tina𑣲🕷️࿔!!

“𝒯he world is gonna end soon. My source on that? um, two years ago i had a dream that the sun exploded”

[ssheepcoco]

@ 𝒮sheepcoco’s profile ⋆⭒˚.⋆

𝒴ou can call me Tina or Vale (name is Valentina)

𝒦inda obsessed with Tom Holland’s Peter Parker (especially homecoming :3)

𝐼 only made this account to read fics, so don’t expect me to write some! (for now)

𝐿atin American with Aussie roots

𝒯iktok profile☆

[soursopper]

*sweating profusely*

[manny-jacinto]

SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY (2026) dir. Daniel Cretton

[flixpii]

LOOK WHO'S WATCHING .ᐟ                         ⤷ peter parker x f! reader

you’re obsessed with spider-man. spider-man is obsessed with you. neither of you realizes just how badly the other has crossed the line until he finally brings you through your bedroom window and finds an entire wall dedicated to hunting him down. apparently mutual stalking makes excellent foreplay. wc : 7.5k

cws .ᐟ no spoilers. bnd! peter, mentions of nwh memory spell, secret identity, stalker x stalker, mutual obsession, obsessive! reader, obsessed! peter, stalking, mutual stalking, voyeurism, attempted mugging, knife threat, gun threat, brief violence, possessiveness, masked kissing, oral fixation, scent kink, very brief cunnilingus, nipple play, teasing, rough sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, excessive cum, overstimulation, whiny! peter, memory loss / magical erasure, peter remembering a past relationship / familiarity reader cannot remember, identity reveal. minors dni 18+

The wet snap of webbing against brick is followed by a man shouting loud enough to wake half the block.

His wrist jerks above his head before the knife ever makes it close to you, silver disappearing from his grip and clattering behind a pile of garbage bags as another strand of web catches his shoulder and yanks him backward. His sneakers skid over damp pavement, his curse rises into something considerably less threatening, and Spider-Man drops from the fire escape above with enough force to send dirty rainwater jumping around his boots. 

He lands in that annoyingly graceful crouch you have watched approximately four hundred times through blurry phone videos, rises slowly, and turns his masked face from the man stuck against the wall to you. The white lenses narrow immediately. “Seriously?” he asks, one hand lifting to gesture between you and tonight’s latest disaster. “Again?” 

You pull your coat closed where the man had grabbed it and smooth the front with whatever dignity remains available, although the smile pulling at your mouth probably ruins the effect. “I didn’t invite him,” you point out as Spider-Man stoops to retrieve your purse from the pavement. 

His shoulders stay tight beneath the suit when he hands it back, gaze sweeping over your face and arms before dipping toward your legs, checking for blood or bruises without ever admitting that is what he is doing. 

“No, you just keep walking through places where guys like this hang around,” he mutters, and when the mugger chooses that exact time to spit another obscenity in his direction, Spider-Man casually fires another strip of webbing across the man’s mouth without even turning around. 

Your laugh escapes before you can swallow it. “Was that really necessary?” you ask as he places one hand near your elbow and starts steering you toward the brighter street at the end of the alley. 

Spider-Man glances back at his latest wall decoration and gives a small shrug. “For me? Yeah.”

Him rescuing you has become something dangerously close to routine, which sounds far worse once put into words. 

Your fascination with him had started harmlessly enough, back when catching a streak of red and blue above Queens still made you stop whatever you were doing and crane your neck toward the sky. 

The first time you saw him up close, you had been standing outside Delmar’s during your break with a paper cup of burnt coffee in one hand, watching him swing over the avenue while half the sidewalk pulled out their phones. Murphy, the deli owner’s fat cat and self-appointed ruler of everything behind the register, had slept through the whole spectacle with his stomach hanging over the edge of a chair. 

You had laughed, gone back inside, and thought about Spider-Man for a perfectly reasonable amount of time. 

Then you saw him again. 

… And again. 

Somewhere between following local sighting accounts, learning which videos were current and which assholes reposted year-old footage for engagement, and discovering that every publicly available patrol map seemed to have been put together by somebody who believed Queens was shaped like a rectangle, you decided you could do better. 

One map turned into several. Several maps turned into a notebook. The notebook turned into a private folder containing hundreds of photographs, screenshots, timestamps, and little observations about a man whose actual name remained frustratingly out of reach. 

You know which neighborhoods he tends to circle later in the evening, which nights draw him farther toward Manhattan, that he favors his right foot when landing despite half the internet insisting he is left-dominant, and that the terrifying thirty-something vigilante some forums insist lives beneath the mask is almost certainly closer to early-twenties. 

His voice gives that away. So does the embarrassingly soft noise he makes whenever you kiss his cheek.

The first kiss had been accidental only in the sense that you had not spent the previous hour planning it. 

He had caught you after a cab jumped the curb, carried you three blocks because your ankle hurt, and set you down outside your building with one arm still wrapped around your waist. 

Adrenaline made everything feel bright and stupidly romantic, so you leaned forward and pressed your mouth against the warm fabric covering his cheek. Spider-Man had gone completely still. You apologized, though apparently not sincerely enough to keep yourself from repeating it two nights later after he interrupted three drunk men bothering you outside a bodega, and after that the kisses became a quiet reward neither of you formally acknowledged. 

Tonight, Spider-Man walks beside you beneath a row of flickering storefront lights with his hands flexing restlessly at his sides, and you can tell he is still irritated enough that kissing him immediately might earn you another lecture. “You know there’s a main road twenty feet from that alley, right?” he asks, looking at you with the exhausted disbelief of somebody who has already had this conversation twice. 

You tuck your purse higher over your shoulder and nod solemnly. “I’ve seen it before.” 

His chest expands beneath a long breath, and when he speaks again, amusement has already begun softening the edge of his voice. “Good. I was worried.” 

You grin at him and drift half a step closer until your sleeve brushes his arm. “You always find me anyway.” His stride catches so slightly anybody else might have missed it, but you’ve spent enough nights replaying grainy footage frame by frame to notice when Spider-Man makes a mistake. 

The white lenses turn toward you, and whatever answer almost comes out gets replaced with a quieter, “You make yourself pretty easy to find.”

When you reach your apartment building, he’s recovered enough to resume pretending this is merely another rescue and not the increasingly strange little courtship it has become. 

Spider-Man stops beneath the awning across from the entrance, using the same invisible boundary he always keeps between himself and your actual home, and you immediately step closer. 

“You’re not taking that alley again,” he tells you, pointing one finger toward your chest with a sternness that would probably work better if you had not heard him whine the last time you kissed him. 

You lift your brows and catch his wrist lightly. “Are you grounding me now?” 

His lenses narrow, although his hand turns easily beneath yours instead of pulling away. “I’m thinking about it.” Your smile widens as you move close enough to feel the heat trapped beneath his suit. 

“You’d have to know where I live for that.” 

Something unreadable passes through the way he holds himself, disappearing too quickly for you to examine before you lean forward and press another kiss to his cheek. 

The fabric is warm and slightly damp beneath your mouth, and the soft sound catching in his throat sends a pleased little flutter through your stomach. Spider-Man’s fingers curl at his sides as you draw back. “Thank you,” you murmur, letting your hand slip from his wrist as you start backing toward the entrance. He watches you reach the door before answering, voice rougher than it had been several minutes ago. “Yeah. Get upstairs safe.”

Peter waits until you disappear through the glass before moving.

Swinging directly to his own window would be faster, but it would also be spectacularly stupid considering you live across the hall, and three years of guarding a secret identity have at least taught him not to expose himself because a woman kissed his cheek. 

He circles the building instead, drops behind the dumpsters beside the basement entrance, and slips through the window with his mask still covering his face. The laundry room is empty at this hour, filled only with the churn of two ancient dryers and the heavy detergent smell soaked permanently into the walls, giving Peter enough privacy to tug the suit down and wrestle himself back into the clothes stuffed inside the bag he had webbed beneath a pipe before patrol. 

He changes quickly, shoving red-and-blue fabric into the bottom of the bag and pulling his sweatshirt over damp skin, and has barely gotten his jeans fastened when the elevator groans somewhere beyond the hallway. Peter pauses with one hand still at his belt as machinery drags upward through the building. 

The elevator opens, your footsteps cross the hallway on the floor above him, and your lock clicks twice before the apartment door receives its familiar little shove against the frame. Peter closes his eyes and drops his forehead briefly against the cold metal locker in front of him.

This has become pathetic.

Not the superhero part. Peter has accepted most of the indignities attached to that by now. The pathetic part is how quickly one kiss through nylon can undo three years of hard-earned solitude. 

Before the spell, you had never been some sweeping romance Peter lost, and he refuses to rewrite ordinary familiarity into something grander simply because almost nobody remembers sharing it with him. 

You went to school together. You spoke when your paths crossed. You had seen him around Queens often enough that saying hello required no thought, and when you started working at Delmar’s, you became another part of the neighborhood Peter assumed would always be there. 

He used to come in after school, sometimes with Ned and sometimes alone, and eventually you learned his order without asking. Murphy learned Peter too, though the cat’s loyalty was probably purchased with all the turkey Peter slipped him whenever nobody was looking. 

After Strange’s spell erased Peter from everybody’s lives, Delmar’s became one of the places he avoided longest. When he finally returned, you smiled politely from behind the counter and asked what you could get him as though you had never wrapped his sandwich before he reached the register. 

Peter might have handled that better if Murphy had not woken from a nap, jumped down from his chair, and trotted directly across the deli to rub against Peter’s ankle. 

You laughed and leaned over the counter while the cat shoved his head insistently beneath Peter’s hand. “He usually ignores strangers,” you told him, amused when Murphy started purring almost immediately. “Guess he likes you.” Peter stood there petting a cat that apparently remembered his scent when nobody else remembered his name, and somehow that hurt worse than anything he had prepared himself for.

He kept going back anyway. Then, several months later, the universe decided subtle cruelty was boring and moved you into the apartment directly across from his. 

You introduced yourself in the hallway with a cardboard box balanced against one hip, and Peter smiled, repeated the name he already knew, and pretended he had not heard it hundreds of times before. 

Since then, he has learned you again in pieces. You still hate pickles. You still tap pens against your teeth when bored. You still tell stories that wander through three unrelated details before circling back to the original point. 

Your coffee order is different now, your work schedule has changed, and somehow you have become catastrophically obsessed with Spider-Man. Peter discovered that last part when he started noticing how often you appeared along his patrol routes, then realized you were deliberately lingering in places where sightings had been reported. 

He should have discouraged it, though the first time you kissed Spider-Man’s cheek, something hungry and lonely opened inside him so quickly that he has spent every night since pretending it is concern. 

Nobody looks for Peter Parker anymore. Nobody waits for him, wonders why he is late, notices when he disappears. You, meanwhile, are actively searching for Spider-Man, and Peter has become increasingly willing to let you find him.

The gun pressed into your ribs three nights later strips every pleasant justification from his head.

You had gone three blocks farther from the subway after seeing a local account report Spider-Man nearby, expecting a glimpse overhead or maybe another conveniently timed encounter. 

The man who grabs your bag strap is not part of the plan, nor is the cold barrel he shoves against your side when you turn too quickly. Every playful thrill attached to chasing a superhero through Queens drains out of you at once, and your hand has barely reached toward your purse when something red drops hard enough into the alley to scatter dirty rainwater beneath his feet. 

Spider-Man hits the mugger with enough force to send the gun skidding away, webs it to the pavement, and has the man pinned against the brick before you finish dragging breath into your lungs. One forearm is pressed across the man’s chest as Peter leans close enough that his next words come out low and ugly. “Don’t touch her,” he warns, firing webbing across both wrists before shoving himself backward. 

The mugger starts swearing, but Peter is already turning toward you, crossing the alley so quickly that both hands are on your arms before you can say anything. “Are you hurt?” he asks, palms sliding anxiously from your shoulders toward your elbows before one settles over your side where the gun had pressed. 

You shake your head and force a small smile even though your heartbeat still feels lodged somewhere near your throat. “I’m okay. He didn’t get a chance to do anything.” 

Spider-Man’s hand stays against your waist as he looks at you, and irritation finally cracks through the relief. “Because I got here. What were you thinking coming down here alone?”

The accusation lands close enough to the truth that your gaze drops toward the wet pavement. “I thought you were around,” you admit, and the way his fingers tighten faintly at your side tells you that answer did not help. 

Spider-Man exhales through his nose and tips his head back toward the narrow strip of sky between the buildings as though patience might be stored somewhere above the fire escapes. 

“That can’t be your plan every night,” he tells you when he looks down again, voice quieter but no less strained. “You can’t keep walking into bad situations because you think I’m gonna show up.” 

You should probably feel chastised, but the warmth of his palm through your coat and the obvious fear underneath his irritation make something flutter low in your stomach. 

“But you do,” you point out, lifting your hand until your fingertips brush the underside of his jaw. 

The words leave him still, white lenses fixing on you as your fingers find the bottom edge of his mask. “You always do.” 

His breathing changes when you hook your fingertips beneath the fabric, and months of curiosity surge forward all at once. You have stared at photographs until the pixels blurred, argued with strangers over jaw measurements, and filled pages with theories about a face you have never seen, and actual skin is suddenly less than an inch away. 

He catches your wrist immediately, grip firm but careful as his thumb presses over your pulse. “Don’t,” he says, shaking his head, and your mouth turns downward before you can help it. 

The pout seems to affect him more than anger would have because his fingers loosen almost instantly. 

“I just want to know,” you murmur, letting your fingertips remain curled beneath the mask where he has trapped them. “You know what I look like. It’s only fair.” 

Peter nearly laughs at the cruelty of that without finding anything funny about it. Once, you knew exactly what he looked like. You knew Peter Parker’s face without earning it, chasing it, or begging him to uncover himself beneath a flickering alley light. You had watched him stumble into the deli half asleep, seen him bruised after patrols he explained badly, rolled your eyes while Murphy claimed his lap. Now Peter cannot make himself risk seeing curiosity replace all that lost familiarity. 

His free hand slips beneath the mask instead, slowly pushing it over his chin and mouth until it bunches beneath his nose. 

Your eyes immediately drop to his lips, pink from the cold, faintly chapped, prettier than any blurry screenshot suggested. “Oh,” you breathe, staring openly enough that his mouth twitches. 

“What?” Peter asks, visibly trying not to smile. You let your captured wrist relax in his hand and look back toward his mouth. “Nothing. I’m appreciating the research opportunity.” The laugh that leaves him is soft and startled, and you barely get to enjoy it before his hand slides around the back of your neck and pulls you in.

His mouth catches yours hard, one arm immediately circling your waist when you stumble forward, and the first stroke of his tongue between your lips pulls a startled sound from you that he seems to feel everywhere. 

Your fingers bunch in the front of his suit, dragging him closer until the hard warmth of his body is pressed against yours, and Peter makes a small, helpless noise when you suck lightly on his tongue. 

There’s that soft whine you’ve suspected for months, except hearing it directly against your mouth sends a sharper pulse of heat between your thighs. You kiss him harder just to hear it twice, and Peter gives you exactly what you want, breath breaking when your teeth catch his lower lip, both hands tightening around your waist while his hips shift unconsciously closer. 

The sirens beginning several blocks away barely register until they grow louder, and he finally drags himself back with his chest rising quickly beneath the suit. “I have to go,” he breathes, mouth still close enough that the words brush your lips. 

You stare at him in disbelief and hook one finger beneath the edge of his mask before he can pull it down. “Wait—” Is all you manage to splutter before he fires a web overhead and disappears.

And he stays away long enough afterward that your annoyance has plenty of time to ferment into obsession, while Peter Parker remains inconveniently present across the hall. 

You see him the morning after the alley carrying a laundry basket toward the elevator, brown hair still damp from his shower and an old sweatshirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. He smiles when you step outside, shifting the basket against his hip as you lock your door. 

“Morning,” he says, and you return it absently before noticing the little scrape near his jaw. 

Your gaze lingers enough that Peter’s hand rises instinctively toward it. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks, rubbing the spot beneath his fingertips. 

You shake your head and start toward the elevator beside him. “No, you just look exhausted.” 

Peter lets out a quiet laugh and presses the button with his elbow. “Good morning to you too.” 

Something about his height bothers you when the doors open, though not enough to become a serious thought. Spider-Man is somewhere around Peter’s height. So are probably several hundred thousand men in New York. You let it go and spend the elevator ride complaining about the broken ice machine at Delmar’s instead, while Peter listens with that strange attentiveness he always gives your stories, like he already knows which details will matter before you reach them.

Murphy betrays the rest of the deli staff the instant Peter walks in later that afternoon. 

The cat unfolds himself from his sunny patch near the window and pads directly across the floor, winding around Peter’s ankles before he even reaches the counter. “There goes your boyfriend,” you mutter, watching Peter crouch to scratch beneath Murphy’s chin. 

Peter looks up from the cat with a grin. “He has good taste.” You snort and reach for the bread you had already pulled out after spotting him through the window. 

“Murphy loved you the first time you walked in here, which still makes no sense because he hates everybody.” Peter’s fingers pause briefly in the fur, and that odd expression crosses his face again, something quieter than embarrassment and too sad to fit such a stupid conversation. It disappears when Murphy bumps impatiently beneath his palm. “Maybe he could tell I’m trustworthy,” Peter says as he stands, and you point the bread knife toward him. 

“I wouldn’t use him as a character reference.” 

Peter laughs and leans against the counter while you make his sandwich without asking what he wants, neither of you commenting on the fact that you apparently learned his order already. 

Your Spider-Man notes get considerably worse during the weeks he avoids you.

young.  good mouth. whines when kissed.

That last observation receives two underlines because scientific rigor matters.

When Spider-Man finally appears again, your patience has thinned enough that seeing him feels less like encountering a superhero and more like catching somebody who has ignored your messages. 

The rusted fire escape beneath your shoes shrieks as you lean over the railing, one bolt breaking free with a metallic crack that sends the platform pitching sideways. You barely manage to grab the rail before an arm wraps around your waist and lifts you clean away from the collapsing metal. The city turns beneath you in a blur of lit windows and streetlamps while Spider-Man swings upward, and your arms lock around his neck on instinct. 

Relief makes you laugh breathlessly into his shoulder. “There you are,” you gasp, and Peter nearly misses the next web. 

His arm tightens until your body presses firmly against his. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans as he swings toward the next building. You lift your face from his shoulder and glare at the side of the mask. “You disappeared for almost three weeks.” 

Peter adjusts his grip beneath your thighs and fires another web. “I was busy.” 

Your brows lift as wind tears at your coat. “Busy doing what, avoiding me?” 

His masked face angles down toward you, and despite everything you can practically feel the embarrassment beneath it. “I’m a superhero. Things… happen.” You laugh and hook your arms more securely around his shoulders. “Very convincing.”

He usually leaves you downstairs, but tonight he carries you directly toward your apartment window. You realize where he’s headed with enough time to remember what your bedroom looks like and absolutely no time to fix it. 

“Oh, shit,” you murmur against his shoulder, prompting Peter to glance down. 

“What?” he asks as his hand sticks to the brick beside your window. You shake your head much too quickly and reach for the frame. “Nothing. Just get me inside.” 

Peter slides the window open, helps you climb through, and follows with the easy sideways movement that still looks unreal no matter how many videos you have watched. 

The bedroom light clicks on under your hand. His masked face turns toward the wall, and your dignity quietly expires.

“Before you say anything,” you begin, stepping between him and your desk despite knowing full well your body cannot conceal eight feet of obsessive research, “it looks worse because everything is grouped together.” 

Peter says nothing immediately, which makes the humiliation grow teeth. 

Your wall contains maps stabbed with colored pins, printed photographs, newspaper clippings, screenshots, handwritten notes, sketches comparing suit details, and one especially embarrassing attempt to calculate his height using a parking meter from an old photograph. A Spider-Man plush sits near your pillows, and Peter’s head turns slowly toward it until you snatch it off the bed and throw it behind you. “Don’t,” you warn, pointing when his shoulders begin to shake. 

Peter lifts both hands innocently. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were about to.” 

His laugh finally escapes as he walks closer to the wall, and despite the embarrassment burning through you, there is something strangely familiar about watching him read your handwriting. 

Spider-Man has existed at a distance for months, reduced to streaks between buildings and photographs enlarged until they turned grainy. Now he’s standing in your bedroom studying notes about himself.

Peter reaches toward one page before you slap his hand away. 

“Absolutely not.” 

He pulls back, still laughing beneath the mask. “What’s so bad on that one?” 

Your entire face heats when his head angles around you enough to catch the words anyway. 

“Does that say ‘whines when kissed’?” he asks, amusement cracking through every syllable as you rip the paper from the board and shove it behind your back. 

“You have no respect for research ethics,” you mutter, and Peter’s laugh becomes loud enough that you shove at his chest, though he barely moves, and the reminder of his strength shifts something beneath your embarrassment—the atmosphere changes further when his gaze drops from your face toward your mouth. 

You still have the paper hidden behind you as his gloved hand settles lightly around your wrist. 

“You really wrote notes after kissing me?” he asks. 

You tilt your chin and step closer. “You gave me data.” Peter’s head tilts slightly, white lenses fixed on you. “That’s what we’re calling it?” You let the paper flutter onto the floor and slide your fingers beneath the bottom edge of his mask. 

“Depends. Are you planning on giving me more?”

This time Peter lets you uncover his mouth without resistance, and the kiss knocks the remaining humor out of both of you. He backs toward the bed beneath the pressure of your body, hands finding your waist just before the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he drops onto it. 

You climb into his lap without breaking the kiss, knees settling on either side of his thighs as his mouth opens eagerly under yours. 

There are no sirens approaching, no mugger webbed fifteen feet away, and apparently no remaining portion of Peter’s self-control either. His hands slide beneath your shirt and span your waist, palms hot enough that your skin prickles beneath them, while you hook your fingers beneath the collar of his suit and peel it away from his throat. The scent trapped beneath reaches you immediately—clean soap buried beneath hours of sweat, cold air and something darker warmed against synthetic fabric—and you lean into the exposed skin before deciding whether doing so is strange. 

Your nose brushes the side of his throat as you breathe deeply. 

Peter shudders beneath you. “Are you smelling me?” he asks, disbelief mixing with something considerably more interested when you do it again. 

Your mouth curves against the damp skin beneath his jaw. “Maybe.” His hips move against yours, giving him away much faster than his voice. “I’ve been sweating for hours.” 

You drag your tongue slowly through the salty sheen along his neck, and Peter’s fingers clamp around your hips, and the whine he tries to swallow makes your grin widen.

The kissing grows quickly, lips wet and swollen as Peter seems determined to make up for three weeks of avoiding you with his mouth alone. Your shirt ends up on the floor near the dresser, his suit gets peeled down over his shoulders far enough to expose his chest, and Peter immediately attaches himself to your tits like he has been thinking about them for just as long as you have been thinking about him. 

His mouth closes around one nipple and sucks until your back arches, tongue circling the hardened tip before his teeth scrape lightly enough to send a shiver down your spine. He switches sides with ridiculous enthusiasm, one hand squeezing the breast he abandoned while his lips work the other. 

“You really do like using your mouth,” you tease, fingers curling around the edge of his mask as he drags his tongue slowly over your nipple. 

Peter lifts his head, lips wet and the exposed half of his face flushed. “You wrote that down too?” he asks while his hands are already tugging impatiently at the waistband of your pants. 

You push his shoulder until he rolls enough for you to kick them away. “Maybe I have a section.” 

Peter lets out a suffering groan and lowers his mouth to your stomach, his lips moving lower before you can say anything else, dragging down your stomach until the tip of his nose brushes above your cunt. 

You barely have time to lift yourself onto your elbows before Peter hooks his hands beneath your thighs and pushes them apart. “Really?” you breathe, staring down at the masked man between your legs. 

The white lenses flick upward toward you, and then his mouth closes over your pussy without another word. His tongue drags from your entrance all the way to your clit in one broad, obscenely wet stripe that makes your hips jump against his face. “Fuck,” you gasp, hand grabbing his shoulder as Peter does it again, slower this time, tasting the slick already coating you before his lips close around your clit and suck once, the pressure sending a sharp pulse through your stomach. 

He hums against you as though the reaction pleased him, tongue flicking twice over the swollen little bud before dipping back down to gather more of your wetness. Your cunt clenches uselessly around nothing when he presses the pointed tip just inside you, and the sound Peter makes against you is almost embarrassingly hungry. 

You could very easily let him stay there until your legs stopped working, especially when his mouth returns to your clit and gives another slow suck, but you have spent months imagining something else. 

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders and drag him upward, and Peter pulls away with your slick shining across his lips and chin, staring at you like you have personally offended him. “What?” he asks, breath warm against the inside of your thigh. 

You grab the front of his suit and haul him back over you until his wet mouth meets yours. 

Getting the rest of his suit down becomes a clumsy joint effort because Peter cannot seem to go more than several seconds without kissing you. He gets it bunched beneath his hips, you shove your underwear away somewhere near the foot of the bed, and then his cock finally springs free between you and your eyes drop immediately. Thick, flushed dark pink at the head and already leaking enough precum to make the slit shine, it rests heavy between his thighs until you wrap your fingers around it and feel him twitch in your hand. 

Peter shifts beneath your stare, suddenly discovering modesty at an absurd stage of the evening. “Stop,” he mutters, one palm braced beside your head. 

You laugh quietly and give him one slow stroke from root to tip, watching his abs jump beneath the movement. “I didn’t even say anything.” Peter’s head tips back as your thumb smears the bead of precum over the broad head. 

“You were thinking very loudly.” You stroke him again, squeezing slightly beneath the tip, and his hips buck hard enough to fuck your fist once. 

“Can your spider powers read minds now?” you ask, guiding his cock lower until it drags through the slick between your thighs. Peter lifts his head and catches your mouth before answering. “No, you just have a… face.”

He settles between your spread legs and his bare cock slides directly through your soaked folds, the sensitive underside dragging over your clit hard enough to make both of you inhale. 

Peter freezes with his mouth still against yours, one hand gripping your thigh and the other planted into the mattress beside your head. His cock throbs where it rests against you, hot and slick and painfully close.

You hook one leg around his waist and pull him closer until the pressure increases, fingers tightening on the sweaty skin at the back of his neck. Peter searches your face through the mask, jaw tightening as you take his cock in your hand and guide him forward.

The first bare push knocks every remaining shred of composure out of him. His mouth falls open as the thick head stretches you, slipping inside slowly enough that you feel every inch as Peter works deeper. Your wet cunt gives around him with a slick drag that makes your thighs tremble, and by the time his hips finally press flush against yours, the whine leaving him is so helpless you almost laugh despite the fullness stealing half your breath. 

Peter drops his forehead beside your temple, chest damp against yours while his cock throbs inside you. He breathes your name out against your ear, fingers curling hard into the sheet. 

You deliberately squeeze around him, curious how sensitive he really is, and his whole body shudders. “That sensitive?” you tease, sliding your nails down his sweaty back. Peter lifts his head, white lenses narrowing in offended disbelief even as his cock twitches inside you. 

Once he starts moving, restraint becomes mostly theoretical. His first several thrusts are controlled, drawing almost all the way out before pushing back inside with enough care that your body has time to adjust to the stretch, but the sound growing between your thighs makes the control feel increasingly fragile. 

You can hear how soaked you are every time he buries himself, your pussy gripping him hard on the pullback before opening again around his cock. Peter’s mouth stays pressed near yours, breath turning heavier with every thrust as he stares down through the mask at the place where your faces nearly touch. When you tighten your legs around his waist and pull him deeper, something in him finally gives. 

His hips snap forward hard enough to shove you farther up the mattress, and the groan tearing out of him goes straight into your mouth. “Fuck,” you gasp, grabbing his shoulders while Peter begins fucking you with an urgency that makes the bed squeak underneath you. Every thrust pushes his cock deeper, thick head rubbing over the spot that makes your stomach tighten as your slick starts coating the base of him and the soft hair above it. 

The room fills with the wet slap of skin against skin, mattress springs protesting beneath you, and Peter’s increasingly broken breaths every time your cunt squeezes him.

The urgency of the thrusts makes it seem as though he’s somebody who has spent years holding too much inside himself and finally found somewhere to put it. You’d never know how long he’s been alone, but the way he cannot stand to pull all the way out gives you a clue. A clue you would definitely be writing down later.

One hand hooks beneath your thigh and pushes it higher, opening you enough that the next thrust lands so deep your mouth falls open against his.  Peter feels your reaction instantly and does it again, harder, hips grinding against you at the end until his pubic bone drags over your swollen clit. “Yeah?” he pants, his lips brushing yours as another thrust knocks a moan from your throat. 

You nod quickly, nails digging into the slick muscles of his shoulders. “Yes. Don’t change it.” 

Peter makes a strangled, little noise and obeys, driving into the same spot until your legs begin shaking around his hips. His mouth stays everywhere he can reach—your lips, your jaw, the side of your throat where sweat has gathered—and every time he tastes the salt from your skin his cock seems to jerk harder inside you. 

You return the favor shamelessly, pressing your face into his neck and inhaling until his scent feels lodged at the back of your throat. The smell of sweat thickens as the room heats, warm musk and soap mixed with the synthetic scent of the suit bunched around his hips. 

His hand grips the underside of your thigh and pins it wider as his cock pounds through the slick gathering between you, every thrust making your cunt squelch around him. Sweat runs down the center of his chest and drips onto your skin. Your tits bounce beneath the force of each push, and Peter cannot stop looking at them when he pulls back enough to watch his body fuck into yours. His exposed mouth hangs open, lips swollen from kissing and shining with spit, and the small broken sounds escaping him grow more frequent the wetter you get. 

“God,” he groans, staring down between you as his cock disappears all the way to the base again. Peter’s eyes squeeze shut beneath the mask and a moan tears from his throat. He lowers himself quickly enough that his chest crushes against yours and catches your mouth in a wet kiss. 

His thumb finds your clit after several more rough thrusts, sliding down through the slick coating your folds before circling the swollen nub with two wet fingers. Your entire body jerks beneath him. Peter watches your face closely, slowing his hips just enough to grind against you while his thumb rubs tighter circles. “Is that it?” He murmurs, still breathless himself as your thighs begin trembling harder. “I knew that’d get you.” 

You grab his jaw and pull his exposed mouth down into yours as his thumb keeps working while his cock drives into you bare, each thrust dragging through the slippery mess coating both of you, and the combination is making it difficult to hold onto anything beyond sensation. “You act like you know everything about me,” you gasp against his mouth, fingers catching on the sweat-damp edge of his mask when Peter groans and pushes even deeper. 

His answer comes out without enough thought behind it, forehead nearly touching yours as he mutters, “You always do that when you’re close anyway.”

Your brows draw together, although Peter is still fucking you too hard for the realization to settle neatly. His cock grinds deep as your thighs tighten around him. “Always?” you manage, staring through the white lenses. 

Peter goes still around the mouth before his hips betray him with another hungry thrust, and when he answers, the confession is vague enough to make your pulse jump harder than any elaborate explanation could have. “Your curtains don’t close all the way.”

A filthy little thrill tears through your stomach so sharply that your cunt clamps around him. 

Peter’s mouth falls open, another pathetic sound spilling out as his forehead drops against yours. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe, almost laughing because the information should probably concern you far more than it does, though your legs wrap tighter around his waist and tug him deeper. “You fucking creep.” 

Peter lets out a wrecked groan and drives into you harder, thumb pressing more insistently against your swollen clit as though your reaction has burned through whatever shame he still had. “You’re one to talk,” he pants against your mouth, and that is all either of you says about it.

You kiss him hard enough to swallow whatever else might have come out, tongue pushing between his lips while Peter fucks you with a new rough desperation that makes the headboard knock against the wall. 

The thought of that masked face somewhere beyond the glass while you changed, slept, stretched across these same sheets or wandered around your room without ever knowing he was there makes your pussy pulse greedily around him, and Peter feels every fucking contraction. 

“Shit,” he whines, pulling back enough to look down at the wet place where his bare cock keeps disappearing into you. Your slick has spread everywhere now, glazing his shaft and shining across the dark curls at the base each time he bottoms out. 

The next thrust is hard enough to knock the headboard into the wall, followed by another that makes you clamp around him, and then any careful rhythm he had left simply falls apart. He fucks into you in rough, desperate strokes, cock dragging almost all the way free before punching back inside as his mouth falls open against your shoulder. “Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m—” His warning disintegrates into a whine when you squeeze him again, and you hook both legs around his waist, refusing to give him anywhere to retreat. 

Peter’s hands grab your hips. His cock jerks violently inside you once, twice, and then he buries himself as deep as your bodies will allow.

The first pulse of cum makes his entire body lock.

Peter comes with a strangled moan pressed into your neck, cock twitching hard inside your cunt while heat spills from him in thick, wet bursts. You can feel each one, deep and hot, coating you while he trembles above your body. 

His hips keep giving small involuntary pushes as he empties himself, every shallow grind smearing the mess farther between you while his voice breaks into soft, wrecked little sounds against your sweaty skin. He whimpers out your name, almost sounding embarrassed by how badly he’s shaking. 

You drag your mouth along his jaw and inhale the heavy scent of him again, cunt still fluttering greedily around his pulsing cock. 

Peter groans when you tighten, oversensitive now but apparently incapable of making himself pull out, and another thin spurt of cum warms you before it starts leaking around his shaft. The first wet trickle slips from your entrance and spreads across your inner thigh, mixing with your own slick until everything below his hips feels indecently slippery.

Peter remains buried inside you as his cock gradually starts softening, still thick enough to keep most of his cum trapped while every small movement squeezes more around him. 

You shift your hips just enough to feel it smear between your bodies and his mouth falls open in another strained whine. 

Two fingers drag through the mess coating your cunt before his thumb settles directly over your clit, and you jolt hard enough that your cunt squeezes him. 

Peter hisses through his teeth but does not move his hand away. 

“Spider—,” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as he starts rubbing tight, slick circles. 

Peter’s forehead falls beside yours while his hips begin shallow little grinds, softened cock still dragging inside your oversensitive walls with every movement. Cum keeps leaking around him, wetting the base of his cock and making every grind sound dirty as his thumb presses harder when your thighs start shaking. 

Your entire lower body feels swollen and slick, every rub of his thumb sending another sharp pulse through your stomach while the dull fullness of his cock keeps you stretched around him. 

Peter kisses you between broken breaths, mouth still greedy even after coming hard enough to leave him trembling, and when your tongue slips against his he answers with another groan. 

Your hand drifts upward toward the mask, fingers slipping beneath its wet lower edge almost without thought. Peter catches your wrist before you can pull. “No,” he pants, though the refusal lacks most of its earlier strength. 

You stare through the white lenses, hips moving helplessly beneath him as his thumb continues circling your clit. “I still don’t get your face?” you ask breathlessly, tugging lightly against his grip. 

Peter groans when your cunt squeezes his softening cock again, the overstimulation making his jaw tighten. “You can have everything else.”

You kiss him slowly enough that his hand begins to relax around your wrist.

Then you rip the mask off.

The fabric drags over damp skin and catches briefly around his ears before coming free in your fist, brown curls tumbling messily over his forehead where the mask had flattened them. 

Peter’s uncovered eyes snap open, wide and terrified, and whatever filthy little victory you expected to feel disappears beneath recognition so violent your body reacts before your mind has time to arrange it.

Peter.

Your neighbor Peter.

Peter from across the hall, who carries laundry downstairs on Sunday mornings and holds the elevator when he sees you running for it. Peter who comes into Delmar’s often enough that you start his sandwich before he reaches the counter. Peter who Murphy adored the very first time you watched him walk through the door, winding around his legs like they had known each other forever.

Peter, still buried inside your cunt with his cum leaking around him.

The recognition hits your body almost brutally.

Your orgasm tears through you before you can form a single question, your back arching off the mattress as your thighs lock around Peter’s waist. Your cunt clamps around his softening cock in violent, pulsing contractions, milking the last slippery traces of cum from him and dragging a broken groan out of his throat. 

His thumb keeps rubbing your clit through it, wet and relentless, until pleasure becomes almost too sharp to stand. 

Your nails dig into his sweaty shoulders while another wave rolls through your stomach, your toes curling and your mouth falling open as your pussy spasms around him again. Warm slick squeezes out between your bodies with every contraction, and the sheer filth of feeling Peter Parker inside you while finally seeing Spider-Man’s face sends another hard pulse through your cunt.

Peter’s brown eyes never leave yours.

The quiet man you pass in the hallway. The customer who smiles at you over a deli counter. Spider-Man. Your stalker. Your neighbor.

Your vision blurs around his uncovered face as your orgasm keeps dragging through you, harder than anything you had expected, each contraction making Peter hiss from overstimulation while his hand stays between your thighs anyway. Your whole body trembles beneath him, thighs clamped tight, chest heaving against his sweaty one as pleasure finally begins cresting into something almost dizzying.

And with his face only inches from yours, the name finally tears out of you.

“Peter—”

© 2026 all rights reserved — flixpii.

ᯓ★ peter ; @tweektwkfan

[devinemist]

I hate when people ask me if im an introvert or an extrovert ..girl im a pervert😭😭😭😭😭

[iheartwhre]

i’ll be so good for you

summary: Peter Parker is the sweet, soft-spoken chemistry partner who saves you a seat and asks about your day. He gave you the kind of gentle attention your boyfriend never bothers to give. Playful texts turn heated, one message sent to the wrong person, and soon Peter is climbing through your window. You make him prove it, keeping him desperate and whimpering.

➺ tags: mcu!peter, needy!peter, whimpering!peter, pup nickname, mommy kink, mommy dom, cheater!reader, reader insert, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, choking, dirty talk, begging, hand job, ball play, riding, university au, power imbalance, dominant reader, submissive peter, slight smau

➺ authors note: i’m sorryyy this took forever but i hope u enjoy it. inspired by text messages from tiktok. feedback is appreciated <3

word count: 1.9k

The chem lab always smelled like solvent and burnt coffee, the kind of fluorescent-lit hell that made every elective feel like you were back in highschool. You’d only signed up because you needed the credit and the time slot didn’t clash with anything else. Peter Parker had been assigned as your partner in week two. He was quiet, brilliant, always showing up with faintly bruised knuckles, but nevertheless they look soft. He looked soft.

He started saving you a seat after the third lab.

Just a quiet little habit. He’d already have his notebook open, backpack on the neighboring stool, and when you walked in he’d glance up and give you that small, shy smile like he’d been waiting. Then he’d talk first. Always.

“Hey. How’s your day going?”
“Did you sleep okay? You look tired.”
“That online quiz in organic was brutal, right? How’d you do?”

He asked like he actually wanted the answer. He’d listen with those perfect brown eyes fixed on you, soft and warm, head tilted a little, nodding at the right parts. He was gentle in a way that felt rare. Soft-spoken. He was adorable when he got excited about a reaction working the way it was supposed to and his whole face lit up. He made you melt without even trying. The kind of sweetness you’d been hoping for from your boyfriend and never got.

Your boyfriend only texted when he wanted something. A ride. Attention. Validation. Never just to check in.

So when your phone buzzed during the post-lab write up, you almost didn’t look.

You rolled your eyes looking at your boyfriends texts and moved on to the next chat. Peter’s message was already waiting.

You alternated between Peter and your boyfriend’s messages. You were grinning at your phone—having actual fun for once—that you must’ve swiped and accidentally clicked too fast, sending a risky text to Peter and re-sent a homework link…to your boyfriend.

Your pulse kicked hard. You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering. You could’ve stopped Peter from coming over but you knew exactly what you were doing, because you knew exactly who you really wanted.

You bit your lip. This was wrong. You had a boyfriend. You knew that. The messages are right there. But Peter listened. He made sure you were okay and actually waited for you. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And right now he was offering himself up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t correct the mix-up. You just texted Peter the address and said you’d wait for him.

Sooner enough, the soft scrape of sneakers on the fire escape ladder reached you. You opened the window. Peter climbed in quiet as a shadow, hoodie pulled up, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Wow that was fast…”

He walked closer to you and pulled you in by the waist. You grabbed the front of his hoodie and dragged him into a kiss that was all teeth and need. He made a soft, broken sound against your mouth and melted into it, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch until you yanked them around your waist. The kiss turned filthy and fast, tongues sliding, breath shared, the weeks of tension snapping all at once. You walked him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He went down easy. You followed, straddling his lap, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

All Peter did was whimper.

You pushed him flat and climbed higher, knees bracketing his ribs, one hand sliding up to curl around his throat slightly hard, squeezing just enough pressure to make his eyes flutter and his hips jerk up into nothing.

“Please,” he breathed, voice already wrecked. “Please I’ve been waiting—”

“Not yet.” You squeezed a little tighter, watching the way his mouth fell open. “You’ve been so patient and good for me so far.”

His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing like he needed the contact to stay grounded. You rolled your hips once, slow, letting him feel the heat of you through layers of fabric, then lifted off of him. He made a desperate little sound.

You sat back on his thighs and popped the button of his jeans. The zipper came down next. His cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking, the head shiny. You wrapped your fist around him and gave one firm stroke from base to tip. Peter’s head tipped back, a high, needy moan spilling out.

“Look at this fucking cock,” you murmured, thumb smearing the thick bead of precum across his slit until it glistened. “So hard for me already. Did you get like this just from texting me? Sitting in lab next to me all semester, saving my seat like a good boy, asking about my day while I bet your dick was twitching under the table, leaking into your jeans?”

“Y-yes—fuck—”

You tightened your fist and started stroking him slow and filthy, twisting hard on the upstroke, rubbing the sensitive underside of the head until his hips jerked. Every time he tried to fuck up into your hand you pinned his hips down.

“Stay still. Don’t you dare move, pup.”

He whined at the nickname, high and broken, thighs shaking. You kept the strokes lazy and tight, stopping dead every time his breathing got too sharp. When you finally leaned down and dragged the flat of your tongue across his dripping tip, tasting him, he nearly sobbed.

His hand twitched toward your hair.

You slammed his wrist back above his head.

“Nuh-uh. Hands back.”

Peter’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown. “I-I’m sorry, Mommy…”

The word went straight to your body. You rewarded him with another slow, filthy lick, then sucked just the swollen head into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks. His whole body jerked. You pulled off with a wet, obscene pop and shifted lower, cupping his tight balls, rolling them in your palm while your other hand kept stroking him in long, teasing pulls that left him dripping all over your fingers.

“Been thinking about this, haven’t you?” you asked, voice low and mean. “The way you’re leaking for me and calling me ‘mommy’ already. This whole time you just wanted me to ruin this pretty cock. Wanted me to use you, is that right?”

“F-Fuck..mmph—yes—please—”

“Poor thing.” You squeezed his balls firmer, just shy of pain, and watched his stomach jump. “All that smart brain and all you can think about is getting your cock wrecked by me. Tsk tsk, Parker.”

You kept him there forever—stroking, pausing, licking the tip, mouthing and sucking on his balls, never giving him a steady rhythm. Every time his hips started to rock you stopped completely and waited until he was panting and begging like a whore.

“Mmh’Please, Mommy—please, I need you— I’ll be so fucking good, I swear—mm!”

You crawled back up his body and kissed him deep, slipping your tongue into his mouth so he could taste his own precum. Your fist never stopped working his cock, slow and merciless.

“You want me to ride this cock?” you asked against his mouth.

He nodded frantically, almost crying.

“Then ask like a good boy.”

“Please-Please ride me, Mommy. Please use my cock!—mm’fuck yourself on me—I need it—need you…”

You pulled back, stripping your clothes off while he did the same. He stared at you like he was starving. When you finally moved your hips again, you sank down onto him without a warning, inch by thick inch, his moan were even louder. You took every inch until your ass was flush to his hips, cunt pulsing hard around him just to watch his face fall apart.

“Fuck—you’re so fucking warm—so tight—”

You started moving. Slow at first. Rolling your hips, grinding your pussy down on him, lifting almost all the way off so just the head stayed inside before slamming back down. One hand locked around his throat. The other braced on his chest. “What did I say about your hands? Put them back behind your head.” He whimpered in response and did as you told.

Every time he tried to thrust up you squeezed his neck and stopped moving completely.

Peter moaned, high and desperate, hips twitching uselessly. “Mommy—please—your cunt feels so good, I can feel you pulsing around my cock, it’s—fuck—don’t stop—”

You stayed still, deliberately clenching and fluttering around him, feeling his dick throb and leak inside you. “I control this cock. You take what I give you, repeat it.”

“Yes, Mommy. I-I take what you give me. I-—sorry mmgh—please—God! you’re so warm and wet, I-can feel you squeezing my dick—Oh my—”

You rode him harder after that, but never enough for him. Kept him right on the edge, changing tempo the second his breathing got too desperate. Filthy praise and nasty commands poured out of you between wet kisses and how pretty he looked when he was about to cry, how good his cock felt stretching your cunt, how he was going to hold his load in until you said so.

When you finally let the pace build, Peter was shaking underneath you, eyes glossy, mouth open on constant broken little pleas. You could feel him getting close by the way his eyes would roll back and his lips parted without him saying a word. The way his cock twitched and swelled, the way his balls drew up tight, the way his voice cracked on every moan.

You slowed again. Almost stopped.

He sobbed. “No! Please—Mommy—please—I’m so close—I’m so close, I’m so close—your cunt feels too good!—I can’t—”

“Hold it,” you ordered, voice low and cruel, hand still wrapped tight around his throat. “You don’t fucking cum until I say so. Understand? Want to keep being a good boy for me, right?”

“Y-yes—please—” He nodded carefully while his whole body was trembling with the effort, hips stuttering in aborted little thrusts. “You’re p-pulsing—so wet— wet—I can feel every squeeze—fuck—I can feel you dripping—”

You leaned down, tongue lightly brushing his ear, and started moving again with deep rolls of your hips that kept him right on the edge; the mixture of your cunt and his balls slapping together creating a wet skin slap and milking him with every grind.

“Good boy. Stay right there for me. Don’t you dare cum for me yet.”

He whimpered, high and shattered, he couldn’t help but remove his hands from his head and tightly grip your hips, fingers digging bruises into them as he fought his load back. You dragged it out just a little longer, feeling his cock throb and twitch desperately inside you, listening to every broken cry of his with skin wet sounds.

“Cum for me, pup. Fill my pussy up. Show me how much you needed this.”

He broke with a wrecked cry, hips jerking hard as he flooded you with his cum, thick and hot. You kept riding him through it, grinding down to milk every last spurt out of him until he was oversensitive and sobbing, then finally slowed and collapsed forward against his chest.

Both of you were breathing hard. Peter’s hands came up, shaky and hesitant, and rested on your back like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Good job…”

He nodded, voice completely destroyed. “Always. Whatever you want. Just… don’t make me leave yet.”

You smiled against his skin and stayed right where you were, his cum already starting to leak out around his softening cock.

© iheartwhre

[femtoddanderson]

POV: Peter likes to leave you voicemails

*please leave your voice message at the tone*

“Hey baby, I’m almost done here just got a few more things I gotta take care of ‘kay? Then I’m coming home. Missed you a lot today… I saved this really cute dog from a tree in Central Park today and it reminded me of you and when you almost brought that rescue home? *heh* maybe we should get one…it could be my new side-kick. I just finished up a job with Matt who says hi by the way, but um he says that we should try that pizza place on third? I was thinking maybe we could swing by there after I get back? Then maybe some gelato from Tony’s too? It’s been a while since we could go out on a date, that’s my fault, I’m sorry you deserve dates every day. Multiple times. I’ll make it up to you, swear. Well anyways…call me back when you’re free, I miss you…I just need to hear your voice…

‘Kay,

Bye,

Love you.

*end of voicemail*

*press one to keep, press 2 to delete*

[anakins-girl]

[filmgifs]

I'm, uh, MJ.

[p0lkaroid]

“what i’d wear as tony stark’s daughter” IM SAT

[whoispeterparkeranyways]

spider-man x reader smau (part one)

in which you meet spider-man and a friendship blossoms!

here’s the spotify playlist i made for this fic!

(this is a mix of amazing spider-man + mcu spider-man)

part one | two

spiderspottings

liked by yourname, gwenstacy, and others

spiderspottings recent spider-man spottings in williamsburg! i wonder what he gets on his pizza 🍕🕸️💙

open all comments

yourname met him in line and can confirm he is a sausage and pepproini kind of guy!

gwenstacy the ONE time i decide to study instead of getting a snack yourname @.gwenstacey what if i said he followed me back on instagram gwenstacy @.yourname WTF??? mjwatson It was kind of epic. gwenstacy @.mjwatson i am going to LOSE IT RN

leedsneeds We're best friends btw!

flashthompson he doesn't know you little bro spiderman @.needsleeds Ned, my man! leedsneeds @.spiderman Mr. Spidey!

yourname

liked by mjwatson, spiderman, and others

yourname guess who ate pizza with spider-man... ME!!

open all comments

spiderman It was so nice to meet you!

yourname you too! we must do that again yourname @.spiderman when you're not too busy saving the city ofc spiderman @.yourname Totally!

gwenstacey i'm so jealous. i can't believe my luck

mjwatson I can hear you squealing from the next room

yourname I CAN'T CONTAIN MY HAPPINESS

your pov:

peter's pov:

mj's pov:

a/n: lmk if you want to be on the tag list!

[starksromanova]

the monster inside — peter parker x reader

obsessive love .ᐟ / word count: 12k+

— peter parker x fem!reader, set in spider-man: brand new day [ mild spoilers, mostly au ]

description: peter parker is your favorite regular at the deli you work at. you enjoy his company, and he’s kind to you. but lately, something about him feels different. strange changes are occurring in his dna, awakening a darker, more primal side of himself: leading peter to struggle with controlling his growing obsession for you. when you accidentally uncover his secret identity… you also discover the monster that’s awakened inside of him. now that you know the truth, neither of you can go back to the way things were.

content warnings/tags: mature themes (18+), yandere!peter, dom!peter, obsessive!peter, smut, dry humping, fingering, unprotected p/v sex, rough sex, creampie, foreplay, possessiveness, obsessive devotion, stalking, jealousy, territorial behavior, monster/primal instincts, loss of control, rough behavior, biting/marking, angst, emotional distress, panic, hurt/comfort, secret identity reveal, dark romance, fluff/tenderness after sex, mutual love, and a happy ending. mdni!!!

A/N: [i am a yapper so this one’s a long one]. this took me three days to finish after a fleeting idea i got paired with brain rotting about BND turned into a mini fanfic lol. this is also my first time writing smut so i apologize if it’s not polished + english is not my first language so forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. let me know what you all think! to anyone who reads this, i hope you enjoy. ♡

you’ve worked at the little deli on the corner of the street in the bustling city of queens for so long you stopped thinking of it as a temporary job.

it was supposed to be something to get you through college. a way to pay your rent, buy groceries, and pay off your studies.

somehow, years passed.

now you know the regulars by name. your daily routine consists of fixing sandwiches for customers, knowing who likes extra mustard, who wants their coffee black, and who complains about the price of everything yet still comes back every morning.

the work certainly wasn’t easy, but seeing the satisfaction on customers’ faces after you’ve served them makes it all the worthwhile for you.

and then there’s peter parker, your favorite regular.

peter is in his mid twenties, just like you. he stopped by so often that you don’t need to ask him what he wants. you’ve become quite fond of him since he’d become one of your regulars. he’s a sweet guy that always managed to make you laugh, and you’d realized at some point you started to enjoy his company—which you didn’t mind. you started to look forward to the days he’d come in to the deli. 

you’re wiping down one of the tables you served when you hear the sound of the bell chiming, signaling the arrival of a new customer. 

you turned your head to greet the customer, your eyes zoning in on a familiar mop of soft brown curls. a small grin forms on your lips as soon as you recognized peter.

he makes his way over to sit on one of the swivel chairs placed in front of the counter near the register as you get started on fixing his usual order. 

he caught your eye, a sheepish smile on his face that made it hard for you to be annoyed at him for coming in on a busy evening shift.

“hey, y/n,” he greeted you casually, slipping onto the swivel chair. “busy evening, huh?”

you scoff, giving him a side eye before you turn around, gathering the ingredients to prepare the sandwich filling.

“you tell me. you’re here often enough.”

peter chuckles softly. “what can i say? you make a mean triple decker.”

“buttering me up now, hm?” you say, crossing your arms with a cocked eyebrow.

he shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “i’m just saying. honesty is the best policy.”

that earns a soft chuckle from you, turning around to continue working on finishing his sandwich.

peter watches you. he always does.

normally, it’s subtle. tonight, it isn’t. something feels wrong. he can feel it beneath his skin.

a crawling sensation. heat. pressure.

his heartbeat suddenly feels too loud in his chest. peter presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and forces himself to breathe normally.

not here. not now. he knows what this is.

another episode.

the changes in his dna have been affecting him more frequently lately. at first, it was small things. his senses becoming sharper, his reflexes and instincts more aggressive. his appetite is nearly impossible to satisfy now.

then came the nightmares. the instincts. the rage. the strange, animalistic impulses that sometimes surfaced without warning.

his body wasn’t simply changing. it was adapting.

he watches you put the food down in front of him, your eyes narrowing as you shoot him a small smile.

“here you go.” you tilt your head at him. “are you alright, peter?” you ask, your voice hitting his senses, a sweet melody that echoes in his head like a broken record.

he swallows. 

hard.

all you did was ask him a simple question, yet it sends a strange ripple through him. your voice is too clear. too soft. too close. he can hear every tiny inflection in it, every breath between your words. he can hear the faint rhythm of your heartbeat over the clustered sound of voices overlapping in the deli. 

thump. thump. thump.

his fingers curl against his knees.

“yeah. m’alright,” he answers.

his voice comes out rougher than he intends. your eyebrows draw together. 

you pause.

“…are you sure?”

peter nods quickly. “i’m fine.”

the lie rolls off his tongue easily. the creature beneath his skin shifts. not violently. not yet.

just enough to remind him it’s awake.

he can tell you didn’t buy his lie, but you didn’t press further either. 

“alright,” you murmured softly.

you moved away to serve another customer. peter stares down at his food, fists curling into his palms. for a few seconds, he doesn’t move.

normally, the smell alone would have been enough to make his stomach growl. tonight, his senses are so overloaded even the smallest details feel unbearable.

you glanced at him, your eyebrows furrowing when you noticed a cut on his upper right eyebrow, in the process of healing. it wasn’t the first time he’d shown up with cuts and bruises littering his pale skin, but you never questioned him.

something peter was grateful for despite the twinge of guilt that would tug in his gut for keeping his identity concealed from you.

before you could say something to him you’re approached by one of the men that always liked to linger around after finishing his meal. he tried to converse with you, some comments a bit too flirty for your liking. you could handle yourself, but it happened far too often and it pissed you off.

peter swallowed the bite in his mouth, hazel eyes fixated on the man that continued to pester you despite you deflecting his attempts to romance you.

he feels a twinge in his gut. he observes the way the man’s eyes drank you in appreciatively. he leans his cheek on his hand, unaware that it had turned into a tightly clenched fist.

peter tells himself to mind his business. after all, he isn’t someone who holds any real importance in your life. you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, and he’d never interfere with your life or cross a boundary.

that doesn’t stop him from absolutely loathing the way the man eyes you as if you’re a piece of meat. peter’s jaw tightens.

she’s fine. she’s handling it.

and you are. you always do.

still, peter can’t help notice the subtle shift in your expression, your forced polite smile straining at the edges, the way your shoulders stiffen as he leans closer to you.

he notices everything about you. he always has.

peter wants to hear you laugh again. not that forced chuckle. your real laugh. the one he gets when he says something stupid enough to catch you off guard.

his lips twitch despite himself.

he shouldn’t be having these thoughts, much less any feelings—he’s spider-man, the city’s masked vigilante that can’t afford to keep anyone close because of the lifestyle he carries. that’s what he’s tried to tell himself; but he couldn’t help it.

somehow, somewhere between the first sandwich and the countless evenings he’d spent sitting at the same counter, peter had started to look forward to seeing you more than anything else. he shouldn’t feel this way, but he did.

it was stupid. dangerous, even.

he can recognize the difference between your genuine smile and the one you give to people you hold at arms’ length. it makes his stomach twist from how much he loves it.

he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it.

peter fists the napkin that sat next to his plate, his thumbnail absentmindedly brushing the corner of the material.

i could make him leave.

the thought comes easily. a little too easily. one web, one quick trip around the block—

he cuts the train of thought off, shaking himself out of it. the last thing he wanted to do was to scare you off.

you don’t need rescuing, nor did you ask for it. you’re someone that deserves to have their boundaries respected. someone whose smile peter has quietly started collecting into his memory.

peter clenches his jaw when his senses are attacked again by the millions of different sounds surrounding him.

the faint scrape of a chair against the floor. the hum of the refrigerator behind the counter. the rustle of a paper bag. your footsteps moving back and forth.

he lets out a soft, frustrated sigh, shaking his head.

god, he’s in so much trouble.

he fixes his gaze back on you, relieved to see you’d finally gotten the man to leave. but he can’t stop feeling ashamed of himself for having these thoughts about you. he’s conditioned himself to live like a lone wolf, yet you have no idea how you’re unraveling every one of his walls he put up with no effort whatsoever.

peter swallows, pushing those thoughts away.

everything is too loud, too sharp. it’s too much.

peter slowly picks up his sandwich. 

one of the side effects of his altered dna is his appetite becoming almost abysmal. when the episode hits his body burns through energy at an alarming rate, leaving him ravenous enough to eat an entire day’s worth of food in one sitting.

tonight is no different. 

the first bite disappears almost instantly. then another.

peter forces himself to slow down. but his body isn’t interested in what he wants.

it wants fuel. it needs more.

his fingers tighten around his sandwich as another wave of heat rolls beneath his skin.

peter pauses. his jaw clenches. there it is again. that crawling pressure beneath his skin. the monster inside him stirs.

except this time, it isn’t interested in food.

peter’s eyes lift.

they find you. immediately.

the creature focuses. everything becomes secondary. the customers, the traffic outside, even the food.

you. 

that’s all it sees. 

peter’s stomach twists. his breathing changes. the creature doesn’t merely recognize you. 

it wants you.

the realization hits him with enough force that he almost drops his sandwich.

“no.” the word leaves him beneath his breath in a hiss.

peter looks away, but his body refuses to follow. his eyes find you once again. you’re standing behind the counter, reaching for a cup. the creature tracks your every movement. the way your fingers curl around the cup handle. the quiet sound of your breathing. the warmth of your body. it catalogues everything. 

not like peter does. not with affection.

not with the careful fondness he’s allowed himself to develop over months of knowing you.

this is primal. possessive. hungry.

a biological instinct that doesn’t understand boundaries or restraint. it has identified something it wants.

you.

his hands balled into a fist, nails digging into his palms hard enough to break through his skin.

“she’s not yours,” peter hisses at it. his own voice sounds foreign.

the creature doesn’t care.

his altered dna fills his senses, pulsating so strongly peter has to hold onto the counter to keep his body in control. but he’s fighting a losing battle. suddenly, he can hear your heartbeat again above everything else.

thump. thump. thump.

the creature responds immediately. his pupils widen. his muscles tense. his entire body seems to lean toward you before peter consciously realizes he’s moved.

he jerks back, the chair scraping against the floor. you glance over. peter freezes when your eyes meet. 

the creature inside him goes utterly still. not because it lost interest. it found what it was looking for: you.

peter feels something inside him settle with an eerie satisfaction. his stomach drops.

oh, god.

it likes you. more than that. it desires you. not in the soft, human way peter has tried desperately to keep hidden.

the creature doesn’t understand romance. it doesn’t understand patience. it doesn’t understand the careful distance peter has maintained because he cares about you too much to drag you into his dangerous world.

peter forces himself to look away but he can’t. it’s as if some invisible thread is tied between your heartbeat and his. his eyes fixates on you laughing at something a customer said, completely unaware of the battle he’s going through just a feet away. 

that laugh hits him harder than anything else.

peter squeezes his eyes shut. his mind screaming at him to get out.

he needs to leave. now.

peter grabs his wallet, movements stiff and jerky, nearly knocking over his empty plate in his haste. 

“peter?”

your voice. his head snaps up instantly. you’re standing in front of him now. too close. every instinct in him screams to close the remaining distance.

instead, peter pushes himself backward. the swivel chair rolls behind him with a sharp squeak.

“don’t.”

the words come out harsher than he intends. you blink, eyebrows furrowing. his stomach drops.

“sorry,” he apologizes immediately, lowering his voice. “i—sorry. i didn’t mean it like that.”

you study him. for a moment, neither of you says anything. the bustle surrounding the deli continues, but peter hardly hears any of it anymore. the only thing his senses are picking up on is your heartbeat. only you. your breathing. his own pulse roars in his ears, his heart beating fast as if he’d just ran a marathon.

“you really don’t look okay,” you say, breaking the silence between you two.

peter swallows.

“i’m fine,” he relents, cursing himself for the way his voice cracks. 

you fold your arms across your chest, gazing at him disbelievingly. “you’ve said that three times.”

peter offers you a weak grin, trying to hide his obvious distress from you.

“guess i’m getting predictable.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you’ve always been predictable,” you murmur with a teasing smile.

something about the familiar teasing tone nearly breaks him, his heart stuttering in his chest. because this is normal. this is you.

the two of you joking across the counter. him coming in after a long day of work as spider-man. you pretending to be annoyed that he orders the same sandwich every time. the little smile you give him when you think he isn’t looking. 

peter’s fingers curl around the edge of the counter. 

“i should go.”

your expression changes. the way your face falls? it agonizes him. he hates himself for making you look at him that way.

“did i do something?”

he immediately shakes his head. 

“no. no. it’s just, i—“ he cuts himself off, inhaling shakily.

your lips turn downwards into a frown.

“then why are you acting like you can’t stand to be around me?”

peter’s heart sinks, your question stabbing right through his chest. he looks at you. really looks at you.

for one terrifying second, he considers telling you everything.

something is wrong with me. my body is changing. sometimes i don’t recognize myself.

and right now, every instinct i have is telling me to wrap my arms around your waist and kiss you so hard you forget how to breathe.

instead he gives you the closest thing to the truth he can offer you.

“you didn’t do anything, y/n.” 

his voice softens. “that’s the problem.”

your eyebrows knit together again in confusion. peter looks away. he can feel the creature shifting again. he knows what it wants. it wants him to stop fighting, to accept that this instinct is now part of him. but peter refuses. because whatever is happening to his dna, whatever monster is waking up beneath his skin, he won’t let it take one thing from him.

his choice to keep you from it all. he tells himself this is for the best. for your protection.

peter steps towards the door, his hand rising to press against the glass. before he pushes it open, he hears your voice once again, calling after him softly.

“peter?”

he stops. his palm hovers over the glass door. he shouldn’t turn around. he knows that. but he still does. there’s concern written all over your face. confusion in your eyes. you’re looking at him like you’re trying to piece together what’s going on, that you’re aware there’s something he’s not telling you.

his fingers curl against the glass. he wants to say something, anything. 

he doesn’t hate being with you. god, no. there isn’t a world where peter would hate anything about you.

for the first time in years, you’ve made him feel things he didn’t think he was capable of feeling anymore. warm feelings he’d been too afraid to name himself. you make him want to stay, to be better. 

and lately, you’re making him want things that scare him.

but the words won’t come.

he gives you an apologetic smile. “i’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

he shoots you an apologetic smile, placing some crumpled bills beside his empty plate before pushing the door open, the bell above chiming.

then he was gone.

the cold night air rushes inside before the door swings shut again, and somehow the deli feels quieter despite the fact that nothing changed.

and something about the way he looked at you before he left refuses to leave your mind. you bite the inside of your cheek.

“okay. definitely not fine,” you mutter to yourself.

you return back to work, busying yourself once again as your shift nears its end. but you can’t help yourself from glancing at the window every so often, hoping to see that familiar mop of curls walk in through the door once again. but peter doesn’t come back. eventually, your shift ends.

you lock the front door, pull down the metal shutter, and step onto the sidewalk with your bag tucked against your side. your mind is full of thoughts of peter.

the city of queens is alive around you as you continue to walk. you pull your jacket tighter, the cold biting at your skin that isn’t covered. then you hear something. a faint scrape.

you glance over your shoulder. nothing.

you keep walking, fighting off the shiver that rose up your spine. you had the strangest feeling you were being watched despite not seeing any signs of anyone nearby. you frown after hearing the same sound again, shaking your head as you pick up your pace.

across the street, high above the ground, peter lingers on a rooftop. he watches you disappear around a corner. his fingers curl around the black ledge.

he shouldn’t be here. he knows that. he left the deli specifically because being near you had become unbearable to him. he’d gone home, tried to shower, sleep, do something to get you off his mind. but nothing worked. his skin felt too tight. his senses wouldn’t settle. everytime he closed his eyes, all he could see and feel was you. hear your heartbeat in his ears, a sweet melody that would stir the monster inside him.

thump. thump. thump. 

the lines between its desire for you and his own were beginning to blur, because peter was starting to accept the truth that he’d tried so hard to bury for a long time—that he had wanted you long before the monster ever surfaced.

what started as an innocent crush had slowly become something peter no longer knew how to name. at first, it had been harmless. a reason to stop by the deli a little more often. an excuse to linger at the counter after he’d finished eating, a thrill pulsating through him when you’d flash that sweet smile at him, or laughed at one of his jokes.

peter had liked you. that was all. at least, that’s what he’d told himself.

somewhere along the way, liking you had turned into needing to see you. needing to know that you were okay. needing to hear your voice after a long day, just so he could convince himself everything was normal.

now?

he was standing across the street from your workplace after promising himself he’d stay away. yet he’s here watching you like some … stalker.

what started as an innocent crush had become something possessive. something hungry. something that didn’t feel entirely human anymore.

peter swallowed. 

it wasn’t just the creature that had awakened inside of him anymore. it had only served to amplify his feelings for you in such a prevalent manner that it terrified him. peter had spent weeks blaming everything on the changes happening inside him. the heightened senses, the instincts. that strange hunger that intensified when you were near, his thoughts filling with the thought of having his way with yo—

he stopped himself there, the creature within stirring at the thought, trying to claw its way up the surface. peter gritted his teeth, his breathing growing ragged. 

he was starting to wonder if the monster was really responsible. because the creature hadn’t been there when he’d started falling for you. when his crush was beginning to turn into an obsession.

peter’s chest tightens. 

there it is again. that aching need to be closer to you, to know where you’re going, to know who you’re talking to. 

his fingers curl into his palms. 

peter turns, swinging away back to his apartment, feeling the start of the rut he was fighting back begin to consume him once again. 

he needs to get home.

the moment peter lands on the rooftop of his apartment building he makes a beeline to the windowsill of his apartment, practically stumbling through the window. his chest is rising and falling rapidly as soft, frustrated grunts and whimpers escape him. 

his body feels unbearably hot, every nerve in his being ignited by the heat rushing through him. his senses are still stuck on overdrive as flashes of you fill his mind nonstop. 

you, you, you, you. 

you consume him from the inside and out, his hands pressing against his head, trying to force his thoughts into submission.

“peter.”

your sweet voice fills his mind, the monster inside going feral. peter’s eyes fill with tears as the arousal that hits him is so fierce it overstimulates him. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, his chest tightening beneath the sheer force of everything crashing through him at once. then—

“peter.”

he hears your voice again, swears it’s in his head, too lost in the haze to realize that you were right there outside his door, forgetting that you knew where he lived when he’d brought you over one time before to hang out when he’d decided to trust you.

peter’s eyes sting with tears and he squeezes them shut. another cruel trick from his overstimulated senses fooling him into thinking his mind had conjured a memory of you because he can’t stop thinking about you. 

another knock sounds then, causing peter’s eyes to snap open.

“peter?”

something shifts inside him. your voice is unmistakable—it’s not coming from his memories. it’s coming from the other side of the door. 

shit. shit. things are only getting worse. 

shedoesn’tknowi’mspider-manSHIT—

“peter, i know you’re here,” you call out, your voice filled with worry. “i’m worried about you.” 

peter is full on panicking now.

“y/n, i—i’m fine!” he calls back hoarsely, trying not to let you hear the ragged breaths escaping him.

“peter. i can hear you. you are not fine,” you insist stubbornly. 

peter groans internally. your stubbornness is one of the many things he likes about you, but in this moment it’s the last thing he needs.

he tries to stand from the couch, but his body is so weak to the sensory overload he’s feeling that his body slumps against the bed, the sound producing a thump sound that made your heart jump in your chest.

“that’s it, i’m coming in!” you call out.

“y/n, no! i’m sick, don’t—!”

the door opens (he curses himself for leaving it unlocked). peter’s head snaps toward it, and there you are. standing in the doorway. your eyes immediately find him, and for a moment neither of you speaks.

your eyes fall on the spider-man suit draped over the couch, his mask discarded on the floor a few feet away from him. your mouth parts in shock, a dozen questions flooding you but you stop yourself when you hear peter’s pants and whimpers much clearer now.

your gaze returns to him, taking in the sight of his dampened hair, flushed skin, uneven breathing, the unmistakable pain flashing in his face. 

whatever questions are crowding your mind, you push them aside, making your way to him as fast as you can. you drop to your knees in front of him and you reach your hand out to touch him.

“peter—“

his hand closes around your wrist with a rough grip. your breath catches. the grip is hard enough to hurt. he looks down at his hand wrapped around your wrist and for a horrible second neither of you moves. he then yanks his hand back, eyes glassy as they immediately fill with regret.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to—“ he cuts himself off with a gasp, a choked sob threatening to escape him.

he recoils from you, pressing himself further against the bed. your face crumbles, your worry intensifying as seeing him like this makes your chest tighten.

“peter.”

“don’t.” his voice breaks. 

“don’t come any closer.”

you hesitate. peter’s breathing grows more uneven. 

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his eyes squeeze shut.

“i don’t know how much longer i can control it.”

you remained where you are, watching him carefully.

“control what?”

peter doesn’t answer. his jaw tightens, fingers digging into the sheets as he fights the creature within him. his chest heaved—every breath uneven, sharp. the creature writhed like a wild thing in a cage, pressing against his skin from the inside. the hunger wasn’t just physical anymore. it wasn’t about food or water; it was deeper, more primal.

peter squeezed his eyes shut, grunting as he was losing more of his control. his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. only a broken exhale, a shuddering breath that sounded almost pained.

“peter?” you whispered, heart pounding in your chest.

his hands tighten against the sheets. then peter’s eyes snap open—staring right at you, wide, pupils dilated, swallowing almost all of the hazel-brown color you knew so well. his eyes had become fully black then, shifting into that hazel-brown before turning black again. 

you freeze, your breath catching. 

peter blinks rapidly, as though he can feel the change happening and desperately trying to fight it. but you knew already.

you’d seen the monster inside him. 

“don’t look at me,” he all but growls at you. this time he intended for his tone to sound harsh, but you detected the vulnerability beneath it.

you make your way towards him slowly, only making his breathing turn more erratic. you kept moving forward, slowly, carefully. each step made his breathing hitch harder—shallow gasps like he was drowning on air.

his black eyes tracked every inch of your movements, the sway of your hips, the fall of your hair over your shoulder… even the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. 

the creature inside him went feral at how close you were getting. 

every instinct screamed in him to grab you. to pull you down onto the bed and kiss you so hard neither of you could breathe. his body twitched as he restrained himself, limbs trembling from the effort it was taking him.

you stop just a few feet away from him.

“peter, look at me,” you murmur.

peter snaps his head toward you.

“i told you not to come closer.”

the words come out harsh, nothing like the gentle, awkward peter you know. his fingers fist into the sheets, his knuckles whitening as his entire body trembles with the efforts of keeping himself restrained.

you swallow, but you don’t back away.

“i know.”

his eyes flash black again. peter’s eyes widen when he realizes you’re still standing there.

“i’m not leaving you like this,” you insist, causing his jaw to tighten.

“you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“i do.”

you take one slow step towards him, while he takes a few more backwards instead, putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

“no, y-you don’t understand. my dna is changing. whatever happened to me—whatever it’s done to me—it’s changing the way my brain works. my instincts, my senses, everything.”

he’s pressed against his desk now, gripping the edge hard enough that the wood cracks beneath his fingers.

“i can smell your fear.”

your eyes widen.

“and i can hear your heartbeat.”

his black eyes lock onto yours. 

“every single beat. all i feel is you.” 

“peter…”

“don’t.”

his voice cracks, an edge to it.

“don’t say my name like that.”

you take another careful step forward, his head jerking up. he tells you to stop again, and you do. for a moment, the apartment is completely silent except for his ragged breathing.

then peter’s expression twists with frustration.

“i don’t know what’s happening to me anymore.” his voice drops, rough and shaken. “one second i’m fine, then the next i’m angry. then scared. then i can’t think straight, and every instinct in me is screaming that i need to—“

he cuts himself off, turning his face away. his shoulders rise and fall.

“i don’t want you here.”

you stare at him.

“you don’t mean that,” you whisper.

“you don’t know what i mean,” he snaps.

“you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want me here.

a strained laugh leaves him.

“that’s the problem. i don’t know what i want anymore.” 

his gaze locks onto yours.

“all i can hear is your heartbeat,” he echoes his own words. “all i can smell is you. and all i can think about is keeping you close.”

“peter—“

he finally takes a step towards you.

“part of me wants you to stay.”

another step.

“part of me wants to lock that door so you can’t leave.”

you freeze. peter’s jaw tightens.

“i know how that sounds.” a humorless laugh escapes him. his eyes flicker from hazel to black.

“anyone who looks at you too long makes me angry. anyone who touches you…”

his voice drops. 

“i want them away from you so that i can keep you to myself.”

you gaze at him, eyes wide. a normal person would feel afraid hearing those words. instead you step closer to him, your hands within reach of his. he looks horrified by his words.

“peter.”

“that isn’t me.”

you take another step closer, but peter doesn’t stop you this time. his eyes flicker black again, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“you don’t understand,” his voice is strained. “i know what i’m saying. i know how it sounds.”

you gently reach for his hand. peter freezes when your fingers brush his. his gaze drops to your hands, then rises to meet yours.

“peter. why are you trying so hard to fight it?” you whisper.

his breath catches when you step closer until there’s barely any space between you two.

“because i don’t want to hurt you,” he gasps.

his body tenses, the heat beneath his skin intensifying as your closeness overwhelms his already heightened senses. your scent fills his head, drowning out every other thought. a whimper escapes him before he can stop it.

“you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

his voice is rough, strained.

you don’t pull away. instead, your fingers tighten gently around his.

“i may not understand what’s going on… but let me help you,” you say ever so softly.

peter’s breath catches. his eyes search yours, as if looking for any sign of hesitation.

“y/n…”

“you’re still you, peter. that hasn’t changed.”

you lift a hand up to cup his cheek, and he all but melts into your touch instantly. his eyes flutter shut, his body still tense yet drinking in your warmth as he leans into your palm like he’s been starved for your reassurance. 

a shaky breath leaves him.

“don’t do that, he whispers, though there’s no real protest in his voice. “don’t make me feel safe.”

his eyes open again, inky darkness staring back at you. 

“because then i won’t want to ever let you go.”

your thumb brushes gently against his cheek, your eyes dazed as you gaze at him with a fondness that makes his breath hitch. 

“too late.”

his gaze falls to your lips. the way peter looked at your lips—like they were salvation and sin all at once—sent a shiver down your spine.

that black gaze, so different from the warm hazel you knew… yet still him. 

still peter.

without warning, peter’s lips capture yours, his kiss turning feral almost instantly —no patience, no tenderness.

he crashed his mouth back onto yours, hard, biting your lower lip just enough to make you gasp. the second he heard that sound? the creature inside him roared.

no more hesitation. no more restraint.

his hands slid down your body—gripping your waist, sliding up your shirt with rough urgency, fingers hot against your skin. his lips never left yours, his chest rumbling as he pushed you backward onto the bed.

peter hovered over you, his body tense. his breathing was heavy. animalistic. each exhale warmed your lips as he stared down at you with those dark eyes—no trace left of the sweet peter parker in them.

his hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he dipped down to devour your lips again, teeth grazing yours like he wanted to taste every part of you. you moaned softly at the sensation of his tongue circling around yours, hot, sticky and a filthy animalistic edge to it. 

and despite yourself you were enjoying every moment.

the moan—soft and sweet—sent a shockwave through peter’s body. 

the creature inside him purred in satisfaction. that sound was for him. because of him. for what he was doing to you.

peter groaned against your lips, a deep, possessive vibration. he kissed you harder, deeper. his tongue tangled with yours languidly in a filthy dance that made your head spin. you could feel yourself growing wet, feeling so much pleasure just from his intense kisses.

the sound of your breath hitching, your body responding to him like that made the blood in peter’s veins fill with a flame that only burned more intensely. he kissed you like he was starving. like every second without touching you had been torture. 

and it was.

his tongue dominated yours, hot and demanding, exploring your mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation. one hand finally released your wrists only to slide down and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head for better access.

a soft whimper escaped him between kisses—the kind no one ever got to hear. the vulnerable side of peter parker… completely undone, bared only to you.

peter’s other hand slid down your side, rough and urgent, slipping under the hem of your shirt. 

skin met skin. and god, you were so warm.

his fingers splayed against your stomach, burning a trail upward. he trailed his lips down your jaw, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick and taste you as he reached the point where your neck and shoulder met.

the moment peter’s lips reached the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder he bit down, earning a gasp from you. it was gentle at first, then firmer, a claiming kiss that made his teeth press against your skin just enough to leave a mark. 

his tongue soothed it immediately after, a warm, wet stroke over the spot he’d bitten—as if apologizing for being rough… but not feeling sorry at all. that brought a whimper out of you. 

a low hum vibrated in his chest. he loved the sounds he was drawing out of you. 

the whimper. peter practically fed off of it. that soft, breathy sound you made, letting him know he was making you feel good. you were surrendering yourself to him, taking what he was giving you, and it sent a thrill through his body. he kissed down your shoulder slowly, savoring every inch of skin he covered. his black eyes maintained eye contact as he stared up at you, watching your every facial expression carefully.

one bite after another. another kiss to soothe each bite after. each mark was deliberate, possessive. and each one made you melt further into the mattress beneath him.

peter pulls back to gaze down at you. your lips were wet and swollen, your eyes half lidded and glassed over from the hazy pleasure you were drowning in. he felt the tent in his pants growing bigger, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you, reduced to a pretty mess beneath him.

his hand slid down your stomach until it reaches the hem of your shirt. his eyes locked onto yours.

“arms up.”

the command in his voice was low and rough, nothing like his usual sweet tone. it sent a shiver through you.

peter wasn’t asking. he was telling.

and the way he looked at you with those dark eyes burning with hunger, lips slightly parted from kissing you senseless made your stomach flip.

without protesting, you lifted your arms above your head. peter’s breath hitched at the sight of you baring yourself to him, completely vulnerable and trusting.

for a second, he just stared.

then his hands moved—fast and sure.

he gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled it up in one smooth motion, dragging it over your torso… then all the way off.

the fabric hits the floor with a soft thud.

now only your bra separated him from more skin. but peter wasn’t patient enough to wait.

peter’s eyes dropped to your chest; the curve of your bra, the way it hugged your breasts. and his throat went dry.

without a word, he leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right above the lace, hot breath seeping through the fabric as he inhaled, eyes fluttering shut. the sensation of your skin mixed with your scent was enough to almost make his eyes roll back.

then his hands found the clasp at your back.

his fingers fumbled slightly—not from nerves, but from urgency. 

peter’s fingers finally found the clasp, and with one click, it came undone.

the bra loosened. he didn’t wait.

in one smooth motion, he slid the straps down your shoulders, kissing every bit of newly exposed skin as he undressed you: your collarbone… shoulder… upper arm.

when the fabric fell away completely and landed beside you, his breath stopped. just for a second.

the sight of you, bare from the waist up, flushed and breathless beneath him hit peter like a punch to the gut. his dark eyes traced every curve, lingering on your nipples, hardened from how aroused you were. he could smell how turned on you were, the scent much more intense with his hightened senses. it was absolutely intoxicating.

his chest tightened. with need so intense it hurt.

his eyes flickered back up to your face. without thinking he dipped his head down and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the soft swell of your breast. then another. and another.

you arched into him, soft moans escaping you as the sensation of his tongue licking its way up to take the hardened nipple of your breast between his teeth was enough to leave you dizzy from the pleasure.

the sounds you made—those soft, breathy moans—went straight to peter’s groin.

his tongue circled your nipple again, slower this time… teasing. drawing it into a tight peak before gently sucking it into his mouth. a low groan rumbled from him, the vibration traveling through your skin and making you shiver.

he loved how sensitive you were. how every little touch turned you into putty in his hands. your breathy moans, soft sighs and whimpers were music to his ears. 

one hand came up to cradle your other breast—thumb brushing over the hardened bud, rubbing and pinching as his mouth continued worshipping the other.

the pleasure peter felt from hearing you, from tasting you, was electric.

his cock throbbed painfully in his boxers, straining against the fabric. every moan that left your lips sent another jolt of heat straight to his groin.

he sucked harder on your nipple—just a little—and flicked it with his tongue before switching sides, kissing down your chest to lavish the other breast with the same attention. 

his hips twitched involuntarily, grinding against your clothed cunt, making you gasp and shudder. 

the second peter felt your gasp and the way your body shuddered and writhed beneath him his control wavered. that grind against you had been accidental… but the effect? it was enough to make him lose all sense of restraint then and there.

his hips did it again. this time a deliberate, slow roll of his pelvis into yours. the friction through both layers of clothing was maddening… but so good.

a low, desperate noise escaped him this time. a whimper from deep in his throat. 

the friction was killing peter.

every slight movement of his hips against your core sent sparks through his nerves; sharp, intense pleasure that made him dizzy.

he did it again, and again, and again.

the grinding started off slow and teasing, but grew bolder with each second. each time he pressed down, you gasped. the sound drove the monster inside him wild.

his hands gripped your waist tighter as he leaned in to kiss you again, messy, hungry lips crashing together. 

it wasn’t long before peter broke the kiss, breathing heavily. he was very impatient now. in one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants.

he pulled the fabric down, yanking your pants down your legs. they slid off easily, kicked to the side without a second thought. his eyes hover over the wet spot that had formed right above your core.

a sight that made him lick his lips. a smirk tugged at his mouth.

“i haven’t even started yet, and you’re already this wet.”

he practically purred, sending a shiver through you at his tone. the sound of peter’s voice… low, velvety, taunting you.

it was a new side to him you’d never seen. not the sweet guy you knew.

this was something darker. a side of him unleashed by whatever was inside him—and by how badly he wanted you right now.

then, without warning he dipped his head down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right over your soaked panties. 

“peter—!” you exclaimed, face flushing a deep scarlet, embarrassment in your tone.

the way you said his name in that flustered tone made his senses tingle in a twisted satisfaction.

he loved it. he loved how easily he could fluster you. your reaction only made him grin wider against your skin.

peter met your eyes, the lust in his gaze making your nerves tingle. he kept eye contact with you as he tilted his head to look up at you, his tongue darting out to drag a long, slow, deliberate line right over the fabric covering your now soaked core.

the sensation was overwhelming, your body squirming under him. his tongue continued its movements, licking up and down like he was tasting something delicious. and from the low hum that kept rumbling in his throat? he was enjoying this.

every single moment of it. he loved it.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

his voice comes out rough and husky, completely different from his usual soft tone. he brushed his nose against your underwear, that wet spot glistening from his saliva mixed with your arousal.

without warning he hooked his teeth into the lace edge of your underwear and pulled. the fabric strained… then slowly slid down your hips.

as your panties slipped down your thighs, he looked up at you. those black eyes were filthy with want. his teeth hold onto your underwear, his mouth parting to release the fabric. it falls to the floor with a soft thud. peter leans close, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. 

“i’ve been thinking about this… for weeks.”

his voice is low, filled with devotion and desire. his hand hooks under your thigh, lifting it slowly as his lips press a kiss to your inner thigh. 

“been thinking about how you’d taste.”

another kiss.

“wondering what pretty sounds i’d draw out of you.”

another kiss. higher this time.

peter’s voice was a velvet whisper. soft, yet laced with an edge to it that made you feel dizzy. each kiss sent sparks through your body.

“how you’d feel,” he murmured between kisses.

another press of his lips, so close to where you wanted him.

“how much i’d love hearing you fall apart for me.”

his breath fanned over your bare core, drawing out a strained whimper from you.

“peter,” you finally choked out, desperation in your tone.

the desperation in your voice nearly sent him into sensory overload again. it took everything in him not to lose his mind and take you right then and there. but he wanted to see just how you wanted him. how much you needed him.

he doesn’t wait anymore. he lowers his head, right above where your clit is. the bud is swollen from how turned on you were. he blew air onto it, the sensation alone enough to make a needy whine fall from your lips.

he lowered his mouth—and licked. one long, slow stroke right over your swollen clit. his tongue was warm, wet, perfect.

the sensation hit you like lightning, a sharp jolt of pleasure that made your back arch off the bed and a low moan rip from your throat.

the moan you let out sent a thrill through peter. he relished in how responsive you were, how your body reacted to every movement of his tongue. it sent electricity up his spine, a feral grin forming on his lips.

“good girl, taking what i give you,” he praises. “you taste divine. so gorgeous. can’t believe i get to have you all to myself like this.”

his voice lowers, turning huskier as that obsessive tone slips back in, the roughness of it making you nearly come undone right there.

another long lick in the same spot, but firmer this time. a deliberate drag from side to side over your clit before circling back.

then… he sucked. gently at first.

the soft suction of his lips closing around your clit sent a shockwave through you, your hips jerking up instinctively as the overwhelming sensation was so much you nearly cried out.

the warm, wet pressure you were feeling made your toes curl and your fingers fist the sheets. peter hummed against you, a vibration that sent an entirely new wave of pleasure rippling through your core.

it was too much, ragged breaths escaping you as peter continued to suck and lick at your clit, his pace starting to pick up. your hips bucked up again, your legs attempting to push away from him—but peter’s hands kept a firm grip on your thighs, pushing them further apart. he kept you open, exposed. helpless under his mouth.

“not so fast, baby,” he mutters gruffly. “i didn’t give you permission to leave.”

peter didn’t stop his movements. he slid a hand lower, one finger teasing your entrance. his finger slid over the folds, wet slick pooling out from how turned on you were. it made it easy for his finger to glide over your wetness. 

he pushed his finger inside, testing how you felt around him. 

the stretch was subtle, but the sensation of your walls instantly clenching around him was everything.

peter curled his finger slightly inside you, searching until he found that sweet spot deep within, at the same time sucking on your clit with soft pulses of his lips. you were falling apart, becoming putty in his hands. your back arches off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows as you whimpered and moaned nonstop.

when he added a second finger—slowly stretching you further—you began to mewl uncontrollably. you’d never felt anything so intense like this before.

peter’s pace became relentless, finding that sweet spot again and again, pressing against it rhythmically. he crooked both fingers, thrusting inside you at a quicker pace now while his tongue still danced over the overly sensitive bud, your breaths turning into full blown moans as your vision became so hazy you were seeing stars. 

his tongue flicked, fingers curled, sucking gently between licks. every move was coordinated. a symphony of pleasure designed to unravel you.

“peter, i’m—! getting close, mmh… feels so good—!” your words fall out in a string of broken gasps and unintelligible noises. 

peter’s ears perked up at your breathless words. soft, beautiful, and desperate. 

“close already?” he murmured against you, his voice low with a twisted satisfaction seeing how much of a mess you’ve become.

he didn’t slow down or stop. instead, he increased his pace. his fingers picked up speed inside you—quicker thrusts now—and his tongue worked you faster, licks turning into quick flicks followed by soft sucks in rhythm with every pulse of pleasure that sent lightning through your overstimulated nerves.

he wanted to push you over the edge.

you stammered, your mind clouded in intense pleasure, a knot forming in your lower belly. your words fell out of your mouth in a jumbled mess of moans and whimpers, only fueling peter’s determination.

when he felt your thighs start trembling around his head—the first real sign of an orgasm building? peter smirked.

“that’s it… come on. come for me, baby.”

the moment peter spoke those words in that low, cocky tone, the coil tightening inside you snapped. a wave of white-hot pleasure crashed over you. your back arched off the bed, hands fisting the sheets as a loud, unrestrained cry tore from your lips, your orgasm ripping through every nerve in your body. 

peter didn’t stop his licking, instead softening his touch now. he attempted to draw out every last remaining shred of pleasure from you that he could as you rode the wave. your thighs trembled from the ecstasy that flooded your nerves, the overstimulation nearly bringing you to tears. he drank it all in, his face finally lifting from between your thighs when you collapsed against the pillows.

watching you fall apart was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

peter’s lips glistened with your juices, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with satisfaction.

he stared at you. 

in that moment he knew then that he’d never be able to let you go. only he could draw those noises out of you, make you feel this way. no one else knew how your body responded. only him. 

the creature inside of peter was rampant, the hunger he felt only turning more ravenous. it was prowling like a predator, its sights set on you. the one it had chosen as its mate.

your chest rose and fell rapidly. your skin was damp with sweat, hair stuck to your forehead. and that beautiful dazed look on your face… you were wrecked. he was utterly obsessed. 

it was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

without a word, still breathing heavily from what he’d just done, peter made his way back up to your upper body.

kissing every inch of skin along the way.

peter’s body was screaming for release. he hadn’t touched himself. he was too focused on making you come undone. but now?

he was painfully hard, to the point it ached.

your gaze flickered down to the tent in his pants. he was still hard, the rut not yet over. it couldn’t end until he had his release too.

and his body was screaming for it. 

peter shifted beside you, his body tense as he braced his arms over you, caging you underneath him as his breathing turned deeper. his hand, rough with callouses, took yours into it. he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your palm, licking the skin afterwards. his black eyes gazed at you without breaking contact.

your eyes flickered back up to his. peter met your gaze, those hazel eyes now flickering with something deeper. the aching hunger in his gut still yet to be satisfied. he didn’t say anything, but you could see the desire in his eyes.

with your hand still held in his, you crawl over to him, maneuvering your legs to straddle his hips. his hands absentmindedly moved up to grab your waist. peter watched your every movement, a low hum rumbling in his chest when you settled over him. beneath you, his erection pressed against you through his sweatpants. his jaw clenched. he could feel the monster going crazy inside him, and his eyes flickered between hazel and black again. 

the heat of your wet core pressed right against the hardened tip of his cock still trapped in his boxers sent a shockwave through his every nerve. 

his eyes shifted into that inky black once again—the creature roaring to life at having you this close, ready for him.

“let me help you now,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

that sent a thrill through peter.

his hand shot up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you down into a hard kiss. without breaking the kiss his other hand slid down your back, gripping your hip before guiding you even closer to him, a soft sigh escaping you.

he deepened the kiss, swallowing your sigh into his mouth as he rolled his hips up into yours, grinding slowly but intensely against you. your lips parted into a gasp, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, hot and demanding.

“wanna be inside you—so bad—it hurts,” peter mutters in between kisses, filling your belly with that heat, legs clenching at the image he put in your head.

your eyes filled with lust now, your hips absentmindedly grinding into his now. peter’s control was on a thin line now, on the verge of snapping as he grunted roughly.

that slow grind of his hips against yours sent sparks through both of you. the friction maddening even through the fabric of his pants separating you both. he moaned into the kiss, a deep vibrating sound from his chest and rolled his hips up again… harder this time.

he broke the kiss, trailing kisses along your jaw and nipping at your skin. you took the chance to hook your hands on the hem of his shirt. peter pulled back, raising his arms to allow you to undress him, his black eyes watching your movements with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

his shirt is now discarded, the material landing on the floor. he’s bare chested now, your eyes wandering appreciatively over his toned body, his chest rising fast with each breath. the lean muscles pulled over his skin were built with years of training and hard work. 

peter stayed perfectly still under your gaze—letting you admire.

the years of swinging through the city, fighting villains, pushing his body to the limit showed in every defined line. his chest. his arms. his biceps. the abs that flexed slightly as he breathed. 

this man was absolutely beautiful. you were in complete awe of him.

though he looked calm, the creature was restless inside him, that ravenous hunger only intensifying with each passing second. 

those black eyes traced your face, the way your eyes lingered on him—and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

without breaking eye contact, you reached for the waistband of peter’s sweatpants. the material was soaked right in the center where his cock was. the sight made your eyes lid, that familiar heat pulsating in your lower belly once again.

you wanted this man. badly.

peter’s breath hitches when your fingers brush against his hips.

you hooked your thumbs into the fabric and slowly started to push them down… revealing more skin inch by inch.

peter lifted his hips just enough to help you slide them off completely along with his boxers, kicking them aside when they reached his ankles.  

he was now fully bare to you. and hard.

so painfully hard; his cock thick and heavy, already fully erect from the rut’s feverish need. the tip, pink and veiny, glistened slightly in the dim light. peter’s cock twitched at your gaze, drops of precum slid down the hard length, dripping onto his veins. it looked so sensitive. so ready.

he didn’t move to cover himself. he wasn’t shy about it. he let you look. he laid there, those black eyes drinking you in.

then… he reached for your hips again.

peter’s hands slid up your hips, warm calloused palms gliding over your skin. he pulled you closer until you were straddling him properly again, his bare body now flush against yours. 

his cock pressed against your lower stomach, a thick heavy weight that made you shudder. he exhaled sharply through his nose at the contact, the heat in his body intensifying again. 

the creature was screaming now: touch her more. take her.

peter’s lips hovered over yours, ragged breaths escaping him as he felt your heat and scent enveloping his senses, sending him into override. but the caring, humane side of him held back. 

he didn’t want to hurt you. trying to be romantic even now.

until your soft whisper caused him to still.

“you don’t have to hold back, peter. i’m right here.”

for a second, he didn’t move. just stared into your eyes. when he didn’t find any hesitation his restraint snapped.

finally, the creature and man became one.

his hands moved to your hips, his grip rough. no gentleness left, just urgency.

“hips up, baby.”

peter’s voice this time was the deepest it had been, the rut taking over him completely. when he growled those words it made you shudder. his hands moved to guide you into position, lifting your hips slightly off the bed so he could align himself with you.

the second the head of his cock brushed your entrance—wet and warm—peter’s whole body shuddered.

a raw moan tore from his throat, his head falling back as pleasure surged through every nerve in his body, the sensation intensified tenfold from his rut. it was enough to nearly bring him to tears.

“god, you feel so—“ his voice cracked. he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

your breath hitched as you felt him right there. right at your entrance, pressing just slightly without pushing in yet. 

it was overwhelming. the heat, the tension.

when peter moaned like that—a raw, shuddering sound of pure awe—you clenched around nothing, already sensitive from how much you wanted him.

you lifted your hips higher on instinct, silently begging for more.

he felt your silent plea, the way you lifted your hips higher, offering yourself to him, and it shattered what little control he had left.

with a low groan, he gripped your thighs tighter and slowly, but firmly, began to push inside. just the tip at first… then an inch. 

peter’s cock stretched you with every inch—warm, thick, making you feel so full. you were trembling, soft whimpers escaping you as the pleasure was already overstimulating your senses. he was going so deliberately slow it was almost painful.

he worked himself deeper, watching your face carefully. his dark eyes searched for any sign of pain, but only saw pleasure. your own need.

peter’s lips curled into a cocky smirk.

the creature preened at the sight of your pleasure, the way your breath hitched when he filled you inch by inch.

he pushed deeper until his hips met yours fully—finally seated to the hilt. the moment he was completely inside you his eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching. it was too much, too good. the sensation of your walls instantly clenching around him, already trying to milk his cock nearly made him combust right then. his chest rose and fell rapidly as low grunts escaped him.

his eyes open again, flickering to yours. you could see the lust and need in them.

“please fuck me, peter,” you pleaded, desperation in your tone. you needed him carnally, your voice trembling.

something inside him snapped at your sweet plea.

his hips jerked forward, thrusting up into you with sharp, powerful thrusts. his hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back as he used every ounce of strength in his body to give you exactly what your body craved. each snap of his hips came with a low groan from deep in his chest, the pleasure flooding his senses consuming his entire being. he needed more, more, more.

peter was lost in it—completely consumed by the rhythm, the heat, you.

his thrusts grew faster. harder.

each snap of his hips drove him deeper—your body taking every inch like it was made for him. the thought made him grin ferally, that possessive feeling taking hold of him. 

with your wrists pinned behind your back, he had full control… and used it to angle himself just right so each grind of his hips into yours hit that perfect spot inside you.

peter’s eyes locked onto the sight above him; your breasts bouncing with every powerful thrust, the visible outline of his cock gliding in and out of you stretching your stomach slightly as he moved inside you.

it was hypnotic.

and your moan? loud and unfiltered. the cries and screams of pleasure escaping your lips like a symphony for his ears.

each cry pushed him closer to the edge. the creature inside him roaring in satisfaction at how beautifully you were falling apart above him, how good you were taking him.

he leaned his head down suddenly to take one of your nipples between his teeth, a gentle but firm bite followed by a hot lick. claiming another part of you while his cock drove into your core without mercy. the bed rocked beneath them, each snap of peter’s hips making the bed frame slam against the wall in a rhythmic beat.

thump, thump, thump.

every movement was synchronized, his cock thrusting so deep into you it was practically kissing your cervix, his lips claiming your skin. his hands still keeping yours pinned as he took you, completely consumed by rut and need and you. 

“i love you, i love you s’much, you feel so— so fucking good—“

peter’s voice was raw, desperate, reverent. his words spilled between each thrust like a prayer.

over and over. not sweetly, not softly. with passion, with devotion that burned hotter than the rut itself.

every time he said it? he kissed your lips again—harder this time—trying to pour every ounce of his undying love for you into the kiss while still driving into your body without stopping.

peter was lost in his lust and love for you, his hips pistoning in you with raw, desperate need.

he could feel it, the coil inside him tightening, the pressure of his pending orgasm building with every thrust. he was so damn close. he could sense your body tightening, your breathing coming faster. you were close too. 

but right now he felt a primal urge to really feel how his body connected with yours.

with a slow roll, peter shifted positions—bringing you with him until both of you were lying on your sides. his cock stayed buried inside as he curled around your back, spooning you from behind. he kept thrusting slowly but deeply, the new position allowing him to push even further into you, your moans only fueling him on.

peter wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he kissed the side of your neck, soft bites and licks between thrusts.

his hand slid down from your waist, his palm flattening gently against your lower belly—right where the faint outline of his cock pressed beneath your skin. 

the second peter’s hand pressed down on your belly, feeling the soft bulge you gasped. the sensation shot through you like lightning. 

“oh my god, peter—!“

he could feel himself through you.

the bulge. the movement with every thrust. how deep he was inside of you.

“hold on just a little longer for me. can you do that, baby?” he coos at you, that cocky undertone slipping into his voice.

his fingers splayed slightly, thumb pressing against the skin where his cock poked out. he felt you jolt against him, drawing a sigh from him as he buried his face between your shoulder blades, kissing your back as his thrusts began to turn erratic and sloppy. he was nearing his peak.

only an incoherent whimper escapes you as the sensation of everything, his thumb pressed possessively against your stomach paired with his kisses against your back overloaded your senses and rendering you unable to speak. your eyes watered with tears of overstimulation, your breathing ragged.

peter’s breathing mirrored yours, each kiss against your spine growing messier, less controlled. his thrusts lost their rhythm, the deep grinding rolls of his hips giving way to short snaps—like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

he was there on the edge.

and every jolt you made beneath him, the way your body tightened around him when he hit that spot pushed him closer and closer to the brink.

“peter, i—i’m so close,” you choke out, violent shudders overtaking you as you feel the coil in your belly about to snap.

he heard the tremor in your voice. the way it cracked with need. even though he was still riding his own high, every instinct kicked in.

he knew. you were right there.

so without a word, peter wrapped both arms around you tighter to pull you even closer, his lips finding your neck as his hips sloppily snapped against yours to keep the friction going. 

then, he whispered against your skin: “come for me, baby.”

peter’s low, commanding voice sent you over the edge. 

the coil in your belly snapped.

a cry tore from your throat as the pleasure exploded through every nerve in your body—white-hot and electric. your walls clenched around peter instinctively, pulsing with each wave of your climax, sucking him in to milk every last drop of that delicious ecstasy that sent your eyes rolling back.

he felt every shiver of yours, every gasp that escaped. it was beautiful to him. he held on tight, keeping you cradled against him as you rode it out.

peter was trembling, fighting it. the rut screamed for release, but peter wasn’t reckless. not without your permission.

his breath came in ragged pants against your neck, hips stuttering as his pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

“y/n, c-can i…? please, i’m so close—“

his voice shook, so desperately raw with need that your heart clenched. the rut had stripped him bare… and he needed you.

“yes, peter.”

the second you said yes, he lost it.

his hips snapped forward once and he finally came—hard. peter’s release was intense, every pulse deep and powerful.

the sensation was overwhelming for both of you.

thick ropes of cum painted your insides, warmth spreading into you with every spurt. peter’s body seemed to drain itself, his cock twitching inside you even as the intensity of his high faded. his orgasm lasted longer than normal—a result of his rut building up from him holding himself back for days. 

through it all, peter clung to you. his forehead fell against your shoulder, his arms locked tightly around your waist as he emptied himself completely inside you, shuddering each time a new wave hit.

you could feel peter’s heartbeat slow down, his body leaning against you as the exhaustion hit him. you looked up at him over your shoulder, the darkness in his eyes slowly fading away, replaced with the hazel-brown eyes you’ve come to adore.

he nuzzled into your shoulder slightly, pressing a soft, drowsy kiss there before resting his cheek against you. 

no words, just the quiet intimacy of your bodies tangled together, basking in the afterglow.

you feel him slowly pull out of you, a tinge of disappointment filling you at the feeling of being empty now. but you push it down, slowly turn in his arms to face him, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

you lift a hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb rubbing against his skin affectionately. you smile softly at him, adoration in your gaze.

“you okay now?” you softly whisper.

he melted into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as your thumb stroked his cheek. the warmth, the care in that simple gesture made a content sigh escape him.

his eyes fluttered open again, gazing at you tenderly. he nodded gently, grinning shyly at you.

there he was. the sweet, gentle peter you knew.

the peter you loved—the kind, soft-hearted boy with his gentle awkward smile—was back.

just peter. your peter.

he lifted a hand up to mirror you, his hand cupping your cheek. he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. it was so soft it made you smile softly.

peter reached for your hand. he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. the gesture melted you, your eyes softening. it was so intimate compared to the intensity he exuded only moments ago it made your heart squeeze.

no words needed to be said. you both bonded over the intimacy that had fallen over you, the soft hazel hue in peter’s eyes returning. no creature influencing his actions. just him. 

sweet peter parker. gentle and loving and completely yours. 

“are you okay?” he repeats your question quietly, checking on you as well. you detect his worry underneath it, understanding the intention behind his question.

“i’m okay, love.” the pet name slips from your lips before you can stop it, but it feels… natural.

it feels right to you.

peter blushed when he heard you call him in that term of endearment that could only mean one thing: that you held a deep affection for him. that realization made him nearly turn into a puddle right then and there.

he kissed your knuckles again, then each finger before pressing a kiss to your palm. his touch was slow now. reverent.

he focuses his gaze on you then, lowering your hand. he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, quieting as his eyes grow pensive.

“i’m sorry.”

his voice was quiet. his thumbs continued tracing your knuckles gently, like he needed to ground himself. 

“about what?” you murmur quietly.

peter’s eyebrows knit before he looks at you, guilt in his eyes. 

“i haven’t… been honest with you.” 

his eyes flicker to the spider-man suit draped on his couch across the room. you follow his gaze, his sudden apology making sense now.

“i’m sorry for not telling you. i just—“ he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. 

you stare at the suit for a moment, everything falling into place. the secretiveness from time to time, how weirdly intense things have been lately. how he coincidentally had to go when criminal activity was reported to be seen.

your eyes flickered back to his. he looked terrified now—like he’d messed up beyond repair. like your trust was hanging by a thread because of his lies.

your heart ached for him. the fear in his eyes as if he expected you to hate him made your stomach twist. 

“then i drag you into this—making you help me, and i feel like i used you—“

you cup his face with both of your hands this time, shushing him.

“peter. peter, stop.”

your hands framing his face made the words on peter’s tongue die instantly. he stilled completely, your touch rendering his rambling to silence. stopping him from spiraling further. he stared at you with wide eyes.

instead of saying anything else, you leaned in slowly to press a soft, tender kiss to his lips. filled with pure love and affection.

it lasted only a second before you pulled back, your thumb brushing his cheek.

“you didn’t make me help you. i chose to,” you began quietly.

his eyes begin to fill with tears as he hangs on to your every word, listening intently.

“i do wish you’d have told me sooner,” you continue, “but i get why you didn’t. i want you to listen to me, peter. you’re not a burden. it’s okay to ask for help.” 

you pause.

“i love you, peter parker. all of you. your dark side and your good side. i don’t love you for the suit, or because you’re the city’s hero. i love the sweet guy that could make me laugh with his stupid jokes, the guy that made it easy to end off a long evening shift with a smile on my face.”

he looks at you for a long moment, his glassy eyes softening.

“you… love me?” the questions falls from his lips softly.

you smile.

“yes, silly. i love you.”

you say nothing for a moment, your eyes tracing over his features. your thumbs caress his skin, your heart aching in love for him. you loved this man so much it permeated into your entire being. you loved him so much it hurt.

he’s the masked hero the city had come to depend on. the man that risked his life every single day to ensure the citizens lived in safety, giving them someone to look up to. because he cared. and that was so peter it made you unable to fight a smile, your own eyes becoming watery with your emotions tugging at your heart. you didn’t feel an ounce of anger whatsoever towards him.

only love. love so strong you felt it would consume you from how deep it ran.

“how can i not love you?”

your voice comes out so soft peter almost misses what you said. but he had heard it.

his lips part, but nothing comes out.

his eyes grow even glassier, and he quickly looks away, blinking hard as a tear finally slips down his cheek.

you reach up, gently wiping it away.

“peter…”

“i just—“ he lets out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. 

his voice breaks.

“i didn’t think someone could know all of this about me and still say that.”

your expression softens.

“you’re not a monster, peter.”

he looks back at you.

“you’ve seen what i can become.”

you look at him, your eyes flickering away for a moment before catching his eyes again.

“i know. but a monster wouldn’t be this terrified of hurting someone.”

peter swallows hard.

“but i wanted to keep you here. i was thinking things i shouldn’t be thinking.”

you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. you mirror his actions from before, lifting his hand to your lips to press soft kisses across his knuckles.

“not once did i feel scared of you, peter. i love you. every part of you.”

peter blinked at you, completely speechless. he looks down at your intertwined hands, letting out a shaky breath. his shoulders relaxed.

you accepted him. completely.

his heart soared in his chest. it was beyond what he could’ve asked for. for so long, peter lived with the fear that he’d scare you off if you saw everything beneath the mask—his altered dna, the darkness he couldn’t always control, the monster that had awakened inside of him. he was afraid you’d look at him differently.

but you hadn’t. you saw him—the real him—and still stayed. 

it made him love you even more.

a small, disbelieving smile tugged at his lips.

“come here,” he opened his arms, an invitation for you.

you happily accepted, letting him pull you into his arms. he held you against his chest, burying his face in your hair to inhale your scent.

you felt his breath shudder against you.

“thank you,” he murmured.

you smiled, wrapping your arms around him.

“you don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

peter pulled back just enough to look at you.  a light pink dusted his cheeks, a shy smile forming on his lips.

“i think i’m going to need some time to get used to that.”

you laughed softly.

“i’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

his smile widened.

“deal.”

he leaned forward, pressing one final tender kiss to your forehead before resting his against yours.

“i love you,” he murmured.

“i love you too.”

you squeeze his hand, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“actually… i have a question.”

peter pulls back to look at you again, his eyes narrowing.

“that tone usually means trouble.”

you lean a little closer.

“so, this dark side of yours…”

his eyebrows lift. 

“what about it?”

“does it come with any other… interesting side effects?”

peter freezes, caught off guard by your suggestive question. his eyes widen as realization dawns.

“y/n.”

you grin. “what?”

a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“you cannot just ask me that after i spent the last half an hour having an emotional breakdown.”

you laughed, moving closer to lay on his chest, his arm naturally moving to rest across your back.

“why not? i’m curious.”

peter shakes his head, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“you’re trouble.”

“perhaps.”

you lean closer, your lips ghosting over his. you whisper with a mischievous smile:

“well… why don’t we have another round and find out?”

peter goes completely still. for a moment, he simply stares at you.

then his eyes flicker. 

hazel. 

black. 

hazel again.

a slow, almost wicked smile spreads across his face.

“oh,” he murmurs. “so that’s what you meant.”

you laugh softly as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“you do realize,” he whispers, his eyes flickering black once more, “you’re possibly the worst person to give the monster inside me encouragement.”

“is that a complaint?”

peter’s grin widens. “not at all.”

he leans in, his lips brushing yours.

“just don’t blame me when you get exactly what you ask for.”

and with that, he kisses you again.

[iheartwhre]

i’ll be so good for you

summary: Peter Parker is the sweet, soft-spoken chemistry partner who saves you a seat and asks about your day. He gave you the kind of gentle attention your boyfriend never bothers to give. Playful texts turn heated, one message sent to the wrong person, and soon Peter is climbing through your window. You make him prove it, keeping him desperate and whimpering.

➺ tags: mcu!peter, needy!peter, whimpering!peter, pup nickname, mommy kink, mommy dom, cheater!reader, reader insert, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, choking, dirty talk, begging, hand job, ball play, riding, university au, power imbalance, dominant reader, submissive peter, slight smau

➺ authors note: i’m sorryyy this took forever but i hope u enjoy it. inspired by text messages from tiktok. feedback is appreciated <3

word count: 1.9k

The chem lab always smelled like solvent and burnt coffee, the kind of fluorescent-lit hell that made every elective feel like you were back in highschool. You’d only signed up because you needed the credit and the time slot didn’t clash with anything else. Peter Parker had been assigned as your partner in week two. He was quiet, brilliant, always showing up with faintly bruised knuckles, but nevertheless they look soft. He looked soft.

He started saving you a seat after the third lab.

Just a quiet little habit. He’d already have his notebook open, backpack on the neighboring stool, and when you walked in he’d glance up and give you that small, shy smile like he’d been waiting. Then he’d talk first. Always.

“Hey. How’s your day going?”
“Did you sleep okay? You look tired.”
“That online quiz in organic was brutal, right? How’d you do?”

He asked like he actually wanted the answer. He’d listen with those perfect brown eyes fixed on you, soft and warm, head tilted a little, nodding at the right parts. He was gentle in a way that felt rare. Soft-spoken. He was adorable when he got excited about a reaction working the way it was supposed to and his whole face lit up. He made you melt without even trying. The kind of sweetness you’d been hoping for from your boyfriend and never got.

Your boyfriend only texted when he wanted something. A ride. Attention. Validation. Never just to check in.

So when your phone buzzed during the post-lab write up, you almost didn’t look.

You rolled your eyes looking at your boyfriends texts and moved on to the next chat. Peter’s message was already waiting.

You alternated between Peter and your boyfriend’s messages. You were grinning at your phone—having actual fun for once—that you must’ve swiped and accidentally clicked too fast, sending a risky text to Peter and re-sent a homework link…to your boyfriend.

Your pulse kicked hard. You stared at the screen, thumbs hovering. You could’ve stopped Peter from coming over but you knew exactly what you were doing, because you knew exactly who you really wanted.

You bit your lip. This was wrong. You had a boyfriend. You knew that. The messages are right there. But Peter listened. He made sure you were okay and actually waited for you. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And right now he was offering himself up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t correct the mix-up. You just texted Peter the address and said you’d wait for him.

Sooner enough, the soft scrape of sneakers on the fire escape ladder reached you. You opened the window. Peter climbed in quiet as a shadow, hoodie pulled up, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Wow that was fast…”

He walked closer to you and pulled you in by the waist. You grabbed the front of his hoodie and dragged him into a kiss that was all teeth and need. He made a soft, broken sound against your mouth and melted into it, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch until you yanked them around your waist. The kiss turned filthy and fast, tongues sliding, breath shared, the weeks of tension snapping all at once. You walked him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He went down easy. You followed, straddling his lap, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

All Peter did was whimper.

You pushed him flat and climbed higher, knees bracketing his ribs, one hand sliding up to curl around his throat slightly hard, squeezing just enough pressure to make his eyes flutter and his hips jerk up into nothing.

“Please,” he breathed, voice already wrecked. “Please I’ve been waiting—”

“Not yet.” You squeezed a little tighter, watching the way his mouth fell open. “You’ve been so patient and good for me so far.”

His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing like he needed the contact to stay grounded. You rolled your hips once, slow, letting him feel the heat of you through layers of fabric, then lifted off of him. He made a desperate little sound.

You sat back on his thighs and popped the button of his jeans. The zipper came down next. His cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking, the head shiny. You wrapped your fist around him and gave one firm stroke from base to tip. Peter’s head tipped back, a high, needy moan spilling out.

“Look at this fucking cock,” you murmured, thumb smearing the thick bead of precum across his slit until it glistened. “So hard for me already. Did you get like this just from texting me? Sitting in lab next to me all semester, saving my seat like a good boy, asking about my day while I bet your dick was twitching under the table, leaking into your jeans?”

“Y-yes—fuck—”

You tightened your fist and started stroking him slow and filthy, twisting hard on the upstroke, rubbing the sensitive underside of the head until his hips jerked. Every time he tried to fuck up into your hand you pinned his hips down.

“Stay still. Don’t you dare move, pup.”

He whined at the nickname, high and broken, thighs shaking. You kept the strokes lazy and tight, stopping dead every time his breathing got too sharp. When you finally leaned down and dragged the flat of your tongue across his dripping tip, tasting him, he nearly sobbed.

His hand twitched toward your hair.

You slammed his wrist back above his head.

“Nuh-uh. Hands back.”

Peter’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown. “I-I’m sorry, Mommy…”

The word went straight to your body. You rewarded him with another slow, filthy lick, then sucked just the swollen head into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks. His whole body jerked. You pulled off with a wet, obscene pop and shifted lower, cupping his tight balls, rolling them in your palm while your other hand kept stroking him in long, teasing pulls that left him dripping all over your fingers.

“Been thinking about this, haven’t you?” you asked, voice low and mean. “The way you’re leaking for me and calling me ‘mommy’ already. This whole time you just wanted me to ruin this pretty cock. Wanted me to use you, is that right?”

“F-Fuck..mmph—yes—please—”

“Poor thing.” You squeezed his balls firmer, just shy of pain, and watched his stomach jump. “All that smart brain and all you can think about is getting your cock wrecked by me. Tsk tsk, Parker.”

You kept him there forever—stroking, pausing, licking the tip, mouthing and sucking on his balls, never giving him a steady rhythm. Every time his hips started to rock you stopped completely and waited until he was panting and begging like a whore.

“Mmh’Please, Mommy—please, I need you— I’ll be so fucking good, I swear—mm!”

You crawled back up his body and kissed him deep, slipping your tongue into his mouth so he could taste his own precum. Your fist never stopped working his cock, slow and merciless.

“You want me to ride this cock?” you asked against his mouth.

He nodded frantically, almost crying.

“Then ask like a good boy.”

“Please-Please ride me, Mommy. Please use my cock!—mm’fuck yourself on me—I need it—need you…”

You pulled back, stripping your clothes off while he did the same. He stared at you like he was starving. When you finally moved your hips again, you sank down onto him without a warning, inch by thick inch, his moan were even louder. You took every inch until your ass was flush to his hips, cunt pulsing hard around him just to watch his face fall apart.

“Fuck—you’re so fucking warm—so tight—”

You started moving. Slow at first. Rolling your hips, grinding your pussy down on him, lifting almost all the way off so just the head stayed inside before slamming back down. One hand locked around his throat. The other braced on his chest. “What did I say about your hands? Put them back behind your head.” He whimpered in response and did as you told.

Every time he tried to thrust up you squeezed his neck and stopped moving completely.

Peter moaned, high and desperate, hips twitching uselessly. “Mommy—please—your cunt feels so good, I can feel you pulsing around my cock, it’s—fuck—don’t stop—”

You stayed still, deliberately clenching and fluttering around him, feeling his dick throb and leak inside you. “I control this cock. You take what I give you, repeat it.”

“Yes, Mommy. I-I take what you give me. I-—sorry mmgh—please—God! you’re so warm and wet, I-can feel you squeezing my dick—Oh my—”

You rode him harder after that, but never enough for him. Kept him right on the edge, changing tempo the second his breathing got too desperate. Filthy praise and nasty commands poured out of you between wet kisses and how pretty he looked when he was about to cry, how good his cock felt stretching your cunt, how he was going to hold his load in until you said so.

When you finally let the pace build, Peter was shaking underneath you, eyes glossy, mouth open on constant broken little pleas. You could feel him getting close by the way his eyes would roll back and his lips parted without him saying a word. The way his cock twitched and swelled, the way his balls drew up tight, the way his voice cracked on every moan.

You slowed again. Almost stopped.

He sobbed. “No! Please—Mommy—please—I’m so close—I’m so close, I’m so close—your cunt feels too good!—I can’t—”

“Hold it,” you ordered, voice low and cruel, hand still wrapped tight around his throat. “You don’t fucking cum until I say so. Understand? Want to keep being a good boy for me, right?”

“Y-yes—please—” He nodded carefully while his whole body was trembling with the effort, hips stuttering in aborted little thrusts. “You’re p-pulsing—so wet— wet—I can feel every squeeze—fuck—I can feel you dripping—”

You leaned down, tongue lightly brushing his ear, and started moving again with deep rolls of your hips that kept him right on the edge; the mixture of your cunt and his balls slapping together creating a wet skin slap and milking him with every grind.

“Good boy. Stay right there for me. Don’t you dare cum for me yet.”

He whimpered, high and shattered, he couldn’t help but remove his hands from his head and tightly grip your hips, fingers digging bruises into them as he fought his load back. You dragged it out just a little longer, feeling his cock throb and twitch desperately inside you, listening to every broken cry of his with skin wet sounds.

“Cum for me, pup. Fill my pussy up. Show me how much you needed this.”

He broke with a wrecked cry, hips jerking hard as he flooded you with his cum, thick and hot. You kept riding him through it, grinding down to milk every last spurt out of him until he was oversensitive and sobbing, then finally slowed and collapsed forward against his chest.

Both of you were breathing hard. Peter’s hands came up, shaky and hesitant, and rested on your back like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Good job…”

He nodded, voice completely destroyed. “Always. Whatever you want. Just… don’t make me leave yet.”

You smiled against his skin and stayed right where you were, his cum already starting to leak out around his softening cock.

© iheartwhre

[defnotbrooklyn]

watching edits of tom holland is why i pay for the internet

[imani4reading]

Texts With Peter Parker As Your Bf | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader

Avengers Tower Masterlist!

A/N: Made this for funzies for a TikTok and decided to add it to the Avengers Tower series :)

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!)

@sarilarisstuff @qardasngan @taylrsdaughter @lisbondollxo @emmaturtle48 @johnnyfuckingsexystorm @zenxvii @girlmeetsolivia @purplepoise13 @majjiii @vanillaadots @d0tt3ds1lk @avocadofam @kylorensbaby @tehe-gig @zoyasgirl @3ello @6ootylicious @i-love-lilies @cortischronicles @moonywify @prettyflowerlily @cocoingitup @amberr0ckz @miuangel @danipeppe @the-girl-files @roseidol @tfromtheseas @ladybug6789 @legolaswifey @sugarxchrry06 @chaevvonders @minju3515 @noir-moons @jamieexistssepichalfblood @ladybug-luvr @selina0226 @selihmvale @legumeypapa @thatsrafbuddy @my-sanity-left-to-get-milk @hellokitty-girl666 @majjiii @bunsbunnybunbun97 @unknown-y-person @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @homeslices @delulu4-life @idkwhatimdoing27 @meowkwisis @sassygypsypirate @ci0v3r @lonelymaddle @marvelskz @kerplunkieboi @bellsgotagun

[lianmendes]

⋆˙⟡ peter parker (pre-no way home) fic recs ⋆˙⟡

welcome to my directory of all the peter parker stories I love! all writing credit belongs to each individual writer, and if you resonate with any story, make sure to show that author some love by commenting, reblogging, or both! reader discretion is advised, so be sure to check the warnings.

ʚɞ But I Love You - @my-imagines-moonlight53

Reader and peter are friends and goes under some anesthesia after some sort of surgery. After the surgery peter say some really fluffy things to the reader while she records it.

ʚɞ first times - @missevi

ʚɞ Worth It - @tommyparkerr

ʚɞ Far From You (Home) masterlist - @hey-marlie

y/n stark is really not here for this european school vacay because in this post-endgame world, she’s mourning the loss of her dad. but one (1) sticky boi peter parker is just trying to be the friend he once was while also trying not to flirt too much because if she rejects him (which she wouldn’t, not that he knows that) while they’re in venice holy hell he’ll just pitch himself off the gondola right then and there.

ʚɞ peter parker kisses - @marvelouspeterparker

ʚɞ Dating Peter Parker Would Include - @spellbound-banshee

ʚɞ Basically A Puppy - @spiderwho

reader is studying and Peter is attention deprived and is being distracting and all touchy and super cute w reader

ʚɞ old married couple - @katahnisharma

Dating Peter means you’re basically dating all the Avengers too. And they don’t hesitate to point out when you both start turning into “that” couple.

ʚɞ Inexperienced - @dearwalker

Teaching inexperienced Peter how to kiss and it escalates quickly.

ʚɞ Countdown kisses - @dearwalker

The team had a plan to set you and Peter together at the New Year’s Eve party, to the point where you find yourselves running to each other as the countdown takes place.

ʚɞ Smile For Me - @waitimcomingtoo

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but I can make you smile 10 times during the school day tomorrow.” Peter bet.

ʚɞ Held By Me - @waitimcomingtoo

Peter wonders if the intentions behind all your affection are strictly platonic or if there’s something more brewing behind them

ʚɞ Far From Her - @waitimcomingtoo

the school trip to Europe makes you and Peter reexamine your relationship 

ʚɞ Have We Met? - @waitimcomingtoo

Peter x established!reader and he’s already told her about Spider-Man but when they’re out in public and he’s Spider-Man they just flirt and tease each other as if they’ve never met.

ʚɞ mango - @bloodpacks-archive

peter fell in love. here’s the story.

ʚɞ It Was An Accident! - @just-jordie-things

(y/n) always kisses Peter on the cheek and he loves it so much he thought he’d do the same for her.  but this dork’s aim is a little bit off.

ʚɞ Where We Start Again masterlist - @waitimcomingtoo

how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

[fuckyeahbroski]

TOM HOLLAND Spider-Man: Brand New Day (Official Trailer)