made her knees weak.
Her favorite outfit.
He remembered the first time she'd seen him in it. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and he'd shown up at her door looking like this. She'd pulled him inside by his collar, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him so deep he'd seen stars. Her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling, while the other roamed down his stomach to palm him through the denim. She'd broken the kiss just to whisper against his lips, "You look so good it should be illegal. I want to ruin you."
And she had. For hours.
He carried that memory in his bones as he pushed open the club door, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. His eyes landed on the bar.
There she was.
Strapless black dress. Hair loose. Cheeks flushed from alcohol. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—which was saying something, because he remembered every detail.
He pretended not to see her at first. Ordered a drink. Leaned against the bar, letting the black lights catch the contours of his arms.
Then Ned spotted him.
"Hey! Peter!"
Peter turned, feigning surprise. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he let them widen slightly—just enough. "Oh. Hey. Didn't expect to see you guys here."
Y/N's breath caught. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. "Hi."
Just that. Hi. But the word came out breathy, almost involuntary.
Ned gestured him over. "Come join us. We're just warming up. Y/N's on a mission tonight."
"A mission?" Peter raised an eyebrow, sliding onto the stool beside her. Close enough that his knee brushed hers under the bar. "Sounds intriguing."
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words came out slurred. "M'sion... find someone... hot..."
Ned sighed. "I think the tequila hit faster than expected."
Peter smiled knowingly. She always did get tipsy fast. Three drinks and she'd be clinging to him, whispering dirty things in his ear. Four and she'd be begging to go home. Five and she'd be asleep before they hit the door.
"I can help you get her home," he offered, voice steady. "If you want."
Ned looked relieved. "God, yes. I was not looking forward to carrying her six blocks in those heels."
They helped her off the stool. Her legs wobbled, and she stumbled forward—
Right into Peter's arms.
Her palms landed flat on his chest. Her head tipped up, eyes glassy and unfocused. She blinked at him, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You're... strong."
His hands caught her waist, steadying her. The velvet of her dress was soft under his fingers, her skin warm beneath the fabric. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.
He lowered his voice, letting it dip into that husky register she'd always loved. "Oh yea?"
She nodded, earnest and drunk. "Mmhm. Like... hero strong."
If only you knew.
Ned was already heading for the door, waving them along. Peter kept one arm around Y/N's waist, guiding her out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them, taxis honking, distant sirens, the buzz of neon signs.
The walk to her apartment was slow. She kept tripping on cracks, leaning into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. At one point she looked up at him, squinting.
"You smell... familiar."
His chest tightened. "Good familiar or bad familiar?"
"Good." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "Really good."
Ned shot him a look—half curious, half amused. Peter just shrugged, playing it casual, though his heart was hammering.
They reached her building. Ned held the door while Peter helped her up the stairs. At her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice.
When she finally got it open, she turned around, throwing her arms around both of them in a messy group hug.
"Thank you," she mumbled into Ned's shoulder. "You're the best."
She pulled back, swaying slightly, and turned to Peter.
Her eyes met his.
The air between them thickened.
"You..." She reached up, touching his cheek with drunken clumsiness. Her thumb brushed his jawline. "You look so good tonight."
The words came out soft. Barely a whisper. Heavy with something she couldn't name.
Peter's throat tightened. He wanted to grab her, pull her inside, pin her against that door and remind her exactly what she was missing. He wanted to kiss that drunk confession off her lips and replace it with moans.
But not yet.
Not yet.
He smiled, gentle and aching. "Get some sleep, Y/N."
She blinked slowly, then ducked inside, closing the door with a soft click.
The lock turned.
Peter stood there for a long moment, hand pressed flat against the wood. He could hear her on the other side, shuffling, probably kicking off her heels.
"She say something?" Ned asked from behind.
"Just saying goodnight."
Ned hummed, unconvinced. "You know, for a guy who just met her, you're pretty invested."
Peter turned, keeping his face neutral. "She's a friend. I don't like seeing friends drunk and alone."
"Uh huh." Ned didn't push. "Well, thanks for the help. I'm gonna crash. See you around, Peter."
"Yeah. See you."
When Ned disappeared down the stairwell, Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He pressed his forehead to the door, listening. On the other side, he heard her humming—off-key, sleepy—as she padded toward her bedroom.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'll know.
But for tonight, he'd settle for knowing that even drunk and confused, she still thought he looked good.
That was enough.
For now.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.
Peter stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the echo of her voice in his head. You look so good tonight. Drunk, slurred, honest. She'd meant it. Even without knowing who he was, her body remembered. Her eyes had traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and something deep in her gut had stirred.
But she was inside, alone, probably already curled up in bed, dreaming of strangers.
And he was out here. Alone. Again.
He pushed off the door and walked to his kitchen, grabbing a glass of water he didn't want. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. The walls seemed to press in on him, carrying the weight of every night he'd spent like this—restless, aching, watching the clock tick toward dawn while the city hummed outside.
It's hard when no one loves you and the ones you love can't remember you.
He set the glass down harder than intended. It cracked. Water spilled across the counter.
"Fuck."
He stood there, dripping, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. A stranger in his own life. Spider-Man saved people. Peter saved no one. Not even himself.
He loved being Spider-Man. Loved the rush of swinging between buildings, the wind in his face, the sound of sirens fading as he swooped in to help. Loved the gratitude in strangers' eyes when he pulled them from wrecks, the way kids pointed up at him with awe.
But Peter deserved his own life too. A job he didn't have to hide. Friends who called him by his real name. A girl who looked at him like he was the only man in the world.
He closed his eyes, and there she was. Y/N. Laughing. Touching his face. Whining his name in that breathless way she used to when he was inside her.
"You're so good, Peter. Fuck—don't stop—"
His hand curled into a fist.
Then his spider-sense flared.
Sharp. Urgent. Something wrong.
He sighed, heavy and resigned, and reached for the suit.
---
The city was cruel tonight.
He swung from rooftop to rooftop, the wind biting at the exposed skin of his face and hands. Below, the neon lights of Manhattan bled into puddles on wet asphalt. Somewhere, a woman screamed—he veered toward it, landing on a fire escape to find a mugger wrestling a purse from an elderly lady. He webbed the guy to a lamppost in seconds, returned the purse, and was gone before the woman could finish thanking him.
Two blocks over, a car crash. He helped pull a family out before the fuel line sparked.
A domestic disturbance. He talked a man down from a balcony ledge.
A break-in at a convenience store.
A fire on the Lower East Side.
He kept moving. Kept saving. Kept pretending that each life he touched filled the hole inside him.
But it didn't.
Because the whole time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of her. Her safety. Her smile. The way she used to trace the scars on his shoulders after a bad fight, her voice soft with worry: "You can't keep doing this, Peter. One day you won't come back."
And he'd kissed her forehead and promised he'd always come back to her.
Now she didn't even know to wait.
---
He landed on a rooftop overlooking her building.
The lights were off in her apartment. She was asleep, probably still drunk, tangled in sheets that smelled like her perfume. He imagined her lips slightly parted, hair fanned across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He pulled out the photo he kept tucked inside his suit. Polaroid, edges worn from handling. Her smiling at the camera, hair messy, wearing his hoodie. She'd taken it one morning after they'd spent the whole night tangled together. He'd been making coffee, and she'd grabbed his phone, snapped the picture just as he turned around.
"So I can look at you even when you're gone," she'd said.
He didn't know she'd end up being the one gone.
He pressed his thumb to her face, tracing the curve of her smile.
Soon.
Soon, he'd find a way. Something drastic. Something that would break through the spell's hold and make her remember—or at least make her feel it, even if she couldn't name it.
Soon, he'd be inside her apartment. Inside her. Reminding her exactly what she was missing.
But for now, he tucked the photo back, turned toward the next siren, and launched himself into the night.
For her. Always for her.
The bell above the door chimed, and Peter walked in like he owned the place.
Y/N looked up from the register, head pounding, eyes barely open. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like last night's cheap perfume and regret. The hangover was a dull throb behind her eyes, a punishment for every shot Ned had convinced her to take.
She squinted at him. Him. The guy with the dangerous smile and the bracelet she didn't remember giving him.
"Morning," she grumbled, not even trying to sound pleasant.
He grinned. Actually grinned, like her misery was the highlight of his day. "Someone had fun last night."
"Someone regrets everything."
He laughed—that low, easy sound that did something annoying to her stomach—and walked past her to the counter. "Just the usual, please."
She turned to make it, moving slow, her head throbbing with every step. The espresso machine hissed, and she winced.
Behind her, she heard the door open again—a small commotion, a child's voice. She glanced over her shoulder.
A little boy, maybe seven or eight, had run in too fast, his backpack swinging. He collided with the table where Peter had set his bag, sending it toppling. But before it could hit the ground, Peter's hand shot out, catching it mid-air with reflexes too fast, too precise.
"Sorry, mister!" the boy said, eyes wide.
Peter just smiled, crouching down to the kid's level. "It's okay, buddy. No harm done." And he reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with an easy, affectionate motion.
Y/N froze.
The gesture. The way his fingers moved through the dark strands, the gentle mock-scolding in his tone. It was exactly how Spider-Man had ruffled that kid's hair in the interview she watched online. She'd watched the clip multiple times, her body heating each time—the way those gloved fingers had been so careful, so human, beneath the mask.
She blinked, shaking off the thought. No. That's ridiculous. Lots of people ruffle kids' hair.
But something nagged at her. The precision of the catch. The casual confidence. The way he moved.
Peter straightened, catching her stare. His eyebrow arched. "Something wrong?"
She realized she'd been staring. Heat crept up her neck. "No. Nothing. Your coffee."
She shoved the cup toward him, maybe a little too aggressively. He took it, amused, and leaned against the counter instead of leaving like a normal person.
She needed to get this over with.
"Listen," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "About last night. I was... a lot. I know I was all over you, and I'm sorry. I don't usually—I mean, I was drunk, and Ned was being an ass, and—"
"Cute."
She stopped. "What?"
"You were cute." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "Not 'a lot.' Cute."
Her face burned. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. Just a stupid, flustered silence.
He smiled—that knowing, crooked smile that made her knees weak—and pushed off from the counter. "See you around, Y/N."
He walked out, the bell chiming behind him.
She stood there, heart hammering, watching him disappear down the street.
Fuck.
She touched her cheek. It was hot. She was blushing like a teenager. And worst of all, she was thinking about him—the scent of his cologne, the strength in his hands when he'd caught that bag, the way his voice had dipped when he said "cute."
She shook her head, turning back to the register.
But as she wiped down the counter, her mind wandered. To Spider-Man. To Peter. To the way both of them made her feel seen in a way she couldn't explain.
Maybe I have a crush on him.
She bit her lip.
Or maybe I'm just that desperate.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something about him. Something familiar. Something that pulled at the edges of her memory, just out of reach.
And somewhere across the city, swinging between rooftops, Peter smiled to himself, her blush burned into his mind.
Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll remember.
The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering to life as Y/N walked home, her bag slung over one shoulder. The hangover had faded to a dull ache, replaced by the restless energy that had been gnawing at her all day. She was thinking about Peter—the way he'd laughed, the way his hand had caught that bag, the way he'd called her cute.
She was so lost in thought she almost missed the commotion.
A sharp cry. An old man's voice, cracked with panic. "Help! Someone help!"
Y/N's head snapped up. Across the street, a figure in a hoodie was sprinting away, an old leather bag clutched under his arm. Behind him, an elderly man stumbled, reaching out helplessly.
"Hey!" Y/N didn't think. She ran.
Three blocks. Her lungs burned, her legs pumping, the thief weaving through pedestrians. She was fast—she'd always been fast—but he was younger, more desperate. He ducked into a narrow alley, reeking of garbage and stale urine.
She followed without hesitation.
The alley was dark, shadows pooling like liquid. She could hear his footsteps echoing, slowing. He was cornered. She rounded a corner, ready to tackle him—
And then he was gone.
No. Not gone. Pinned.
A figure in red and blue dropped from above, landing silently. The thief was already webbed to a wall, the bag dangling from Spider-Man's hand. The hero turned to her, the white lenses of his mask catching the faint light.
"You really need to stop running into danger," he said, his voice modulated, teasing.
Y/N's heart pounded—not from the chase, but from him. From the way he stood, the way he moved.
She tried to step forward, to get a better look at the thief, to see where he'd gone into the darkness—
A thwip. A strand of web shot out, catching her wrist, yanking it to the brick wall beside her.
She stared at her hand, pinned by the familiar white silk. Again.
"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, yanking at the web. It held firm. "You can't just—"
"Watch and learn," Spider-Man said, and in two quick moves, he had the thief subdued, the bag retrieved, a police call tapped into his comm—all while she stood there, helpless, a memory flickering in the back of her mind.
Webs. Restraint. A voice whispering in the dark. Hands on her wrists, pinning her down. A body pressing against hers, the rough texture of a suit, the heat beneath it.
She blinked, the image dissolving like smoke.
He was in front of her now, the old man's bag tucked under one arm. He reached up and flicked the web on her wrist. It dissolved instantly, dropping her hand.
"You're free," he said. "Now go home. It's not safe."
She rubbed her wrist, glaring at him. "You can't just do that whenever you want! I was helping! I could have—"
She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest plate. "You don't get to decide when I'm in danger! You don't get to just—"
She pushed him. Hard. He didn't move, but she kept going, frustration boiling over, her hands flat against his chest—
And then her foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt.
She stumbled forward, off-balance, straight into him.
Her body collided with his, her hands instinctively grabbing his arms to steady herself. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, the fabric of his suit smooth and textured beneath her palms.
And something clicked.
The feel of it—the tight compression, the subtle ribbing, the exact way the material hugged the muscle underneath—sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why, but her hands began to move, sliding down his arms slowly, almost reverently. She felt the curve of his shoulders, the strength of his forearms, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.
She looked up.
The mask stared back at her, white lenses unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, feel the sudden stillness in his body.
Her breath caught. She could see him beneath the mask. Not his face, but something else. A feeling. A memory just out of reach.
I know you. I've felt you before.
She lifted a hand, reaching for his mask, her fingers trembling—
He stepped back.
Just one step, but it was enough to break her hold. Her hand hung in the air, empty.
"I have to go," he said, his voice tighter now, less playful. He set the bag down. "The police are on their way. Stay safe."
And before she could say another word, he was gone—a blur of red and blue vanishing into the night sky, leaving her alone in the dark alley, the old man's bag at her feet, her skin still tingling where she'd touched him.
She stood there, heart racing, frustration and confusion twisting in her chest.
Why does he feel so familiar?
She clenched her fists. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a name she couldn't remember, a face she couldn't see.
And yet, he's a stranger.
She bent down, picked up the bag, and walked out of the alley, her mind churning.
Who are you?
The question echoed in the empty space where Spider-Man had been. And somewhere, high above, hidden in the shadows, Peter watched her go, his hands shaking, his heart aching with the weight of everything she didn't remember.
——————————
The bell above the café door chimed, and Y/N's heart did a little flip she immediately suppressed.
Peter walked in, all easy confidence in a loose black t-shirt and those worn jeans that hung just right on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair—still slightly damp, like he'd just showered—and gave her a small smile as he approached the counter.
"Morning, Y/N."
She should have said something. She should have smiled back, asked for his usual order, made some casual remark about the weather. But her mind was still reeling from last night. The alley. The webs. The way her hands had traced the suit's texture like her fingers remembered what her brain couldn't.
Instead, she just nodded, her movements mechanical as she punched in his order. "Americano."
He blinked, clearly noticing her clipped tone. "Yeah. Thanks."
She turned to make the coffee, her back to him, feeling his gaze on her. She could sense the question in his silence—what's wrong?—but she couldn't bring herself to address it. She didn't know what to say. Hey, I think you might be the superhero who's been haunting my dreams and my subconscious sex life, but I can't be sure, so just pretend everything's normal.
She slid the cup across the counter. He took it, their fingers almost brushing. She pulled back too fast.
"Thanks," he said again, slower this time, searching her face.
She just nodded and turned to wipe down the counter, even though it was already clean.
The café was quiet—a lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Ned was in the back, restocking cups, humming something under his breath. Y/N busied herself with meaningless tasks, acutely aware of Peter settling into his usual table by the window, pulling out his phone.
He didn't look at her again. Or maybe he did, in brief glances she pretended not to notice.
After a few minutes, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulled his shirt up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Y/N's eyes tracked it before she forced them away.
"Bathroom," he said, more to announce it than anything, and disappeared through the back hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut, Ned emerged from the stockroom, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Okay. Now's my chance."
Y/N frowned. "What chance?"
Ned didn't answer. He darted to Peter's table, where the worn leather messenger bag sat propped against the chair leg.
"Ned, what the hell—"
"Shh." He was already crouching, unzipping the bag with practiced ease. "He's so mysterious. I just want to snoop a little. See if he's hiding anything interesting."
Y/N's heart lurched. "Stop! Put that back." She hissed, crossing the café in three quick strides. "What are you doing? That's his private stuff—"
"Relax, I'm just looking." Ned's hands moved through the bag's contents—a wallet, a phone, a protein bar wrapper, a small notebook. "Boring, boring, boring. How does this guy have no personality in his bag?"
"Ned, I swear to God—"
He pulled out a crumpled piece of fabric. Dark red and blue, folded into a rough square.
His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he's a fan."
He unfolded it, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat.
It was a mask. A Spider-Man mask. The white lenses stared up at her, empty and familiar.
Ned held it up, smirking. "See? Fanboy. Probably wears it to bed or something." He scoffed, tossing it carelessly back into the bag. "Guess even mysterious guys have heroes."
But Y/N wasn't listening.
She reached down, her fingers trembling, and picked up the mask. The fabric was cool against her skin. She ran her thumb across the surface—the subtle ribbing, the tight weave, the exact texture that had pressed against her palms last night.
The same texture.
Her blood ran cold.
She remembered the alley. The way her hands had slid down Spider-Man's arms. The way the suit had felt beneath her fingers. The way her body had known it, even when her mind couldn't.
This was the same mask. The same fabric. The same—
She looked up. Ned was staring at her, his smirk fading into confusion. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
She was holding Spider-Man's mask.
Peter's mask.
Peter is Spider-Man.
The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the air from her lungs. She stood there, frozen, the fabric clutched in her hands, the truth burning through her.
He's the one who saved me. He's the one who webs me to walls. He's the one who watches me from the shadows.
He's the one I've been dreaming about.
She thought of the dreams—the vivid, explicit dreams where Spider-Man's voice had whispered filthy things in her ear, where his hands had pinned her down, where his body had moved inside hers like he knew every inch of her. The dreams where she had arched into him, moaning, pleading, coming undone.
Her face flushed, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.
Oh God.
She had been dreaming about him. About the man who had been coming into her café, smiling at her, teasing her, touching her—and she hadn't known.
But her body had.
Her body had remembered.
"Y/N?" Ned's voice was sharper now. "Put it back. He'll be out any second."
She forced her hands to move, folding the mask roughly and shoving it back into the bag. She zipped it closed just as the bathroom door creaked open.
Peter emerged, wiping his hands on his jeans. He glanced at them—Ned standing awkwardly by the table, Y/N frozen behind the counter—and his brow furrowed.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine!" Ned said, too quickly. "Great. Just—telling Y/N about a thing. A thing I saw. Bye."
He scurried back to the stockroom, leaving Y/N alone with Peter.
He walked to the counter, picking up his coffee, his eyes studying her. "You sure you're okay? You seem... off today."
She couldn't look at him. She stared at the counter, at the espresso machine, at anything but his face.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice flat. "Just tired."
He didn't push. He just nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Alright. I'll see you later, then."
He turned and walked out, the bell chiming behind him.
Y/N stood there, her heart pounding, her mind racing.
Peter is Spider-Man.
And she had been dreaming of him fucking her senseless.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. A strange mix of fear, confusion, and something else—something hot and hungry—coiled in her stomach.
She had questions. So many questions.
But more than that, she had a need.
A need to find out if the dreams were somehow real.
----------
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cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter
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you weren't sure when it became a habit to sneak into the chemistry building after hours with peter to help him work on his web fluid; all you knew was it was your turn to pay for the pizza.
it was nearing midnight as your full belly laughs echoed through the empty lab, crusts long forgotten on the table behind you as you lost yourself in a story. peter's smile was visible through prickling tears.
he knew it was a bad idea to invite you from the start — there was no shot in hell he'd get any work done as long as you were around him. peter had figured that out by the senior year of high school: he just couldn't seem to focus on anything other than you. he began to lie and say he was finished with his homework whenever you would hang out, covering his lack of progress in your presence. peter had been distracted by you for the last few years, yet he could never seem to resist your company anyway. he beamed as you laughed at your own joke, relishing in the alone time he got to spend with the one person who made him feel like himself.
you let out a snort, and peter was done for, tears in his own eyes as he joined you in hearty laughter. he reached down and grabbed a vial through blurry vision, adding the final touch to his web fluid 3.0.
except that, instead of a sticky web-like substance, peter was met with a bright flash of hot pink from the liquid in the beaker before a cloud of magenta powder exploded from the glass, dusting the room, and in turn, you and peter.
he was on you instantly, shielding you from the flying shards of glass before the beaker even burst, though the aerosol impact was inevitable. the reaction was quick to hit your lungs, dragging out hoarse coughs, rough and heavy in your chest as you fought to regain a sense of your surroundings.
the headache was almost immediate as peter leaned down to say something, and you winced as you looked up at him.
"what?"
"are you okay? did you get cut at all?" his voice began to fade back in. peter frantically examined for any tears in your sweatshirt, checking your hands for any possible nicks.
"i'm okay, rea—woah," peter placed a hand on your jaw to inspect your face, and the touch activated something deep inside of you.
suddenly, you felt the hottest you'd ever been, and the headrush made you weak in the knees. your vision began to cloud, senses on overdrive as you felt an aching pain rising in your chest. meeting peter's gaze with panicked eyes, you began to really take in the state of the situation.
"peter, what did you just mix?"
"i-i don't know, i must've grabbed the wrong thing..." he trailed off as he turned to search through the drawers, but the movement stopped him dead in his tracks.
peter was instantly met with a rush of vertigo, the room spinning violently around him as he braced himself on the countertop. he felt like he did when he was first bitten: hypersensitive and overwhelmed. fuck, what did he mix?
amidst the rest of the world in his ears, peter picked up on the sound of your heartbeat and immediately knew something was wrong. really wrong. he took a moment to analyze you, everything moving in slow motion as he fought to figure out what the hell he mixed together, and where these symptoms were headed.
your current state didn't give him much comfort; peter quickly noticed how you were starting to sweat, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, despite not having left your chair. your full-body flush made him wonder if he looked just as disheveled.
"are you feeling okay?" peter asked, heavy with concern and guilt.
you shook your head at him, words fighting to escape your trembling lips. "i-i don't know. i feel... warm. i don't know."
and then peter felt it. his cock twitched, and he realized for the first time how painfully hard he was. he looked down in horror, hoping you hadn't yet noticed in your own haze. peter quickly sat down again to cover the evidence, praying to any god who was listening that this wasn't happening right now.
while successful in his concealment, the slight friction in the movement of his pants was enough to elicit a groan from his throat; he hoped you didn't hear.
but you did. because each little noise he made, conscious or not, egged on every dirty fucking thought you were having right now. and about peter. in front of peter.
"maybe we should get some... some fresh air, or something," peter says weakly.
as you nodded in response and moved to get up, it became horribly apparent to peter that he had to stand up with you, and not only would you also know just how hard he was, but the friction alone might be enough to kill him.
and then he had a thought:
are you feeling this way too?
no, don't think like that. that's your best friend, and whatever's happening, clearly neither of you were in your right mind.
but peter had always felt this way about you. this time, it was just so physically painful for some reason. what the fuck was in that beaker?
he didn't have any more time for his mind to race, as you stood from your stool and he watched your knees immediately buckle underneath you. peter rushed to stabilize you, grabbing your shoulders and keeping you steady. it was pointless, though. somehow, the feeling of peter's hand against you knocked your breath out, far worse than falling ever would've.
you had no idea what was going on, but it was getting harder and harder to think about anything other than peter (as if that wasn't the norm anyway, bffr). but this was heightened. this was all of your wildest desires pulled to the forefront of your mind in the middle of your ochem 403 lab at 11pm on a tuesday night.
what the fuck was going on with you?
you tried to shake off the way peter's touch relieved some of the haze clouding your brain, and tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he was also feeling this way. your thighs clenched at the thought — that peter was also thinking of every possible way to take you on this counter right now.
but this was your best friend, and you needed to get your shit together long enough to handle whatever this feeling was on your own.
"woah, are y'okay?" peter slurred, your body heat under his palms radiating down to the rest of his body and nearly sending him down as well.
"i... i don't know, i think..." you stuttered out, not trusting anything coming from your mouth right now. "i-i think i have to go, i'm, i'm not feeling well."
you turned to make a run for it, hoping to get out of peter's sight before you either passed out or pounced on him. he stopped you, though, grabbing your hand with a pleading "wait!" falling from his lips.
before you could stop it, a whimper escaped from your lips at his touch, and you went bright red in seconds, hand flying up to cover the unexpected noise.
peter didn't help as he stared at you with his mouth agape, pupils blown to shit. he looked fucked out beyond belief and you'd barely even touched.
you cleared your throat, hoping to get out as coherent and PG a sentence as you could. "peter, i-i feel really weird. a-and, i think i'm freaking the fuck out."
knowing you were hurting as much as he was broke his heart, and peter struggled to put all his energy into focusing on you. "i-i know. it's okay, bug. just… take some deep breaths, a-and let's try to make it outside, yeah?"
he tried to pull you, but your legs forgot how to work, and you were frozen where you were, breath quick as every part of your body felt downright painful.
peter's breathing picked up as he heard your own hyperventilating, panicking himself as he watched you crumble in front of him. he needed to find out what was in that vile, and fast.
but all he could fucking think about was being on his knees in between your thighs.
fuck.
"p-peter, please. please, i-i, i need your help. you have to make this stop." you begged. fuck, he was so fucking fucked.
"fuck— it'll be okay, i-i promise. i'll do whatever i need to to get you better. i-i just..." he clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a way to make an antidote of some kind without dying or ruining your friendship along the way.
"peter... i—"
"what?" he cut you off, concern heavy in his tone.
despite his ever-growing problem, peter reached out to cup your cheek, and though not an unnatural thing to do, it was one definitely influenced by a gravity drawing him towards the feeling of your skin on his.
you stared at his lust-blown eyes, wondering if yours looked the same. wondering if he felt the same.
peter spoke your name softly, his thumb grazing your cheek softly and lingering far too closely to your lips to not mean anything.
fuck it.
you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, nearly headbutting him in the process as you locked onto his lips, surprised when you felt him immediately reciprocate and tangle his hands in your hair. everything about the kiss was desperate, and the feeling of peter all over you was fucking radiant.
peter was nothing but a moaning mess against you, sloppy and wet against your lips as he pleaded your name as though each time he said it, it took away the pain in his chest. truthfully, it did.
peter pulled away to take a breath, and the lack of contact brought the sharp pain immediately back, earning a whine to fall from his lips. he shook it off, grabbing the sides of your face and doing his best to refocus.
"f-fuck, should we talk about this?" peter asked relectantly.
"i-i don't know. i don't know what's happening right now, pete. all i know is that i need you to touch me. anything, please. i'm sorry. just, please make it go away."
yeah, you could talk about it later.
"nonono, hey. i’m so sorry, baby, this is all my fault. i'll do whatever you need, i mean it. i'll make it better, i promise."
peter pulled you back into a hungry kiss, rough hands roaming your body in a way he'd never touched you before. the feeling of your curves under his palms was something he'd only dreamed of, and peter was insufferably hard as he pulled you into him further.
there was a nag in the back of his mind, something telling him to stop before you did something you'd regret. because there was no possible way he had you, his best friend, tangled in his arms and lips heavy on his own. and yeah, peter had been smitten with you since the day you’d met, but he was never going to do anything about it. you didn't feel that way about him, of course. right?
cause right now, you kinda did.
no! fuck! just the chemicals! this was a one-time thing, friends helping friends.
yeah, friends helping friends.
but the pretty little moans that came out of your mouth as peter trailed his way down your neck? those sounded awfully more than just friendly. and the way you whined as he moved his hands up your waist, palming your tits through your shirt as he growled for permission in your ear? peter was never going to be able to look you in the eyes after tonight.
but right now, he was entranced by the way you bunched his shirt fabric in your hands and begged for it off, pulling the material over his head and immediately attacking his firm chest with a series of hickeys that left far too quickly. you shifted your hands down towards his waistband, tugging him by his belt loops as you left a hot, wet trail of kisses down his abs. peter couldn't help but cant his hips forward into you, absolutely fucking losing his mind.
his own hands made their way around your frame, trailing down to your ass and grabbing hard. you gasped at the feeling, then lost your breath fully as peter nipped at your ear and told you to jump. he caught your thighs, shifting to set you on the lab counter and wedging his body between your legs.
everything was hot and heavy, and the effects were evolving and worsening. it was growing stronger with each touch, and though feeling each other was helping ease the pain, the need for more was growing too strong to ignore.
you pulled away from him, tears threatening to spill from your doe eyes as you stared up at peter, who didn't look much better.
"what? what is it, what do you need, baby?"
"i-i... i need you to touch me, pete."
peter went pale at your confession. it was asked so quietly, but it held so much weight. weight he'd think about after he got to find out what you tasted like.
with a deep rumble in his chest and another sloppy kiss to your neck, peter began to fumble his way around your waistband, asking you a thousand extra times if this was okay.
yeah, i fucking think so.
peter's index fingers hooked the hips of your pants; feeling his hands on your bare skin for the first time covered you in goosebumps. it was numbing the pain in your chest and igniting something in it all the same. you were so caught up in the moment, gobsmacked over peter parker, your best friend of six years, tugging your pants down, that you almost didn't notice that he'd pulled them back up.
your cheeks instantly bloomed in mortification. "fuck, i-im sorry, i-i don't know what's come over me—"
"no! stop apologizing, please. i just..." peter took a dramatic pause, and the only thing that could be heard was the two of you heavily panting, taking in the scene unfolding before you as the pain hammered in each of your chests.
"i need to tell you something before anything else happens."
you gave him a worried look, and peter returned it with a heavy sigh.
"look, i don't know what the fuck is happening right now, and why i feel like im fucking going to die if you don't touch me right now, and this is all my fault and i'm so fucking sorry—"
"peter. what's wrong?"
well, we're already in this deep.
"i don't know what fuck-ass aphrodiasic i just created, but i need you to know that the real me means this too. i can't let anything happen without you knowing that i love you, and this still means something to me. even if i'm not myself right now. a-and, i'll do whatever you need me to do, and we can never talk about this again, but you don't deserve me keeping that from you."
you sat on the counter, stunned, as peter anxiously bit his lip, worried he'd just fucked up one of the best relationships that had ever happened to him. and he was still so fucking hard.
the only response you gave him was hopping off the counter and taking your bottoms off for him.
peter was immediately on you again.
he had a hand rough in your hair as he kissed you, his other firm on your bare ass as he kneaded the soft flesh with a hunger. through his moans and downright whines, he almost missed it:
"i love you too, peter. so fucking much."
something inside of him snapped, and this time, he didn't even ask you to jump, wrapping his hands around your waist and lifting you to the counter like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him close, the make-out nothing short of a frenzy.
the entire time, peter was growling into the kiss, moaning things into your mouth you only ever dreamed you'd hear:
"this, fuck, this isn't how this was supposed to happen, baby."
"you deserve better than this, fuck. deserve better than an empty fucking chem lab, christ's sake."
he was quick to get his hands back all over you, traces of mischief left behind as he massaged your thighs and he pulled back to stare at your lace thong with a look you'd never seen from him before. peter had been so caught up in it all, he'd almost forgotten the effects of the reaction. his actions were genuine and intentional. but as he pulled back to get a proper look at you, the pain in his chest settled back in, and his senses reheightened to a million.
"fuck, i need to touch you. please, can i touch you?" peter whined.
you were breathless in response, "please peter, do whatever the fuck you want to me. just please, do something. anything."
he groaned and ran his hands up your thighs till he reached the delicate lace, teasingly tracing the hemline. "don't fucking say that. i-i don't think i can control myself right now."
"pete, i don't want you to control yourself," a shudder ran down his spine.
"please. fuck me."
peter didn't have the energy left in him to delay this any longer.
he ripped the underwear clean from your body, pulling you to the edge of the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you. he wasted no time running his tongue through your glossy folds, latching his lips over your clit.
peter was so hungry, and the mixture of the fading pain in your chest and the pleasure blooming inside of you was an insane feeling. he added a finger? oh my god. you were fucking incoherent. he added another? you were pretty sure this rivaled the time you’d tried molly.
you pulled at his hair, begging him (to stop or to go harder, you didn't know). it was all so overwhelming, and every time you looked down to see the source of your pleasure and remembered it was your peter parker? you were close to the edge the quickest you'd ever been.
"pete, i-i..."
"what is it, baby?" he breathed, quickly returning to your dripping cunt.
baby. jesus fucking christ. that almost did you in right then and there.
"i wanna touch you too."
peter groaned with his tongue deep inside you in response, and the vibration was enough to send you over the edge. you felt your body fly over the moon as you came, peter not letting down for a second as he fucked you best he could so you were able to ride out the high, lapping up every drop you gave him.
he stood up, breathless, glistening, and a little cocky if you knew peter the way you thought you did. "how are you feeling? did that help, d-does it still hurt?"
you were panting as you came down from your high, taking a second to be aware of your body and headspace again. you couldn't help but feel emotional as you noticed the effects starting to creep back in. you shed a tear in frustration and nodded as you felt the headache thundering in the distance.
peter pulled you into a hug, and it was almost enough to sober you up again, because something about this one felt different. more weighted.
"im sorry, baby, fuck. i-i'm sorry, what can i do? how can i help?" fuck, this was all his fault.
you sniffled in his ear, but the movement of your hips against his contradicted your melancholy demeanor. "it's better when you're touching me. please, just don't stop."
between your words and you snaking your hand down to palm him softly, peter parker was a wreck and helplessly wrapped around your finger.
he was quick to envelop you in a kiss and drink you in, and you moved to claw his shirt off of him in turn. you pulled back to look at him, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen peter shirtless over the years, but you'd never seen him this close, in this context. it made your chest hurt in a different way.
"fuck, you're so hot," you groaned, almost as though an inside thought had slipped out.
he snickered. "me? are you kidding me right now?"
peter roughly kissed you before tugging your shirt off, absolutely elated at the discovery you'd forgone a bra under your sweater. he stared at you like a deer in headlights, starstruck as he saw you for the first time.
"jesus christ, you're a fucking dream."
his hands were on your tits before you could even register it, but the feeling only made you crave him more. you messed with his pants, and he took over amidst your frustration. boxers and all, he sprang free in front of you, and Holy Shit Peter Parker. that's fucking obscene.
"this is your last chance to change your mind. because once i start, i don’t think i'll be able to stop," he warned.
"please fuck me, peter."
he attacked your chest with his lips, hands firm on your hips as he shifted you again to the edge of the counter. you wrapped your soft fingers around his leaking cock, and he was almost done for before you'd even started.
peter moaned loudly and moved to put his large hand over yours to line himself up. you were still soaked from peter's previous meal, making it easy for him to slide his head through your slit. you were a begging mess in his ear, nails scraping down his back in anticipation.
peter nudged your entrance and pushed in easily (whether from the pollen or his ample prep, no one could know). the two of you moaned in filthy harmony, the feeling a definition beyond indescribable. his legs were shaking immediately, and despite his inhuman strength, it became apparent that he couldn't do this standing for much longer if you felt this good.
"fuck, sweetheart," peter grabbed you roughly and pulled you towards him, pushing to the hilt and pressing hip to hip with you. he cooed in your ear as you’d gasped and he picked you up, spun you around, and laid you on the cool tile.
"this isn't what you deserve, fucking you on the ground like this. fuck, baby."
and then peter was relentless.
he pounded into you with such a force, his mouth still focused on your tits and how they bounced for him. both of you could breathe again despite the brutal pace set, the pain lifting and now replaced with a newly discovered pleasure that made you emotional again. you looked completely fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as peter lifted your thighs higher to get as deep in you as possible.
"fuck, please don't cry," he begged, though he kept drilling into you, knees now meeting your own chest. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
you pulled him down, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs, and your foreheads connected as you breathed him in, exhaling a rough "i love you so much, peter".
he stuttered for a moment, eyes as wide as they were the first time he heard you say it. not for long, though, as he stayed pressed against you and picked up the pace like never before.
"oh my god, i fucking love you."
peter had you seeing stars, and you didn't know how long you'd even been in the lab. five minutes could have passed, maybe five hours. all you knew was that you didn't care, and that you were close. peter knew it too.
"babe-baby, you're close. i-i can feel it, you're so fucking tight around my cock." you couldn't help but clench around him in response.
"fuck, yeah-y-yes. god, squeezing me so good. i knew you were made for me."
it was the sentimentality of everything that sent you over this time. hearing the way he talked about you, you came hard around his cock, and it felt so fucking magical. but peter didn't slow down, determined to ride out your orgasm again. he was quickly losing his composure, though, at the feeling of you fluttering against his cock.
"sweetheart, w-where—"
"inside, please."
peter didn't even have time to question the outcomes to his actions because the second he heard you, his best fucking friend, moaning for him to cum inside of her? oh fucking hell.
he let out such a guttural moan as he came, hot and thick and deep inside of you. you felt so warm and full, so much so that it triggered a third orgasm, sobbing peter's name as he just kept going. mixed arousal spilled down your thighs as he continued to fuck you, and through your fucked out haze, you could feel his cum drip down and pool around your ass.
you were barely conscious at this point, but peter kept going as he muttered "i'm sorry" over and over and over again.
luckily, he'd released the goddamn mating press he had you in and released your legs, allowing you to stretch out. peter was able to cover more of your body with his now, lying chest to chest with you as his hips rutted into yours. the new position was so much more intimate as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss again.
"please. please, just one more. one more and i'll stop."
peter said that three more times that evening before he was done and you felt like yourselves again.
he looked down at you in awe, though concern slipped through his fucked out eyes. "y’okay, bug?"
you let out an exasperated laugh as you fought to regain control of your senses. “i can't believe you really just gassed us with an aphrodisiac."
peter chuckled, a blush creeping on his cheeks at the memory of his fatal mistake. "yeah, that was, uh... that was my bad."
Hello babi, haven't seen you in a while. I hope you're doing good.💗
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I have my med finals in august bubbaa, so I've been offline a little, thank you so much for caring and putting out a statement for me, means a lot more than you know :((((( <333 I hope that you abd golu kitty have been doing great as well, well wishes!!!!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is not intended to glorify the real pos people or the events linked with them, it is inspired by Aditya Dhar's depiction of the characters mentioned.
P.S. I have taken the creative liberty to change the course of events to fit the story better.
Warnings: Mentions of death, getting shot and violence. Contains ⚠️ANGST⚠️ (Your media consumption is not my responsibility.), bad writing, zero flow.
The first time Rehman fell in love with her, he didn't know it was love. Honestly how could he have known, if the only feeling he was deprived of was blooming in his chest?
He was barely ten years old, angry at the world, angry at everyone in it, and especially angry at the boy who had pushed him into a muddy ditch that morning.
His fists were bruised from fighting, his kurta was torn, his lip was bleeding as he sat alone behind the crumbling wall of his abbu's factory, stubbornly refusing to cry.
Then she appeared; the girl who lived with Rafiq chacha right beside the factory, Y/N, like she always did.
Holding half of a guava in her hand to him,
"You look ugly."
Rehman glared at her yet took the offered guava, "I always look ugly to you."
"No."
She sat beside him,"But today you look extra ugly."
He should have been offended at that but instead, he found himself laughing with her when she started giggling.
She looked really nice...nice like when his ammi smiles at him.(Yet another time where Freud's soul gains an xp)
---
By fifteen, they were inseparable.
Where one went, the other followed, when she walked to the market, Rehman appeared right beside her, carrying the bags.
When Rehman got scolded by his ammi, she appeared vouching for him.
When she cried, he threatened anyone responsible.
When he got into fights, she cleaned his wounds.
Then cane Uzair, he moved in with Rehman's family when they were 16, and the three of them became inseparable.
A strange little gang.
Rehman.
Y/N.
Uzair.
If one was missing, the other two were usually nearby.
Uzair was much younger, louder, and infinitely more annoying, he made ridiculous faces, told terrible jokes, and fell dramatically to the ground whenever he wanted attention from them.
Most of the time, Y/N laughed anyway and Rehman never told him to stop.
Because he liked the young boy, he has grown on him but mostly he liked hearing her laugh.
More than he liked silence.
More than he liked winning fights.
More than he liked the admiration people were beginning to show him.
There was something about her laughter,
Bright, warm and unrestrained like sunlight.
Rehman remembered thinking that if he could spend the rest of his life listening to that sound, he would die a happy man.
He didn't know back then, but the same laugh would haunt him for years to come.
---
Years later, Rehman inherited responsibilities he never wanted.
Power arrived, and with that arrived fear and respect. Then the reputation.
The reputation that entered a room before he did, the reputation that made grown men lower their eyes, the reputation that transformed him into one of the most feared young men in Lyari.
Yet somehow, nothing changed between them.
Y/N still argued with him, still rolled her eyes, still stole food from his plate, still told him when he was being stubborn, sttill treated him like the boy who got stuck in trees and started unnecessary fights.
And maybe that was why he loved her so much.
Because everyone else saw Rehman Dakait, but she only saw Rehman.
And Rehman wouldn't have it any other way, because before the money, before the guns, before the reputation that preceeded him, there had only been her.
The girl who sat beside a broken boy in the factory one day, shared her guava with him and made him laugh.
She was 19 now, and despite being close to the Baloch brothers; and with her own uncle working in his factory, she was far from the world of violence and power. She made her way to one of the best nursing schools in Lyari with zero help and on sheer willpower. Rehman has tried to help her out multiple times, tried to set her interview up with the multiple private colleges around Lyari, but she has always refused. Not because she didn't like it when Rehman supported her dreams, but because she simply didn't need it. She was on a full ride to the best government nursing school in Lyari. And Rehman couldn't have been more proud of his girl.
---
Time passed by faster than anyone would have liked,
It was the first time Rehman heard Rafiq Chacha talking about finding a husband for Y/N, and he nearly dropped the crate he was carrying.
"...she's 22 now." Rafiq sighed heavily.
The older factory worker beside him nodded.
"That's a good age for marriage."
"Exactly."
Rafiq rubbed his forehead.
"She's in her third year already. After graduation I'll have to start looking seriously."
The other man smiled, "There aren't many good boys around."
"I know..."
"And she's a beautiful girl."
"That's what worries me."
The smile had vanished from Rehman's face entirely, because suddenly, for the first time in years, a terrifying possibility entered his mind.
Someone else. Some stranger.
Some man sitting where he sat. Holding her hand. Listening to her laugh. Building a life with her.
The mere thought made him sick inside.
By the time the conversation ended, Rehman was already walking toward Rafiq chacha.
The older man looked up.
"Arrey, sahib."
"Don't look for anohter man."
The factory seemed to quiet around them.
Rafiq sighed, as if understanding his pov.
"Rehman miyan-"
"No."
For once there was no softness in his voice.
"I'm right here."
The older man's expression became complicated.
"Beta..."
"I'm serious."
"I know you are."
"Then what's the problem?"
Rafiq looked away and Rehman seemed to understood Rafiq chacha's dilemma.
"You think I'm not good enough for her?"
"No no." The answer came immediately.
"Then why?"
Rafiq was silent for several moments, when he finally spoke, his voice sounded tired.
"Because your world is vastly differentfrom ours sahib."
Rehman froze.
"You were children once,I could ignore it then."
The older man smiled sadly.
"I watched you two grow up together...you've been following that girl around since you were ten, but things are different now." Rafiq gestured around them.
"You aren't the same boy anymore."
The words hung heavily between them.
Everyone in Lyari knew who Rehman Dakait was. Everyone.
The feared young leader. The heir of this ileegal empire. The man people lowered their eyes around. The man enemies whispered about. The man whose reputation preceeded him whereever he went.
And Y/N...
Y/N still spent nights studying for exams, still argued with vegetable vendors over prices,still forgot where she put her notebooks, still laughed at terrible jokes, still believed the world was fundamentally good. She did not fit in his world. Heck they were worlds apart. She was just a small speck in his empire, some factory worker's niece who worked for him. Their worlds could never meet...or could it?
Rehman sighed and looked down at his hands and spoke quietly.
"She's all I have...after Uzair."
He continued, "My father passed away...and so did ammi."
Rafiq looked away but Rehman continued.
Because he had never said these things aloud before,
"I can lose the factory."
He paused.
"I can lose money, I can even lose power."
His jaw tightened, "But I can't lose her."
He added softly, eyes glossy, "I won't survive it."
The words came out rough and honest.
Terrifyingly honest.
"I won't."
Rafiq stared at him and suddenly he wasn't looking at the most powerful man in Lyari or the man he worked for.
He was looking at the same boy who used to climb over walls to see his niece, the same boy who carried her schoolbag, the same boy who picked fight with anyone who troubled her, the same boy who had loved her for half his life.
Slowly, the older man sighed and nodded.
"You'll have my blessings if she says yes."
Rehman's heart stopped.
"What?"
"You'll have my blessings., if and only if she says yes"
And the grin that broke out on Rehman's face could only be compared to a field of sunflowers smiling at the Sun.
---
The whole day after that felt lighter to him, the workers noticed he was smiling, the two boys from the neighbourhood who recently started working for him...Donga and Siyahi also noticed, and unfortunately Uzair noticed the grin on his face too.
Which was bad, because Uzair immediately started asking questions.
Questions Rehman refused to answer yet.
Questions that only made Uzair more suspicious.
By the end of the day, Rehman practically threw him out of the factory.
"Go home."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is today."
Uzair narrowed his eyes and noticed the twitching and twisting of his brother's hands which was a tale a tale sign of nervousness.
Uzair slowly grinned, the kind that meant he understood far more than he should, "Oh."
Rehman immediately regretted even talking to Uzair.
Uzair's grin widened.
"Leave."
"I'm leaving."
"Now."
"I'm already gone."
He wasn't. He was still standing there. Grinning like an idiot.
Rehman threatened to throw him into the harbor.
Only then did Uzair finally disappear, still laughing.
---
By the time Y/N climbed the stairs to the rooftop that evening, the sun had already begun sinking toward the horizon.
The rooftop had become their place years ago. Their ritual and tradition.
No matter how busy life became, they somehow ended up there everyday.
Talking, laughing, complaining, dreaming.
Y/N usually talked about nursing school, about exams,about impossible assignments, about classmates.
Rehman usually talked about everything except the violent parts of his day.
And somehow it worked.
Today, however, something felt different, not because Rehman was already there but because Uzair wasn't. Which wasn't usual, Uzair would always wait for his favourite 'baaji' to show up so he can complain about Rehman to her.
So when she didn't see him, she frowned immediately, "Where's Uzair?"
Rehman didn't miss a beat.
"Work."
She narrowed her eyes.
"At this hour?"
"He left with one of the boys."
"One of the boys?...."
"Hm."
Y/N looked unconvinced.
Rehman looked innocent.
The performance would have been more believable if she hadn't known him for half her life.
Still, she sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
The evening breeze carried the scent of dust, gunpowder from the factory, and distant cooking fires from the stalls beginning to open up in the lyari bazaar.
For a few minutes, neither spoke.
There was a comfortable silence between them.
Then Rehman asked quietly, "What do you want?"
She blinked."What?"
"In the future."
That surprised her, he wasn't usually the philosophical one.
"What kind of question is that?"
"Just tell me!"
She laughed softly, then leaned back against the low wall thinking.
"Well..."
Her eyes drifted toward the skyline.
"I want to graduate first."
"Reasonable."
"I want to work."
Another nod.
"I don't want to stop nursing ever...nkt even if i get married."
The statement came quickly. Firmly.
Like she'd rehearsed it before.
Rehman looked genuinely offended.
"When have I ever asked you to stop?"
She smiled.
"You haven't."
"Then why are you saying it like you're negotiating a treaty?"
"Just making sure."
"You can work until you're eighty."
"Good."
She looked pleased, then continued.
"I want a house."
"A house?"
"A proper one."
"What makes a house improper?"
She ignored him and continued,"I want a big kitchen."
"You don't even cook."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because I like big kitchens."
Rehman huffed a laugh.
Y/N continued anyway, "I want lots of sunlight in the open corridors"
"Hm."
"Arched old haveli styled interior."
"Hm."
"A garden."
"Hm."
"Children."
That made him pause.
She missed it entirely, still talking.
"I don't know how many."
"Hm."
"Maybe three."
"Hm."
"Maybe four."
His eyebrow rose,"Four?!"
She shrugged,"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're judging me."
"I absolutely am...but honestly you will have to give birth to them..so you can want 70, I'll be here for it all."
She laughed then kept talking.
About nursing, about helping people, about raising children, about decorating rooms in her future home, about building a life, about growing old.
And Rehman listened to every word.
Then suddenly, he interrupted her ramblings-"Will you marry me?"
The words cut straight through her sentence.
Y/N stopped mid sentence,"...what?"
For the first time all evening, Rehman looked nervous.
The sunset painted gold across his face.
His jaw tightened slightly, hands twisting.
As though he was forcing himself to say the things he'd spent years keeping inside.
"You've always been there."
His voice was quiet and steady.
"When my father died."
A pause.
"When everything changed."
Another pause.
"When people started treating me differently."
His eyes never left hers.
"You were there."
Y/N felt tears gathering already.
He continued.
"You've always been there."
The words sounded simple.
But she knew what they meant.
She knew his childhood. His grief. His loneliness.
She knew the parts of him nobody else did.
And she knew how difficult this was for him.
"I don't remember a life without you."
His voice cracked slightly.
Just slightly.
"I don't want one either."
The tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
"I can't imagine a future where you're not there."
Another pause, longer this time.
Then softly,
"So will you marry me?"
For several seconds she couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
All she could do was stare at him.
The boy behind the factory wall, the teenager who carried her bags.
The young man who sat through endless stories about nursing school because he liked hearing her talk.
The man she had loved for years.
And finally, "Yes."
The answer came out as a whisper.
A laugh escaped her through the tears, "Of course yes."
The relief that crossed his face nearly made her cry harder.
Slowly, carefully, he reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a small velvet box.
Inside sat a simple gold ring.
Elegant and delicate.
A pink sapphire nestled at its center.
Nothing flashy or extravagant.
Bur it was Perfect because this was exactly the sort of thing she would choose herself.
The inside of the band held a tiny engraving of their initials, a detail so personal she immediately started crying again.
"Stop crying."
"I'm happy."
"You're making me nervous."
She laughed wetly and held out her hand.
The ring slid perfectly into place.
As though it had always belonged there.
As though she had always belonged with him.
For a moment neither moved.
Neither spoke and the world seemed strangely quiet.
Then Y/N threw her arms around him and Rehman held her tightly.
Like he always did, like he always would.
When she finally pulled back, their faces were far closer than either intended.
Close enough to feel each other's breath, close enough to see tears caught in her eyelashes, close enough that suddenly neither knew what to do.
Nobody knows who leaned in first, but their lips had met midway and they kissed.
It was soft, awkward, and shy.
A little salty because she was still crying.
A little clumsy because neither was thinking clearly.
Perfect because it was theirs.
The sunset disappeared behind the skyline.
The city continued moving beneath them.
And on an old factory rooftop that had witnessed almost every important moment of their lives, they promised each other forever.
---
Two years passed faster than either of them expected,
Y/N graduated from nursing school with honors and Rehman still remembered the day she received the news.
The way she had burst into his office at the factory without knocking and had waved the acceptance letter in his face.
And the way she had laughed when he picked her up and spun her around despite her loud protests.
A week later she started working at Lyari General Hospital.
And somehow she loved it.
The shifts were brutal, the patients were difficult, the pay wasn't nearly enough for the hours of work she put in.
Yet every evening she climbed onto the factory rooftop with him and talked about her day with an excitement that never faded.
About old patients who reminded her of Rafiq Chacha, about children who refused to take their medicine, about exhausted interns, about tiny victories that seemed insignificant to everyone except her.
Rehman listened to every story, every complaint, every ramble.
Because hearing her talk about the future always made him feel like maybe he deserved one too.
---
The wedding was three days away.
The entire city knew about it, people had been talking about little else for weeks, the invitations had already been sent, the caterers booked, the decorations ordered.
Even Uzair had somehow managed to stop being annoying long enough to help with the actual preparations.
Everything was ready. We'll, almost everything.
There was only one thing left.
The surprise. His surprise.
The secret he had spent two years protecting.
The house. Their house.
Not the modest home beside the factory where he lived now, not the place where they had spent their childhood.
No.
This one was different.
The moment Y/N had started describing her dream house on that rooftop years ago, Rehman had begun making plans.
At first it had seemed impossible and difficult.
But it was inevitable.
So he bought the land, then the neighboring land, then the architects were hired, builders were hired.
And slowly, piece by piece, her dream became real, blue kitchen tiles, exactly the shade she wanted.
Massive windows, arched hallways, sunlit rooms, stained glass doors, hand carved furniture, a arden overflowing with flowers.
Even the chandeliers, the ridiculous chandeliers in every room.
Every detail. Every single detail.
Because whenever she described her dream home, Rehman listened.
And made a mental note.
The plan was simple.
Three days from now after their nikaah and walima he'd drive her there himself and watch her realize what he'd done.
Watch her walk through the rooms she'd designed without knowing it.
The joy on her face would be worth all the secrecy and time away from her.
---
The call came at four in the afternoon, Y/N had gone shopping all by herself.
Last minute wedding errands, nothing unusual in her books.
She'd spotted a set of silver bangles and decided she wanted them for the walima.
Rehman remembered laughing at how seriously she treated jewelry.
Then he'd promised to meet her once he finished handling a problem at the factory.
A simple promise.
One he'd broken.
Because the meeting took longer, because another issue appeared, because life got in the way, because he thought there would be time.
There was always time.
Until there wasn't.
30 minutes later, the phone rang.
One of his men.
The voice sounded wrong, terrified, panicked and broken.
Rehman felt dread crawl up his spine.
Then came the words.
And suddenly he couldn't breathe.
The hospital entrance was chaos.
Police, crowds, paramedics.
Shouting and the defeaning sound of blaring sirens.
The he saw Blood. So much blood.
Doctors were running everywhere.
Someone tried to stop him, but he shoved them aside.
Someone called his name, he ignored them.
Then he saw the stretcher and his world stopped.
"No."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
"No."
She looked so small.
Far too small.
Her clothes were soaked crimson, her skin pale, her breathing uneven.
Yet somehow, the moment she saw him through her blurry vision, she smiled.
Relieved.
Like she'd been waiting, like she'd known he would come.
And that nearly destroyed him, because all he could think was:
I wasn't here. God. I wasn't here.
His hands found hers immediately.
Cold, shaking and weak.
Nothing about this felt real.
"You're okay."
The lie fell from his mouth automatically.
"You're okay."
Y/N looked at him, really looked at him.
And for one terrible moment he saw it.
She knew she wasn't going to survive.
The realization hit him like a knife.
"No."
His grip tightened.
"No...please...i am sorry meri jaan..."
The monitor beeped steadily beside them.
Y/N smiled weakly, as if telling him it'snot his fault. And all he could think about was fear, how frightened she must have been, how alone, how desperately she must have searched for him, how she must have wished he was there.
And he wasn't.
Rafiq Chacha had been right.
The thought hit him so hard he almost doubled over.
He had promised.
Since childhood.
Since scraped knees and shared guavas.
He had promised.
And he had failed.
And before he realised what happened, her breath gave out, and she passed away in his arms.
One moment she was there.
The next nothing.
The monitor flattened, voices started shouting, doctors moved, people rushed forward.
Rehman heard none of it.
For a full minute there was only white noise. Nothing else. The world became silent, distant and unreal.
His entire world had just stopped breathing.
When reality finally returned, it came as rage. Pure. Terrifying. Absolute.
He pulled her against his chest.
Pressed his forehead against hers.
Her blood stained his blue kurta, covered his hands, his arms, his face.
He didn't care.
A trembling kiss landed against her forehead, then another, and another.
And quietly, so quietly nobody else heard it, he made her a promise.
"I'll find them."
Another kiss.
"I swear."
Another.
"I'll find every single one."
The massacre lasted two days.
By the time it ended, the Pappu gang no longer existed.
Every man responsible was dead, every hideout burned, every ally scattered, every trace erased.
Even Uzair, usually the calmer of the two brothers, participated with a fury that frightened everyone around him.
Because he hadn't just lost a future sister in law, He had lost family. He had lost the woman who patched his wounds, the woman who scolded him, the woman who had listen to all his complains about Rehman, the woman who had loved him like a second mother.
And when it was over, when every drop of revenge had been extracted, nothing changed.
Y/N was still gone.
Only then did Rehman bury her.
Only then did he allow himself to stand beside her grave.
Only then did he watch the earth cover the woman he'd planned to spend his entire life with.
The woman who should have become his wife today.
The woman who should have been standing beside him, decked in her bridal dress, the woman who should have been complaining about flower arrangements and wedding guests, the woman who should have been alive.
That night, long after everyone else had gone home, Rehman drove alone.
Not to the factory, not to his house.
But to her house.
To their house.
The one she'd never seen, the gates opened silently, the chandeliers glowed warmly through the windows.
Welcoming. Inviting. Alive.
For one foolish second he imagined her inside, looking around the place and smiling, ready to show him where he'd gotten the curtains wrong.
But then reality returned, and the illusion shattered.
The house was perfect, exactly as she'd imagined.
Pastel silk curtains drifted gently in the evening breeze, stained glass doors scattered colored light across the floors, sindhi carpets covered the hallways.
The kitchen gleamed beneath the fairy lights used to decorate the whole house, the deck stood awaiting with empty chairs and diwaans
Every room, every wall, every corner.
Her.
The entire house felt like her.
Like she'd somehow poured herself into the foundations. Into the windows. Into the air itself.
And for the first time since her death, Rehman felt something other than rage.
Not happiness, not peace either.
Something quieter, something sadder.
Like sitting beside an old memory.
He entered the bedroom.
Their bedroom.
And sat on the edge of the bed.
The bed she'd chosen, the room she'd designed, the future she'd planned. Everything she had envisioned had come to life in this haveli.
Silence surrounded him, yet somehow it didn't feel empty.
Because she was everywhere, in the curtains, in the walls, in the moonlight that poured itself from the windows.
In the house itself.
It felt as though she had belonged here long before she had the chance to live here.
And sitting there alone, surrounded by a life that should have been theirs, Rehman finally broke.
Quiet tears flowed down his eyes, the kind that came when there was nobody left to impress, nobody left to protect, nobody left at all.
And as he stared at the room she would never sleep in, Rehman understood something terrible.
Trigger warning: mention of death, kissing and suggestiveness
This is written for a FICTIONAL character in the movie dhurandhar. SO CHILL
A/n: its a happy ending guys 😃 part 2 of this once again not proof read not edited so spell mistakes ko maaf karo 🙇🏻♀️
Shy!Reader who calls Naieem the next morning expecting to hear a lecture from him her excuse was ready on her tongue but the phone was recieved by Faizal his voice small as if he had been crying told her everything about the tragedy that occured last night. You immediately rushed to the hospital after ending the call.
Shy!Reader who sat beside Naieem's hospital bed for hours refusing to leave his side you were accompanied by Ulfat and occasionally Faizal, Rehman and Uzair. Ulfat would sometimes tell you how much Naieem spoke about you how it was always 'y/n this and y/n that'. Which was enough to make you cry.
Shy!Reader who has thousand thoughts running in her head, blaming herself for avoiding him due to a stupid insecurity, she was his bestfriend a stupid crush on him was no excuse to avoid someone who had been with her more than half of her life.
Shy!Reader who feels guilty, deep down she thinks if he dies she wont be able to forgive herself because he was probably not happy with her avoidance and died being upset with her. You pray to any god who will heed your prayers to let him live so you can apologise.
Childhoodbestfriend!Naieem who finally gains consciousness after long 7 hours that felt like a eternity to Shy!Reader. Ulfat immediately hugs her son with tears in her eyes and Rehman pats his backs, his family coddles and fusses over him, after 2 hours they all leave to get their well deserved rest leaving you both alone.
Its awkard at first both of them waiting for the other to speak first, Naieem opens his arms weakly and you immediately collapse into him being careful about his injuries, he holds you in a soul crushing hug as you weep silently in his shoulder.
"Mujhe laga tum- tum " your sobs got louder as you couldn't even finish this words let alone think of a world where is isn't present. "mei yahi hu meri jaan, mai kahin nahi jaunga tumhe chodke" he pats your head just like when he had first met you, making you sob even more. You were so swept up in your emotions you failed to notice the nickname.
( i thought you- you
I am right her my life i am never going to leave you)
"I love you, i love you so much ki dard hota hai tuhme aise halat mei dekh ke" the confession came out without any thoughts or rehearsal just pure feelings, surprising both of them, you because your feelings were supposed to be kept hidden locked inside the vault of your brain and him because of the raw honesty in them as if you were stating a simple fact.
(I love you i love you so much that it hurts seeing you like this )
You immediately looked up in his eyes waiting for the disapproval, for him to shake his head and say you were better off as friends, for the rejection that never came as he kissed your temple softly and your tears next startling you.
"Tumhe andaza nahi hai mai kitne salo se ye lfaz tumhare zuban se sunan chahta tha"
( you have no idea how many year ive waited to hear these words leave your tongue)
A moment passes in silence both of you trying to navigate through the newfound truth.
"Tum mujhse naraz ho? Maine kuch dino se baat nahi ki thi " you ask meekly. He just give a dopey smile in response "Mai kaise tumse kabhi nazar ho sakta hu meri jaan". The nickname making you flustered instantly as he chuckled at your reaction
( are you mad at me ? I was avoiding you for a few day
Can i ever be truly angry at you my life)
You relationship didn't began with a grand proposal at a cafe or at the beach or even at a park as he had hoped instead it started with a accidental confession on a hospital bed after a near death as if he had found his heaven without dying.
Childhoodbestfriend!Naieem was now Collegeboyfriend!Naieem who soon after being discharged from the hospital insisted to go on dates with you to the places you both had made a bucket list about when summer break just started. Since he was still recovering Girlfriend!Reader refused firmly telling him they will go on dates only and only when he completes recovery. So for now you just stick to going over at his house and spending quality time reading books or watching movie with sometimes Faizal accompanying you.
Girlfriend!Reader who explained the reason for avoiding him making Naieem laugh you glare at him are your insecurities just a joke to him before you get mad him patiently explains how he only had eyes for you and only you that he didn't care romantically about any other girl that wasn't you he explains how for 5 excruciating years he had to hide his crush on you because he was scared of running the friendship.
Girlfriend!Reader who fits perfectly in the family, whenever you came over Ulfat would fuss over you as if you were her own daughter and Naieem was a stray, Rehman would look at both of you fondly, Uzair would tease Naieem at every chance he got and both Faizal and you would team up to roast Naieem or simply irritated him, as much as he pretended he was annoyed with you both he secrelty loved how you were a perfect addition.
Now that summer break was over both Collegeboyfriend!Naieem and Girlfriend!Reader have started college and were now living in hostels on the college campus. Tho your meet ups now were less frequent he would sometimes sneak in your dorm when your roommate was out and you both would sleep cuddling each other before sunrise he would leave through the window being careful not to wake you up, he would leave a note by the bed with cheesy pick up lines or just a simple 'good morning meri jaan :) '
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem and Girlfriend!reader have study dates with each other every week, both of you will go to a bookstore or a library and spend hours studying or helping each other tho sometimes you would get distracted have a slow make out session behind a book shelves at the back.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem and Girlfriend!Reader's relationship was known across the whole campus as both of them did practically everything together, Naieem would walk you to your class holding your hand or if you shared a class he would sit beside you, at luch he would save a seat for you at the cafeteria and after classes end he would walk you back to your hostel gate again holding your hand.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem who made sure you ate and had enough water during exam season, he knows you take too much stress about your exams and often forget basic survival a habit since 9th grade, so he would sit next to you in the library move away your textbook and refused to give them back until you finished your lunch and drank enough water. He would also barge in your dorm at night holding a take out box in hand with your favorite dessert or street food inside and will give it to you when you stop studying and take a break.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem who is a saint during your periods, when he get to know your period has started he would send a plastic bag with your favorite chocolate, some medicine and random snacks to your dorm room. When you skipped classes due to excruciating cramps he would complete your work in your stead.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem is a gentleman through and through but he would sometimes get a rebellious streak and would become a annoying tease, leaning in to kiss you and backing out last second just to see you eyes closed lips puckered waiting in anticipation and when you open your eyes in irritatation he would just smirk and say "oh you want me that bad huh?".Before you smack his chest and walk away or when he would corner you in the empty hallways, hands on your waist rubbing slow circles leaving soft kisses on your jaw, he would lean into kiss you he would purposely do it on the corner of your lips and back away leaving you hot and bothered.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem who takes Girlfriend!Reader to the beach as a last date in the city because College had ended and they were moving to lyari next day. You both walked hand in hand by the waves yet both of your minds were lighg years apart, you were clueless thinking this was just a simple date and him a nervous mess.
Collegeboyfriend!Naieem who was trying to remember the speech he had written for you his other hand fiddling with a small velvet box in his pocket as he tried to recall the things he wanted to say.
Girlfriend!Reader who had no idea that her life was gonna change in just a few moments, you were just walking around feeling the cool water wash over your feet looking at the beautiful beach sunset around you, just beside you was your boyfriend who had finally made up his mind the moment was perfect its now or nothing Naieem thought as he took a deep breath and dropped on his knee "y/n-" That was the exact moment you turned to your side, you picked up the seashell turning to show it to him but freezing at what you were witnessing.
"Oh Naieem look at this shell! is so pretty oh omg - OMG!". "Will you marry me... please" Naieem Baloch on his knees not like the way when a man proposes he was on both of his knees hand holding a small velvet box.
You didn't know whether to laugh or cry you decided on the former as tears gathered in your eyes "Yes! yes a hundred times yes". You almost jumped in joy as he slipped the ring on your finger. He hugged you afterwards his own eyes teary as he chuckled "i had a whole two page eassy planned to declare my love". "Oh you can always tell it to me later" you giggles as he smothers you in kisses.
Your Collegeboyfriend!Naieem was now Fiance!Naieem 💍.
Hope yall like this 🎀
This wouldn't have taken this long is tumblr knew how to save my drafts 🤬😡 . Finally something fuffly for mah boy 😍 Gonna work on the Rehman req next cant say itll be out soon as i have exams next week 😃🔫 idk who to tag 🤷♀️
Heylloooo. I am Kay and i write for Dhurandhar fandom currently but i am also interested in Harry Potter and F1 writing. Feel free to drop by the inbox to make requests for any characters.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is created purely for entertainment and creative purposes only. All canon characters here belong to their respective creators and right holders. I do not claim ownership over the character, universe, or any canon material referenced. Furthermore, this story is not intended to romanticize or justify the actions of any real-life individuals.
A/N: I KNOW THIS IS NOT WHAT I PROMISED BUT THIS IS ME TRYING TO WRITE MY FIRST x READER FIC AND I TRIED MY BEST TO INCORPORATE WHAT I HAVE LEARNED FROM PEOPLE ON HERE. The kind of academic rival!reader series I have in mind loosely mirrors the structure of MMBUPAW series by @mainyahaankyunhoon. With various interconnected oneshots, so yeah this is like placed somewhere after they got into a relationship. ALSO IM A SUCKER FOR BALOCH FAM AND NAIEEM KI BANDI INTERACTION AND I WILL WRITE THAT TOO DW. Hitul Pujara eat me please. The academic rivals one will be dropping once im free from some bullshit happening in ma life
Warnings: None except my writing lmfao😃 ITS A SHORT ONE SORRY ITS PRACTICE
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Ulfat Jahan Baloch loves her weekends.
She loves her tea times and punctual gatherings, brunches with her cousins and friends, and all the extravagance of simple hang outs with her people. She loves the certainty and joy it brings to such an uncertain existence. And she simply does not care if the snobbish party wives call her a rigid bitch for it. Its too damn bad all their husbands are speck of dust infront of hers.
After all it is just who she is. Growing up as a spoiled daughter in the neighbourhood of Clifton, being the apple of her family’s eyes, Ulfat was accustomed to the profligacy of it all.
So one must forgive her for the overwhelming concern that collects in her chest, when you don’t show up at Haveli that weekend, marking your weekly attendance. It’s practically a ritual, ever since you started dating Naieem. Saturdays mean a day full of shopping or relaxing, book clubs, polo or football clubs,and a family dinner. Over the last two years, as you went from the first girlfriend Naieem brought home, to the heart of family, she’d grown attached to the idea of you, in her mind so had you.
Something has surely happened if you had missed it. Something very serious.
So, she storms into her son’s room, voice low as she says, “Kya kiya hai tumne?” (What did you do?)
“Ammi!” Naieem startles. But Ulfat remains unfazed, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Why isn’t she here yet?”
He remains silent for a long moment, eyes downcast. Then he sighs, long and full of suffering. Sounds like an argument. Ulfat is unsure whether to feel bad for her poor bewitched son, or to curse him for arguing with you.
“Bas kisi cheez pe… jhagda ho gaya,” Naieem says finally. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes averting to his medical notes. (We just had a… disagreement.)
“Kis cheez pe” (A disagreement on what?)
“It’s very petty ma. I don’t know why she’s gotten into such a toss about it.”
“Now, Naieem. Have I taught you nothing?”
Ulfat loves her son very much. She would die for him, it’s common knowledge. But there are certain lines that the Baloch Haveli as a whole of all its inhabitants and those who guard it, and are associated with have learned not to cross, which is disrespecting women. Especially your partners.
Naieem sighs again, collapsing over his notes. Ulfat softens a little, gently rubbing his shoulder,
“What happened?”
“Bas wo Friday waali party mein mera thoda zyaada ho gaya shayad. I said some things. Uski galti nahi thi. Then I forgot to say ‘I love you’ before leaving her apartment.” (I think i did a little too much during the party last Friday. It wasn’t her fault.)
Ulfat barely stifles a gasp. Naieem casts her a side eye, before burying his face into the anatomy book.
“Abhi ke abhi maafi maang ke aao.” (Go apologise to her right now.”)
“Ammi par-” (But Ammi-)
“Naieem Rehman Baloch!”
“Ab kya kara isne?” (What did he do now?) Ulfat’s husband chose the exact moment to walk in to the conversation. (Shaitaan ka naam liya shaitaan haazir).
“Rehman aap chup rahein zara, bataungi baad mein.” (Rehman please shut up for a moment, I’ll spill the tea shortly.)
“Ji begum.” (Yes my lady.)
“I don’t want any of that ego, Naieem.” She says looking back at her son. Her tone rarely hardens around him. He frowns, but it falls flat immediately. Ulfat knows this must be hard on him too. For all that pride and ego he’s inherited from the Baloch blood, there’s only so long these men can stay away from their love. Only so long until Naieem’s steel and porcelain cracks too.
She sighs this time settling on the table beside him. Rehman took the bed, lazily drooping into his favourite bent banana posture.
“Verbal acknowledgement of love is extremely important Naieem.”
“I know.”
“Trust is important too.”
“I know abbu.”
“Its very obvious to anyone with two eyes and any sense… that you do love her” Rehman adds while throwing a pillow at Naieem.
“And I want my best friend back.” Ulfat adds.
Naieem finally meets his mother’s gaze. She sees the baffling combination of emotions ravaging through his head. She reaches over to smooth the hair on his forehead. He leans into the age-old comfort, nodding slowly.
“I will go talk to her”
He takes a short breathe.
“I will go talk to her right now” Naieem jumps up at his feet hurriedly grabbing his bike keys.
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The last thing you expected to see when you heard your door bell ring was a very soaked Naieem Baloch.
Lyari rains were always punishing, his brunette mane dripping water all over your newly bought aesthetic doormat. Despite the very recent argument, you are terrified that your victorian child of a fiancé will catch a cold and wheeze for the next two weeks. You tug him into the warmth of your apartment.
But you are still mad at him. That means no hello and certainly no welcome kisses.
“Jaan”
You ignore him, slipping towards the depths of your house to fetch him warmer clothes. His sopping footsteps echo in the hallway behind you.
What does he think? He can show up drenched in rain like a wet kitten and just expect you to talk to him. You take your self respect very seriously.
You don’t know why he didnt take his car. There is plenty parking space near your building. Or why he didn’t just wait till after rain. He has done so multiple times before, of course. But then again, he’s always been dramatic.
"Y/N." He catches hold of your wrist. The cold makes you shudder.
"Sunn to lo jaan" (Just listen once my love.)
You turn slowly. You're surprised he had overcome his pride at all.
"I'm sorry"
"Oh, are you?"
You gently free yourself from his grasp. He doesn't resist, running a hand through his hair. A trait you're so familiar with. He's frustrated, maybe tired. You huff, annoyed.
"I didn't think I'd have to force you to trust me."
"Its not like that, I do trust you, mera wo matlab nahi tha, I was just a bit worried, come on you know i dont act like a bitch always”
"Yeah," you scoff, "Not everytime."
"Samjho na, I was just… mad at myself after a point isiliye i left early, i did not want to sit around and say more shit to you babe," He curses, and you roll your eyes.
“You know verbal acknowledgement of love is important.” you say with a deadpan face.
"You and my mother have dangerously similar ideals." Naieem hums.
"Oh, so she put you up to this? That makes sense."
"No, wait. Please let me-"
"Get changed, Naieem. You cant fall sick before the semester starts." You all but toss the clothes at him. His kurta that you had stolen from him a few weeks ago. He catches it, tossing it to the side.
Before you can react, he grabs hold of your waist, spinning you around. You let out a small yelp, but he is already down on his knees, his wet hair pressing against your abdomen as he smothers his face on your tummy. His thumbs rub slow circles over your hips.
A shaky breath escapes his lips.
“I love you, Y/N.”
His muffled voice makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s soft and low, like the sound of rustling velvet. You love it so, so much. But you force your hands to stay stiff by your side.
“I love you every moment of the day, and I’m sorry i was such a jackass at the party. All those drinks made me loopy, I swear i trust you and I would never let you go. I love you with everything I have and I know you love me too. It is utterly my fault, and it is again my fault that it took my mother for me to realise that."
His head lifts to meet your gaze
“Do you understand?”
You think you might cry or giggle or both. Your voice trembles when you say, “Yeah. Yeah, I know,I love you too. I was not mad about the party baby i knew you were drunk, maybe next time we’ll drink as per our capacity, afterall you are not your uncle.” You added giggling
He takes your hand to press a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist,
“All good then? I do think my mother would kill me if I let you miss another weekend with her.”
You laugh at that, finally ruffling his hair like you’ve been dying to do. He scowls, but it’s playful.
“I don’t think I could live another weekend without seeing her and the entire haveli,” You answer.
He lets out some sound of relief, and you giggle again
“Let’s go then.”
“Or maybe they could wait a little more” You add while pulling Naieem closer by his collar
He smiled then all toothy
“Yeah,maybe.”
Ulfat might just be the bestest friend you could ask for.
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A/N: WAASUP WASSUP WASSUP. HITUL PUJARA IM LEGAL HIT ME UP GANG WHY ARE U SO SMEXY WTF I WOULD LEARN GUJURATI FOR U BABE.
summary: peter parker starts an internship at oscorp, matched into a robotics team led by you — you, who has peter believing in love at first sight. and despite every instinct in his body, peter can't help but fall further and more helplessly in love with you... even if you happen to have a boyfriend.
wc: ~8.8k
cw: discussions around the concept of cheating, an insane amount of pining, mentions of m!masturbation, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), no seriously like a lot of munch!peter, fingering, praise kink, squirting
an: this is for anyone who would rather read my series as one long fic! thank you for all the love on this, i had so much fun writing it
masterlist and taglist
on peter parker's first day at his junior year internship for oscorp, he knew his life would change forever — he was just wrong about how.
he'd dreamed of this opportunity since high school, being able to work in an actual lab and have access to world-class equipment and the one-of-a-kind minds that came with it.
the one-of-a-kind mind that came with it.
peter met you thirty minutes into the onboarding presentation, and he suddenly didn't understand how he'd gone twenty-one years without you in his life. from the first time he was graced with your contagious smile, he was determined to have it as a guiding light through the rest of his days.
he'd never admit it, but that was the day peter started to believe in love at first sight.
you were leading the group on a tour through the facility, going over the expectations and rules, covering everything the internship would entail. he might have imagined it, wished a bit to hard for it, but he swore your eyes caught his more than anyone else's in the group. his jaw ached from the hour-long straight smile he couldn't seem to knock as your melodic voice blessed his ears. fire safety had never sounded so sweet.
an hour and a half in, you broke the large bunch off into their designated teams for the semester, and peter felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest as he saw you approaching his group.
"hey guys! i know you just heard me drone on for a lifetime, but i wanted to reintroduce myself. i'm (y/f/n) (y/l/n), but please, just call me (y/n). i'll be leading you guys as we work on the robotics portion of the project. i look forward to getting to know everyone on my team." you greeted everyone with your heart-stopping smile once again.
my team. not only was peter lucky enough to be graced with your presence on day one, but he'd get to see you five days a week. he was pretty sure this made up for every horrible thing that'd ever happened to him.
"let's take a quick break before starting, yeah? i need a snack before your first impression of me is while hangry." everyone gave a polite laugh, breaking off in separate directions.
you immediately turned to peter, walking his way. "hey,"
okay, he was definitely sure this made up for everything that'd happened to him.
"you're peter parker, right?"
maybe everything that ever will happen to him, too.
"yeah! yeah, that's me. how'd you know?" he gave you a shy smile, trying to not get too lost in your eyes. they were vibrant and speckled, something he was close enough to know now.
your returned smile was filled with much more confidence than his. "i remember your application. you're pretty impressive, parker."
peter was a blushing mess in seconds at your compliment. "oh yeah?"
"oh yeah. i had to make sure you were on my team as soon as i reviewed it." the smirk on your lips was unmistakable.
there was only a nervous laugh in response, a hand scratching at the back of his neck as peter's gaze dipped to the floor. he hoped it passed as humility, rather than giving away just how flustered he was.
"i'm headed to the cafeteria to grab a smoothie quick, wanna grab a bite with me?"
peter's eyes shot back up to meet yours, wide and pupils blown. there's no way you were talking to him right now, no way you remembered him from his impressive application, and no way you'd invited him to hang out (albeit for ten minutes) within two hours of meeting.
your confidence faded a bit as you read into peter's hesitance. "it's totally cool if not! if you'd rather settle in, get to know the lab—"
"no!" peter interjected far too loudly. "sorry, i-i mean, no! i'd love to join. how's the food here?"
your lips curled into a smirk, and once again, peter was in a puddle at your feet.
"not nearly as good as it could be for a multi-billion dollar company."
it may have only been ten minutes, but peter memorized everything he could about you in those ten minutes.
you liked starwberries, he noted from your smoothie choice, and you'd been at oscorp for a little over a year now. you'd started in his spot your sophomore year, an impressive feat to genius peter parker. that was the first thing he learned about you: just how wickedly smart you were. it wasn't often he felt like he'd met his match, someone he was excited to bounce his ideas off of, and it being you made him far more into this internship than he'd previously been.
but honestly, he'd be lying calling it the first. the first thing he learned from his ten minutes walking at your side was how incredibly gorgeous you were. not that it mattered; your intellect and ability to command a room already had him entranced, but holy shit. he didn't know someone could make a lab coat look so irresistible.
everything about you had peter smitten, damn near having to catch drool from his lips. the way your hair framed your face and bounced as you walked, the way your perfume danced inside his nose and filled him with memories yet to come. your downright essence was beautiful, and peter was starting to understand the sheer power aphrodite had over others.
he didn't get much time with you the rest of the evening as you led the introduction to the team, outlining the robotics project for the semester, but being in your presence was enough.
and as he packed his bag to leave and you slipped him your number 'for research purposes', he was already counting the minutes down till 4pm tomorrow.
your smile tormented his dreams the entire night.
actually, your smile tormented him the rest of the week, and he presumed it would for the next few months. truthfully, he hoped it would forever.
peter didn't get to talk to you much as your project started, but he savored the exchanged smirks and glances that came his way. he tried not to work himself up, begging his mind to not read into things too early. but every time he looked up from his paper to catch you already meeting his gaze, every time you came out of your way to say hi to him and check in on his work, peter felt himself getting further and further lost in you.
he started to come up with any excuse he could think of to talk to you, to earn a smile from you that could cure any ailment he had that day.
peter began to surprise you with a smoothie before each shift, strawberry tart, just like the first time. not only was it a reason to be in early, to talk to you until the last second before getting to work, but it freed up your breaks. the breaks you gave more often than any of the other team leads, he'd learned, your care for your team shining through in the way you taught and in the ways you didn't.
that was the next thing peter learned about you: your altruistic sense of others. you put everyone around you first, caring for people you'd known for less than two weeks as though you'd been best friends for years. couldn't make a shift because of work? you understood, new york was an expensive place to live. make a mistake on a task? no worries, you'd help error-correct and walk them through hands-on the right way to carry it out. everything you did was laced in honey, a sweetness oozing from you that nearly made peter sick to his stomach.
nearly.
peter's infatuation with you was on an exponential course, and the closer you grew, the more he couldn't help but fall for you. and the more times he caught your lingering glances, the way you started to return his smoothie favors with his favorite coffee order he'd mentioned in passing, the more his confidence in his affection grew.
it was 9pm on a tuesday night in the third week of peter's internship as the robotics team filtered out of the lab around him for the evening. they'd been wrapping up a busy and overwhelming shift as you prepared a prototype that would be reviewed by norman osborne himself. peter packed slowly as he always did, hoping to be last out and catch even a few more minutes with you.
he approached your desk at the front of the room, both hands tugging at his backpack straps as he closed in. you looked up from your work, a tired smile hanging from your lips.
"hey parker, good work today. as always," you added quickly. a blush crept to peter's cheeks just as fast.
"yeah, you too. are you almost done? i'm happy to walk you out."
you let out a frustrated groan, red eyes drifting back to your computer screen. "no, honestly. amadeus hasn't been in at all this week, so i'm trying to cover his portion before we turn everything in."
before you could even think to protest, peter had his backpack off and a chair pulled up to your desk. "here, let me help."
"peter, it's okay. it's already really late, and i know you have an early lecture in the morning. i can't ask that of you."
you remembering his class schedule had him dizzy, but he shook it off and gave you a soft smirk. "good thing you didn't ask, then."
that night set a different tone for peter. it was the first time he'd spent more than fifteen minutes alone with you, and despite being there to do someone else's work, he relished every single second of it.
he was nervous at first, his chair pulled so close he could feel your knee brush against his every now and then, your hands touching as you reached for the same tool. despite his anxiety, as the hours passed (unbeknownst to either of you), peter felt nothing but relaxed in your presence. he grew to know you more, the you that wasn't presenting to a room full of people, and he didn't know it was possible to fall even more in love than he already was. everything about you was so genuine, and when he talked to you, it felt like he'd known you for years.
it was nearly midnight as you put the finishing touches to the project, shoulders slumping in relief as you let out a breathy laugh.
"holy shit, i can't believe we did it."
peter smiled at you, leaning back in his chair to stretch out. "told you it wouldn't be that bad, (y/l/n). teamwork makes the dream work, right?"
you met his gaze with grateful eyes. "peter, i owe you my life. or at bare minimum the last three hours of your life back. you really didn't have to stay, i can't tell you how much it meant to me that you did."
he sat up, leaning towards you slightly. "nah, don't worry about it. anything to be teacher's pet," he nudged your elbow, earning a laugh that sent an ache through his chest.
"trust me, i'll do anything for you. i'll write you a reference so profound it'll be damn near biblical text."
it was peter's turn to laugh, standing to gather his belongings and pack his bag for the second time that evening. "come on, now i really gotta walk you out of here. i don't trust you alone in a parking garage at nine, let alone goddamn midnight."
you followed suit and grabbed your stuff, logging off of your desktop with a groan. "god midnight, i'm so sorry. you have to be at an analytical chemistry lecture in six hours. i did not deserve your help tonight."
he responded with a scoff. "come on, like i was gonna go to that anyway."
peter held the door for you as the two of you made your way through the empty and dark oscorp tower, tired conversations illuminated only by the faint red glow of the security lights. as you finally made your way into the parking garage and approached your car, you turned to peter with a smile that had him awake again instantly.
"thank you again. i really couldn't have done it without you."
"trust me, i'll do anything for you." he echoed your words from earlier, and had he blinked, peter would've missed the blush on your cheeks.
you unlocked your car to set your bags in the backseat, shutting the door to face him once more.
"well regardless, thank you. not many people would," you reached out while talking to grab his arm and give it a soft squeeze, so quick he almost didn't catch it. he did, though, and his entire body went up in flames at your touch.
"i'll catch you tomorrow, okay?" you gave a soft chuckle as you reached for your door handle. "that's if my boyfriend doesn't kill me for getting home this late. sleep well, pete."
you got into your car, and peter waved you off as though his entire world wasn't crumbling down around him.
holy shit. did she just say boyfriend?
peter didn't get a lick of sleep that night.
he racked his brain for any possible sign he could've missed, any possible indication that you were in a relationship. but he couldn't come up with anything. you hadn't mentioned him before this, and peter was beating himself up for falling this hard for someone he'd known for barely a month.
he replayed all of his memories with you, every time he thought you were flirting or going out of your way to think of him. he felt defeated, and though it wasn't like he was actively trying to pursue you, knowing the avenue was closed and he'd gotten this attached was crushing. god he was embarrassing. how was he supposed to look at you without it tearing him to shreds?
but something hurt worse than the thought of not having you in that way: not having you at all.
whether he meant for it to or not, your presence had become a healing force in his life, your smile a beacon he turned to after a hard day, shitty patrol, anything. facing you was the last thing he wanted, but the one thing he needed.
so he pretended like nothing was wrong — because nothing was. his feelings were unrequited, and that was absolutely fine! you hadn't done anything to wrong him, unknowing you'd even hurt him. so why did he still have to pretend?
peter was in love with you, and he had to push it down. keep things civil, keep things above the belt. and it wasn't hard — he wanted to. he loved spending time with you. so as the weeks passed, he did.
peter kept bringing you smoothies, walking you to your car each night. he even asked about your boyfriend, occasionally, though any story you mentioned physically hurt his chest. and you kept being you. unabashedly considerate of him and an ever-present source of light.
it grew even more tumultuous in peter's brain each time you brought up your boyfriend, more specifically, what you talked about. sometimes they were nice stories, a date you'd gone on recently, or the explanation of an inside joke you couldn't get out of your head. but as time passed, it grew bittersweet. you told stories of fights you'd had, asking peter's opinion. times you thought you'd deserved better, how you wished you weren't scolded for being so passionate about your work. he tried to stay neutral about it, tried to respond how any other friend would.
but he wasn't any other friend, and he was definitely biased. peter didn't understand how anyone could treat you less than a princess, less than the angel on earth you were. how they didn't see all the hard work and late nights you'd put into literally inventing something and building it by hand. but he played it cool, staying inconspicuously on your side and keeping you happy. because that's all he ever wanted to do: make you happy.
he needed to stop, to slow down his time with you; he knew that. but you were gravitational, and peter couldn't help it. he knew the consequences of getting to know you more, of spending more time with you, but the benefits outweighed every. single. time. he started staying late to help you more often, spending more time shamelessly up front with you while working on the project as people broke off into their own groups. you were only a year older than him, but something about the whole "teacher's pet" of it all made it... exciting, to say the least.
that was another thing peter had noticed as time passed: not being able to like you made him incredibly turned on by you.
he felt entirely guilty about it, fantasizing about his coworker, let alone his team lead, who actively vouched for his application. he felt guilty as he watched you lean over others' desks during lab, shifting his stool closer to his own to cover his growing problem as he stared at you. he felt guilty each time you laughed and leaned a little too close to him, the scent of your perfuming driving him crazy and flooding his mind with downright sinful images of the two of you. he felt guily for how hungry he was for you.
peter felt guilty as he lay on his bed each night, hand down his boxers as he palmed himself to the thought of you. how he pictured you on top of him, your hands all over his chest as you rode him so perfectly, your name a prayer on his lips. he felt guilty as he moaned your name, an echo around his bedroom as he came undone night after night.
peter was absolutely fucked.
everything was fine and managable until a friday night, seven weeks into the program. peter had stayed late to help wrap everything up again before a deadline, the clock showing a wide-awake eleven pm as your voice flooded through the room.
"i'm serious! my tongue was bleeding. how do you mess up a kiss that badly?"
peter nearly doubled over, holding his side stitch as he harmoized with your laugh. "that's fucking insane."
"i know right?" you wiped away a tear, a sigh falling from your lips as you leaned back in your chair. "what about you peter? truth or dare?"
he thought about it for a second and then gave a shrug, "truth."
you pondered with an exaggerated thinking face. then a smirk. "what about you? tell me something wacky about your sex life."
peter felt all the blood rush from his face. "w-what?"
"come on, parker. i think you're hiding a lot from me. tell me something crazy you've done. and don't skimp on me here."
he sat for a moment, knee bouncing as he fought through the wave of his own thoughts. you bringing up sex in general was one thing, but flat out asking him about it was another. he had no idea how to look you in the eye while talking to you, or how to do it without getting painfully hard. your patient doe eyes were so not helping him.
"uhh... i-i guess..." peter nervously looked back at you, darting between your gaze and your lips. fuck, why did he do that?
"i don't know. my freshman year of college, the girl i was dating was... a little too into cats. i won't get too into it, but let's just say when i say i'll try anything once, unfortunately, i have a history of meaning it."
peter stared into your wide eyes and cursed himself, cringing and regretful that he'd taken it too far. but then he heard your laugh, the way you hiccupped when you couldn't break any longer, and everything felt safe again. you made everything feel safe, even as he said the most embarrassing thing he could have. fuck, he was so screwed.
"honestly, peter? that's kind of endearing. most men complain about eating you out, let alone going as far as indulging in your kinks."
peter's mouth went dry. "m- wait, what?"
you said it again, as though it were common sense. "i haven't been with a single man that didn't at bare minimum throw a fit about going down on me, some even flat out said no. called it disgusting. as if i can't tell they haven't showered in far too long while i'm down there."
he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "i'm sorry, you're saying men don't want to go down on you? but your boyfriend obvi—"
you gave a pained laugh. "you'd think, right? tried it once and told me he thought it was gross. happy birthday to me."
peter didn't know if the ringing in his ears was from how hard he was at the thought of eating you out, or from the sheer rage that was coursing through his veins. "i'm sorry to overstep, but that's bullshit."
you laughed at him, nodding in agreement. "yeah, you're telling me. don't get me started, that is not a fight i want to relive."
peter gave you a frown before you continued, "speaking of, it's getting pretty late. gonna hear a mouth-full when i get home, sheesh. thank you, again. for staying, i mean. you're always so helpful, peter."
he gave you an unconvinced look, speaking up before he could stop himself. "why do you keep saying that? that he's going to yell at you for being out late. i mean, he knows your working, right? we're working on some pretty cool shit here, i guess i thought he'd be proud."
there was a look on your face peter hadn't seen before. it was solemn, one he couldn't quite decipher. you matched it with a soft chuckle. "you can't say things like that, peter. make me think that i deserve better."
"you do, you know."
you gave him a faint smile. "come on, walk me out, will you? i have more questions — i need to live vicariously through you on this whole 'going down on a woman' topic."
holy shit, peter was so irrevocably, unimaginably fucked.
peter spent the rest of his night imagining what it would be like to taste you. to feel you under his tongue, writhing around for him. he couldn't imagine anyone denying you such a pleasure; it was a disservice to you, honestly. to themselves. because if there was anything peter would bet on, it would be that you tasted as sweet as your honey-laced personality.
after a grueling two months under your spell, peter had to outsource some opinions on the situation, and whether or not he should quit the program and remove himself from you entirely. he reached out to mj first, not expecting her response.
"peter, i think you should be a homewrecker."
"w-what?! that is not what i was getting at!"
"i know, i'm getting there for you. i say, this relationship sucks and you should make a move and win her over."
"mj, this isn't twilight, i can't just start a fucking love triangle in my oscorp internship. i wanted to know if i should quit or not."
"oh? yeah, i don't care about that. quit, don't quit, whatever. but you should definitely be a homewrecker."
"mj, i-i can't... i can't do that."
"can't you, though? don't you want to? just a little?"
she had him there. it wasn't like peter hadn't thought about it, completely blowing past all boundaries and making a move on you. but he wasn't crazy, and he wasn't an asshole. he wasn't going to be like all the shitty men you'd brought up.
but damn if he didn't want to.
no, peter parker was not a homewrecker.
right?
fuck, he needed some more opinions.
peter's conversation with mj hadn't gone as well as he wanted it to.
"peter, i think you should be a homewrecker."
that wasn't the reason he called, and it definitely wasn't a notion he was trying to entertain. after two months of torturing himself in your presence, peter thought it might be best to drop the internship. he didn't need it to graduate; it was more of a hobby for him. truthfully, he hoped he'd be able to sneak away unnoticed every day, able to work on his own inventions and mass-produce some web fluid.
but then you happened, and his entire life flipped upside down. you'd consumed his every waking and unwaking thought, and being around you was becoming unbearable. he didn't want to leave you, to never get the chance to see you again. actually, that was the last thing he wanted, but it seemed to be his only option.
peter, i think you should be a homewrecker.
no! what?! why was he even thinking about it this much? he was better than that; he knew better than that. but every day he saw you, every time he thought about seeing you... he kind of didn't want to be better than that.
fuck, he needed to call ned.
"yeah, that's really tough, buddy. i don't think you should quit, i mean, this seems like a really good opportunity for you!"
peter sighed at ned's response, aimlessly nodding against the phone.
"on the other hand, i would've dropped off the face of the earth two weeks in. i think you're kind of screwed either way, dude."
"right?" his voice was laced with frustration. "fuck, i don't know what to do..." peter trailed off, hesitant to ask his next question.
"uh... mj, she... she made a stupid joke, told me i should be... a homewrecker. that's completely stupid, right?"
the silence on the other line was deafening.
"holy shit ned, say something. anything, please."
"sorry, sorry! i'm thinking."
"so heavily? is it not completely stupid??"
ned made gave a thoughtful hum into the receiver. "i don't know. her boyfriend sounds really shitty from what i've gathered."
"that does not justify me being a homewrecker."
"it doesn't not justify it. you're always such a goodie two-shoes, dude. maybe it could be fun to do something stupid."
maybe it could be fun to do something stupid.
no, fuck!
"ned! you were supposed to be the voice of reason!"
"maybe i am being the voice of reason."
peter gave a frustrated groan, even more lost than he was five minutes ago. "fuck you guys, i'm calling nico."
he didn't even bother with his initial question this time around. as soon as nico picked up, he immediately answered with the question he really wanted to ask: should i be a homewrecker?
"parker, what the fuck? is this about (y/n)?"
needless to say, nico was not as supportive as the other two. she was against it immediately, going on a long rant about infidelity and it's correlation to the women's rights movement. he tried to listen, he really did, but he couldn't stop his mind from all the racing thoughts, all the possibilities with the new option he'd been presented with.
"peter, are you even listening?"
"y-yeah, sorry nico. i mean, honestly, i'm sorry, women. i-i just... i don't know what to do. i can't stand being around her much longer, it just... hurts."
peter heard her soft sigh on the other end, matching his own. "i know, i get it. but that's not how you want a relationship to start."
she was right, and he knew it. that isn't how he wanted things to play out with you. you deserved better. that was peter's entire point in all of this: that you deserve better.
but he could give you better. everything he did would be better than the jerk you were dating. and the more peter thought about it, the more he started to rework his thoughts. entirely accidentally. yeah, ambushing you with his feelings was not what you deserved. but the passion of it? the raw, unfiltered emotion? that's what you deserved. to know just how wanted you are.
fuck, he was so screwed.
peter gave it a few days, doing his best to distance himself from you and take a step back. he felt good, at first, as the project was rapidly approaching a major checkpoint, and he was able to dive in fully on his work. but his resolve faded by the end of the second day as you approached him after the shift was up, bag in hand and confidence-melting smile on your lips.
"hey, pete. i missed you yesterday, you ran out pretty quick. everything okay?"
fuck, did she have to be so nice and caring about his wellbeing?
he willed his eyes to stay focused on the bag he was packing, knowing he'd lose it the second he met your gaze. "uh, yeah. fine. just had to get home."
peter hated how short he was being with you. he could see it on your face as he flickered his gaze up, features contorted into confusion and a glimmer of hurt flashing across your face at his half-assed response. what the fuck was he doing, anyway? this definitely isn't what you deserved, to be brushed off when you did nothing wrong.
he looked up to reach your eyes, to actually hold eye contact this time, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "i'm sorry. i just had something to deal with, that's all. i'm okay, thank you for checking in."
peter saw your shoulder visibly relax, and a smirk return to your lips once again. oh, fuck.
"good, i'm glad. i've gotten quite used to my nightly escorts, you know." you tossed him a wink.
fuck. he's so fucking fucked.
"do you have the time to walk me out tonight?"
fuck it. he had to do something. he had to say something, to tell you how he felt, and it was either going to be really awesome and the best thing that'd ever happened to him, or he was going to have to drop the internship and move cities. peter weighed the two outcomes heavily, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
"pete?" you noticed.
fuck, you can't call him that when he's trying to be good.
you reached forward, your fingers gently grazing his jaw in hopes of catching his attention, drawing his wandering gaze back to you. peter took a sharp inhale, his body rigid with restraint. his mind played tricks on him as he watched your eyes ghost over his lips, a shy smirk dancing on your own.
he tried to form the words, he really did. but there was only one thought on his mind.
fuck it. they have crime in the bronx, too. right?
peter grabbed the collar of your lab coat with possibly too much aggression, pulling you stumbling into him as he locked his lips on yours. he held his breath as he kissed you, though the action itself was nothing shy of breathtaking. he kissed you with such fervor, taking his (likely) only chance at this opportunity and not wasting a moment of it.
peter moaned against your lips the second he felt you kiss back.
the kiss was hungry, two months of pent-up emotion he'd fought to suppress bubbling over the surface and into you. he tangled his hands in your hair, his knees buckling at the soft sounds escaping your throat as he pulled you further into him, wanting to be as close to you as physically possible.
after he'd lost all the air from his lungs, peter reluctantly pulled back, panting and eyes blown wide. he stared at you, taking in your disheveled state as he noticed how pink and plump your lips had grown from the kiss, your entire face flushed as you fought for your own air.
peter took a step back, trying to catch any semblance of humility he had left.
"(y/n), i know i probably just fucked so much up. i know that, and i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, and i'll leave you alone from now on. i promise. i know you're in a relationship, and i've only known you for a few months, and i know i'm being insane, and now i'm rambling," peter gave a nervous chuckle, his hand scratching at the back of his neck as his gaze hit the ground.
"i'm not going to go on a rant about how you should pick me instead, about how much better i would be for you. but when you're mad at me for this — and rightfully so,
"don't forget that you kissed me back."
peter grabbed his bag quickly, giving you an awkward wave goodbye as he nearly sprinted out of the room, leaving you alone and utterly dumbfounded.
holy fucking shit.
peter didn't break his sprint until his feet hit the steps of his apartment building.
he ran inside, slamming his door shut behind him and dropping his backpack to the ground. peter's back hit the couch with a heavy thud, his arms splayed out to the sides.
he wanted to be upset with himself, he really did. and he should be. he shouldn't have put you in that position; it was unfair to you. he tried to ridicule himself, to feel any ounce of shame for his actions.
but all peter could think about was the lingering feeling of your lips on his.
his fingers traced where they once laid, a tingling sensation still heavy on his lips since he'd left oscorp over fifteen minutes ago. all peter could think about was how you tasted — your sharp, minty breath against his. he thought about your perfume, how good you smelled that close to him. everything about the kiss was intoxicating, and now he knew he definitely needed to quit the internship, because there was no way in hell he could see you without experiencing that kind of temptation again.
god, he should've listened to nico. sorry, women.
a sharp, rapid knock on his apartment door jolted him out of his thoughts, and peter shot up instantly.
either you were about to bitch slap him, or your boyfriend was. and either way, he deserved it.
he made his way to the door, steps heavy as he dragged his feet underneath him, not ready to face the consequences of his actions. really, peter didn't need to open the door. he could stay in here and hide forever, block your number, and move cities. yeah, that could be good. maybe if he just moved slow enough, he could make it back to the couch without—
"peter?" your voice called through the wooden door.
fuck.
"peter?"
fuck.
he's so fucked.
peter let out a pained sigh, shaky hand making its way to the door handle despite everything in his body screaming to run the other direction. he pushed it down, opening the door and ready to be told off, ready to face the consequences of his actions.
there you stood, cheeks flushed from the cool new york night, and slightly damp from the drizzle outside. you stared back at him with those big doe eyes that he could no longer meet without a pang of guilt in his chest.
peter gave you a crooked smile, the normal sparkle in his eyes now clouded with anxiety, "hey."
"hey."
the two of you stood in silence as your hearts each raced, still in the doorway as peter stared at you, anticipating your wrath.
"sorry, do you want to come in? y-you seem a bit wet, can i get you a new shirt?" he asked quietly, stepping to the side to let you into his apartment.
because that was peter. even though he knew you were here to cuss him out, he wanted to make sure you were comfortable first.
you turned to face him, and there was something about your expression he couldn't quite read. between that and your unexpected silence, peter was driving himself crazy.
"please, you have to say someth—"
"i broke up with him." you let out in a rushed exhale at the same time. your chest was heaving, the confession alone making you out of breath. peter flooded with a mixture of emotions, ranging from confusion, to pure guilt, to a glimmer of hope. he stared back at you, wide-eyed.
"what?"
you nodded. "two weeks ago."
"oh," peter blinked, eyebrows tight in confusion.
"you told me i deserved better," your eyes flickered down to his lips, just for a moment. "you were right." the words were hushed and shaky, like you still didn't quite believe yourself.
"oh," peter whispered back.
you nodded at him, taking a step towards peter and watching as warmth spread throughout his face. he cleared his throat and stood a little taller as you met toe to toe with him, his eyes heavy on your own.
"i did," you began softly, your voice dripping in honey as always. peter was already beginning to lose himself in your presence again. "kiss you back, i mean."
the unspoken staring contest was adding to the pulling tension in the room, a weight peter could feel growing on his chest.
"yeah," was all he could muster in response, dizzy at the thought of your sweet lips against his.
you moved even closer to him, close enough to hear his breath hitch as you ghosted your hand over his chest and trailed your way up to his collarbones peaking out of his oversized sweater.
"did you mean it?" your fingers were teasingly slow as they padded across his delicate skin. "that you could give me better?"
peter nodded fervently, not trusting the pitch of his own voice right now. you smirked at him, finally breaking eye contact to watch the way his lips parted as you looped your finger around his collar and pulled him into you, giggling as his nose bumped into yours.
"will you?"
that was peter's breaking point, a low and desperate moan escaping from his throat as he grabbed the sides of your face and crashed into you. his lips were hot on yours as they were quick to devour you, breaking only to trail their way down your neck. peter found a sweet spot behind your ear, nipping at your soft skin and earning a gasp from you.
"every day."
you pulled back with a moan, locking eyes with him again. they were clouded with lust, but they were sincere. peter always meant every word he said, and it made your knees weak to hear such pretty ones come your way.
peter gave you a soft smirk before pulling you back in, kissing you harder than before. he was quick to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring with his own as his hands began to make their way around your waist. they traveled lower, giving a firm squeeze to your hips before sliding them down the back of your jeans. he palmed your ass as he continued to swallow your every breath.
peter massaged what he could through your pants, making his way down to your lower thighs as he broke free from your lips and trailed his way back to behind your ear.
you gave a soft gasp as he nipped at your lobe. "jump."
you obeyed immediately, wrapping your legs around his hips as you took advantage of the new position and attacked the pale skin on his neck. he groaned and squeezed your ass again before heading down the hallway towards his bedroom. you couldn't keep still in his hold, his hands burning through your clothing. you writhed against him, moaning as your core made contact with his growing hard-on.
he set you down on his bed gently, letting you go to stand straight and pull off his sweater. he leaned down to kiss you, hard, as peter's fingers snaked their way under the hem of your shirt, fingertips dancing delicately on your stomach.
you got the message, tugging your shirt off and leaving you bare in the prettiest lace bra peter had ever seen.
"every part of you is so gorgeous," he moaned. "it's not fair."
he climbed over you and helped you lay back fully on his bed, his lips finding yours after a painful minute away from them. the way peter kissed you was hot and needy, but it was also so tender. you couldn't remember the last time you'd been kissed with so much emotion and passion.
you smiled into the kiss, infecting peter with the same dopey grin. he broke the kiss, making his way down your neck and trailing your collarbones with sloppy, wet kisses. he watched the goosebumps form under his touch as he made his way lower, kissing his way down the valley of your breasts. he moved one of his hands to tug at the lace cup, exposing your soft flesh to the cool air. it didn't take him long to have your hard nipple in his mouth, his tongue teasing you with every passing movement.
peter got lost in the noises you were making, only remembering himself as you tugged on his curls with an exceptionally loud moan. he let your nipple go with a sharp pop! and traveled his tongue down your stomach, chuckling at the way you writhed underneath him and your muscles tensed against his mouth.
"we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," peter said breathlessly as he looked up at you, lips swollen and pink. "but i'm dying to get my mouth on you. m'not above getting on my knees, right here and now, and beggin' to get a taste of you."
his words alone had you more turned on than you're sure you'd ever been.
but you maintained yourself, remembering what he was even asking for. "oh, peter. you don't have to do that."
peter let out a loud laugh, one seemingly at you. "have to? baby, i don't know how to tell you i need to."
you bucked your hips in response and gave him a bashful nod, giving him permission as he hooked his hands around your belt loops and slid the jeans and panties off your body in one swift motion. the cold air on your cunt sent a chill through your body, but it wasn't long until you were hot against peter's touch.
he spread his tongue flat and made his way through your messy folds as a string of profanities fell from your lips.
"fuck, peter," you breathed.
he looked up at you with a dopey smile hanging from his loose jaw. "yeah, baby? feel good?"
peter chuckled as you nodded frantically, leaning down to leave a light peck against your throbbing bundle of nerves. "good. god, you taste like fucking heaven, sweetheart. just like i knew you would."
you bucked your hips up with a whine, hitting him in the chin and earning a deep laugh from somewhere sinful in peter's chest. he ducked his head back down, getting to work as he attached his lips to your swollen clit.
you gave a sharp gasp as he sucked, pleasure blooming throughout your stomach and tunneling your vision. he brought his fingers up to tease your entrance, spreading you open as he increased his bruising pace on your clit. he groaned against you as you tugged at his hair, his name spilling from your lips as the vibration swelled the knot inside of you.
"that's it, baby," he groaned against you. "i want you to feel so fucking good. i want you to cum for me, please. i need you to cum on my face."
you let out a downright desperate whine at his words, grinding your hips up to match the movement of his mouth. his fingers found their way to your entrance again, and you were done for, the anticipation of him inside of you enough to send you over the edge.
the face you made when you came was the prettiest peter had seen you yet, and the noises you made didn't follow far behind. he was rutting himself against the bed as he rode you through your orgasm, lapping up every last drop of your arousal. he was a moaning mess against you, pulling back only once you gave his curls two sharp tugs.
peter sat up and stared at you in awe, taking in the sight of your flushed, bare figure on his bed. this was something he'd only ever dreamed about, and seeing you laid out before him, still panting his name as you came down from your high, sent a rush to his cock that made him twitch and groan. he climbed his way up you, trailing soft, wet kisses against your damp skin as he found your lips.
the kiss he gave you was the softest yet, and you melted under his touch as you tasted yourself on his lips. he didn't break contact as he tugged at his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down together.
peter laughed as he struggled to shake them off, only to be cut off with a deep groan as you reached down and grabbed him at the base. he was hot and heavy in your hand, the room echoing with a series of curse words falling from his lips. you tug at him slightly, gasping at how strained he was in your palm as he twitched against you. peter dipped his head down, panting in your ear as you pumped him a few times.
peter was in a dream; he was sure of it. there was no way you had your pretty little hand wrapped around him like this, begging for him to be inside of you. it was overwhelming, the sheer relief in the reality of it all. twenty minutes ago, he had apartments and jobs in the bronx pulled up, planning his new life in shame. and now, he was so high that he didn't even process your words as you told him that you were on birth control. he jerked his hips forward into your hand, swearing like a sailor as you began to line him up to your dripping entrance.
he canted forward slightly to catch you, moaning loudly as he sank slowly into you. it took everything in him to not finish on the spot as your walls fluttered around him, taking his time as he opened you up to him. you were so warm and wet.
"f-fuck, baby. baby, you're s'fucking tight," peter moaned in your ear. "you're taking me s'well. you're so perfect, fuck—"
you groaned at his praise, digging your nails into his shoulder. "pete, please move."
he chuckled, pulling almost all the way out of you. "anything you want, sweetheart."
peter began to fuck you, building speed until he found the exact pace that made you tremble underneath him. your string of moans was music to his ears, and the way you clenched tightly around him brought peter to what he could only assume was heaven. he leaned down to catch you in a kiss, reaching further down your body to hoist your legs higher, pounding deeper into you than before.
"god peter, don't stop. please," you moaned in his ear, voice cracking from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. "y-you feel even better than i imagined."
with that, peter was done for. he was so fucking done for hearing you admit you'd imagined how his cock would feel inside of you.
he pulled out, much to your dismay, taking his aching cock in his hand and pumping quickly, your name pleading on his tongue. he let out a grunt and a shaky exhale as he came all over, painting your clit and stomach with hot, thick ropes of his cum.
the feeling was dizzying — the pleasure you were getting from watching him finish over you knocked the wind out of your lungs. you panted as you watched peter scoot his way back down the bed.
"sorry, baby, promise m'not always so fast," he sat in between your legs, palming his way up your plush thighs. "i just can't tell you how much of a dream come true this is."
he positioned himself back down to eat you out with a smirk on his lips, and you were snapped out of your haze. "oh, peter! that's o-okay, you don't have— oh, fuck!"
you were cut off by your own gasp as peter began to lap up the mess he made between your legs. his tongue was everywhere, inside and out, cleaning up his own release off of you and moaning at the salty taste on his tongue.
the entire thing made you way too hot.
he groaned and pulled back to circle your clit with his index finger, looking up at you with a sloppy smirk on his wet lips.
"didn't want you thinkin' i forgot 'bout you," you threw your head back as he easily slid his middle finger inside of you.
"promised i could give you better," peter growled. "that's exactly what you're gonna to get, baby. come on, i want you to feel so good."
you moaned loudly as his lewd words only tightened the building knot inside of you. he added a second finger, and you were immediately on the edge, breathless as his pace was relentless.
"that's it, honey. fuck, you feel so perfect on my fingers. you're so perfect."
peter moved his head back down to attach his lips to your clit, fingers still pumping inside you at a bruising pace. his teeth nipped at your sensitive bud, and you were pushed over the edge, splashing out around his fingers and all over his face. you gasped as you felt the sensation, looking down at peter. he groaned against your cunt, only making your orgasm stronger and making you squirt harder on him. he lapped it up with a hunger, groaning into you one more time as he thrust into the mattress below him and came again against his stomach at your sweet taste on his tongue.
you pulled him up by his hair when you'd come down, out of breath and vision blurry. peter swung his head back, flicking his damp hair out of his eyes and looking up to see your exhausted figure above him.
"holy shit," you both whispered at the same time, earning tired laughs to fill the now quiet room.
you felt peter shift beside you, and suddenly he was gone. though, somehow, he was back just as fast with a wet, warm towel and an apple juice box. he handed the drink to you with a sloppy smile as he leaned down to clean you up, rough hands now gentle as ever with you. he was delicate on your skin as he cleaned the mixed arousal from you, tuned in to how sensitive you were now. he admired the bruises blooming around your thighs from where he gripped you.
peter moved to clean himself up, throwing the soiled towel in his laundry bin and grabbing two pairs of boxers and two of his sweatshirts. he tossed you one of each, a dopey smile on his lips the entire time.
he sat down on the bed with you again, clothes in hand as he stroked your messy hair, gazing at you with the same feeling he had in his chest the first time he ever saw you.
"listen, i know you just got out of a relationship," he started with a sheepish blush painting his cheeks. quite the stark difference to the peter in front of you five minutes ago.
"a-and if this was all you wanted, i can live with that. but i-i meant what i said. i'd really love the chance to show you better, every day."
you gave him a lopsided smile and shifted to climb onto his lap. even though you were both still naked, nothing about it was sexual. you gave him a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close. in that moment, you swore it was the safest you'd ever felt. peter was thinking just the same thing.
"there's no way you're real, peter parker."
he smirked into your neck. "funny, i was thinking the same thing about you."
