summary: ever since the world forgot peter parker, he’s kept exactly one promise: protect the people he loves, even if they never know his name. unfortunately for him, natasha romanoff made sure tony stark’s daughter would always notice when she was being followed.
warnings: memory-loss consequences, mentions of stalking, emotional angst, natasha romanoff’s training, english being not my first language.
the bell above the café door chimed softly.
peter didn’t look up.
he had learned that if he looked at every customer who walked in, he’d only end up disappointed. every few hours he’d convince himself that maybe, just maybe, someone would remember him.
no one ever did.
instead, he kept reading the same page of the physics textbook he’d been pretending to study for the last fifteen minutes while, through the reflection in the window, he watched her.
she looked… okay.
happy enough.
a little tired.
she laughed at something on her phone before ordering coffee. good. that was all he needed. he could leave now.
except he didn’t. because he’d told himself that every day for the past month.
just another five minutes. just until she leaves safely. just…
then the chair across from him scraped against the wooden floor.
peter froze.
“…hi.”
he slowly lowered his book.
reader smiled politely, almost apologetically.
“hi.” his brain completely stopped working.
she wasn’t supposed to be here.
she wasn’t supposed to even notice him.
she folded her arms on the table. “you’ve been following me for weeks.”
peter’s heart nearly stopped. “…i’m sorry?”
“you heard me.”
“i- i think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“no.” she tilted her head. “it’s definitely you.”
peter forced an awkward laugh.
“i think i’d remember following someone.”
“you’ve changed hoodies six times.”
his smile faltered.
“you alternate between three backpacks. you’ve started buying coffee from places you clearly don’t like because they’re on my route. and yesterday you spent forty-three minutes pretending to compare cereal brands.”
peter blinked. “…how do you know it was forty-three?”
she gave him a look. “because i was timing you.”
silence.
then she sighed. “i let it go the first week.”
peter considered jumping through the nearest window.
“the second week I assumed you were gathering courage to ask me out.”
his ears turned scarlet. “what?”
“the third week I realized you weren’t actually trying to approach me.” she leaned back. “so now I’m curious.” another beat. “you don’t seem dangerous.”
“no.”
“you don’t seem creepy.”
“…thanks?”
“you actually look guilty… so.” she rested her chin on her hand. “why are you following me?”
peter stared at her.
every answer he wanted to give sat painfully behind the one he couldn’t.
because you’re my best friend.
because i promised your dad.
because i couldn’t save aunt may, but i can make sure nothing happens to you.
instead. “i think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
she smiled. “there it is.”
“what?”
“you’re lying.”
peter swallowed.
reader reached for her coffee when the waiter placed it down.
she took one sip before speaking again. “you know…” her voice softened. “i was trained by natasha romanoff.”
peter almost groaned.
“she spent years teaching me how to spot surveillance.” she pointed casually toward the window. “you always stay where you can see exits.”
peter blinked.
“you never let anyone stand behind you.”
another blink.
“when you think i might’ve noticed you, you start reading.”
his eyes drifted to the textbook still open in front of him.
“and,” she continued, “you scan everyone’s hands before you look at their faces.”
peter slowly closed the book.
“…old habits.”
“military?”
he smiled faintly. “no.”
“former shield?”
“…no.”
“hired by someone?”
his stomach tightened. “…no.”
she studied him for a long moment.
then something shifted in her expression.
not suspicion.
sadness.
“you know…” she murmured, “it’s strange.”
peter looked at her.
“i feel like…” she frowned. “…i should know you.”
his breath caught.
she looked embarrassed by her own words. “that’s weird, right?”
“…maybe.”
“i’ve had this feeling for months.” she laughed quietly. “i’ll see someone wearing a red hoodie and think, there you are, and then…” she shrugged. “it’s never who I’m looking for.”
peter had to grip the edge of the table to stop his hands from shaking.
“you have one of those faces.”
“my face?”
“it feels…” she searched for the word. “…familiar.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, reader smiled. “anyway.” she stood, grabbing her cup. “I don’t know why you’re following me.”
peter lowered his eyes.
“but i don’t think it’s because you want to hurt me.”
“…no.”
“i think…” she said quietly, “…you’re making sure i’m okay.”
his throat tightened.
“i don’t know why.”
neither do i anymore, he almost admitted.
she took a step away before pausing. “if you’re ever done hiding…”
peter looked up.
“…i’d like to know your name.” she smiled one last time as she turned towards the door.
she already had one hand on the café door when she heard him.
“wait.”
reader turned around.
peter was already regretting it.
his chair had scraped loudly against the floor, every eye in the café briefly drifting toward him before returning to their own conversations.
he swallowed.
she waited. “yeah?”
peter had rehearsed thousands of conversations with her.
none of them started like this.
“i…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “this is going to sound weird.”
a small smile tugged at her lips. “i’ve had a weird afternoon already.”
right.
she’d just confronted her own stalker.
“right.” he laughed nervously.
“i guess… i just wanted to say i’m sorry.”
“for following me?”
he nodded immediately. “yeah.”
“and?”
“and…” he looked down at the floor. “i wasn’t lying when i said i don’t want to hurt you.”
“i know.”
“i know that’s not enough of an explanation.”
“no.”
“but it’s the only one i can give.”
reader watched him for a long second. there was something painfully sincere about him. not charming. not smooth. just… honest.
like someone carrying a weight he wasn’t allowed to put down.
“so…” she asked softly. “does this mean you’re going to stop following me?”
peter hesitated. “…yes.” the word almost hurt. “if that’s what makes you feel safe.”
she noticed the way his shoulders slumped after he said it. like he’d just lost something.
her expression softened. “i didn’t say i felt unsafe.”
his eyes lifted to hers.
“i said i noticed.”
“oh.”
“you’ve had plenty of opportunities to do something.”
“i know.”
“you never did.”
“…no.”
“you actually scared away a guy who was following me last tuesday.”
peter blinked. “…you noticed that too?”
she laughed. “i notice everything.”
of course she did.
natasha would’ve been proud.
peter smiled despite himself. it was small. real.
reader noticed that too. “you smile like someone who doesn’t do it very often.”
his smile disappeared almost immediately. “…guess not.”
silence settled between them. comfortable this time.
then peter spoke before he could convince himself not to. “i know this is… probably inappropriate after everything.”
she raised an eyebrow.
“but…” he inhaled deeply. “would you maybe…” his voice almost cracked. “…want to be friends?”
the question hung between them.
reader stared. “friends?”
“i know.” he laughed awkwardly. “it sounds ridiculous.”
“you’ve been secretly following me for a month…”
“…yeah.”
“…and your solution is friendship?”
“when you put it like that….”
“it sounds insane.”
“it really does.” he buried his face in one hand. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just let you leave.”
she couldn’t help smiling. “no.”
he looked up.
“i’m glad you didn’t.”
peter blinked.
she stepped closer. “can i ask you something?”
“anything.”
“why me?”
he froze.
thee answer was so easy.
because you were my best friend.
because i fell in love with you when we were fifteen.
because every science project somehow became an excuse to spend another afternoon together.
because your dad used to pretend he didn’t know we kept sneaking into the lab.
because i still know exactly how you take your coffee.
instead.
“you seemed…” he searched for something that wasn’t a lie. “lonely.”
reader’s smile faded just a little. “…that’s a surprisingly accurate observation.”
peter’s heart sank. “i know what that’s like.”
she looked at him differently then.
not with suspicion. with recognition.
like she’d found another person carrying invisible things.
“i don’t usually make friends with strangers.”
“i figured.”
“but…” she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small notebook. tearing off a page, she scribbled something before folding it once then she placed it in front of him. “my number.”
peter stared at it as if it might disappear.
“i have one condition.”
he looked up.
“no more following me.”
his stomach twisted. “…okay.”
“if you want to know whether i’m okay…” she smiled. “you ask.”
peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…okay.”
“and if i catch you watching me from another rooftop.”
“i won’t.”
“peter.” the name left her mouth so naturally that they both froze.
silence.
reader frowned. “…why did i call you peter?”
his entire body went still. “i…”
she blinked rapidly. “i don’t even know your name.”
peter couldn’t breathe.
she shook her head, almost laughing at herself. “sorry. that’s… weird. it just slipped out.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, she smiled again, smaller this time. “so…” she tilted her head. “what’s your name?”
peter looked at the folded piece of paper with her phone number.
then back at the girl he’d loved since he was fifteen.
the girl who had just called him by the name the universe had stolen from him.
he smiled.
this time, it reached his eyes. “…peter. peter parker.”
she repeated it quietly, as though testing how it felt. “peter.” something in her chest stirred. a feeling with no memory attached.
only warmth.
only home.
“…it’s nice to meet you peter parker.”
peter nodded. “it really is.”
and for the first time since doctor strange’s spell, he wasn’t introducing himself to a stranger.
he was introducing himself to someone who, somehow, had almost remembered.
author’s note: i watched brand new day a few days ago, and i literally felt the need of writing something about peter parker. also i was thinking of making like a part 2 out of this, would you guys like that?
The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered and suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.
WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!
A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)
WC: 5.3K
Main Masterlist!
Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.
What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.
The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.
Which, come to think of it, probably were.
His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.
Crash!
Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.
He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.
He was met with a dead silence until-
“Shit!”
Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.
The person must’ve dropped something.
Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.
You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.
You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”
Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.
You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.
He wasn’t even looking.
At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.
The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.
But he didn’t because it had always been you.
You were the only girl he ever wanted.
You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”
“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”
He hated lying, especially to you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”
You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”
Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.
Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.
The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.
That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.
He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”
Was what he was supposed to say.
But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.
A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.
It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.
He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.
He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.
So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?
He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.
But Peter knew because it was your favorite.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.
The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.
Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.
“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”
You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.
Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.
For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work.
Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.
You were right there.
Right across the hall.
Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.
He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.
You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.
He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.
He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.
He was glad to know you still liked that.
“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”
Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”
You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.
He grabbed his shoes and-
Wait…
Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?
He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.
Did you drink?
He wasn’t sure.
He’d bring it anyway.
He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.
Hold on…
Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!
He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.
Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.
What if you had changed into jeans?
“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.
He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.
He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.
The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.
You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.
“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”
You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”
You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”
Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.
Because you both had.
Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.
“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”
Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”
Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”
Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m at the gym all the time.”
“Right.”
Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”
Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”
“But I didn’t say anything funny.”
“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”
“Are you impressed?”
You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”
Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.
But now time had changed you both.
Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.
He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.
“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”
You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.
“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”
Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”
Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”
Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.
You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.
Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.
Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”
Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.
“Okay.”
“That wouldn’t even be possible.”
“I believe you.”
“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”
“Right.”
“I am not Spider-Man.”
“Exactly.”
It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.
One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.
“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.
You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.
“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.
Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”
You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”
Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”
You gagged. “Gross.”
“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”
Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.
To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.
Sam and Bucky.
You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.
But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.
Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.
“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.
Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.
“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.
You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.
Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.
You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.
You had no family and neither did he.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
God, he still loved you more than anything.
Of course he did.
Peter was completely lost.
He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.
You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.
He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?
He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.
But his soul craved to be with you again.
He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.
He had to tell you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.
You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.
Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.
“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”
Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.
MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.
“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”
You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.
“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”
Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero.
You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.
On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.
Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.
“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.
MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”
You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”
You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”
“Soda is good.”
You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.
MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.
“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.
In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.
It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.
It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.
You had to know.
You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.
As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.
It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.
“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.
Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.
You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”
Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.
Then he looked at you and panic set in.
He recognized your reaction all too well.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.
As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.
The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.
The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.
All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.
The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.
Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.
The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.
The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.
And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.
It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.
Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.
You knew.
You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.
Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.
You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.
Peter.
He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.
Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.
It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.
Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.
“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”
Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.
You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”
Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”
“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”
Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.
You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”
Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”
Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”
You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.
“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”
You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.
He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”
“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.
Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.
“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”
“Peter-”
“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”
“Peter-”
“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”
Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.
Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.
“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”
Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.
No.
You kissed him.
Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.
Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.
He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.
Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.
And that feeling was you.
The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.
You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.
Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”
“I do.”
Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”
“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”
“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”
Pairing: BND!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader x Punisher!Frank Castle
Summary: You and your boyfriend, Peter, go out to the bar with Frank for his birthday. When one risky move leads to another, Frank Castle receives the wildest birthday gift of his life and Peter gets the chance to remind you who you will always belong to.
Warnings/Tags: boyfriend! peter parker, bnd! peter parker, punisher! frank castle, peter parker’s a fucking freak, threesome, dom! peter parker, rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms (f), fingering, creampie, masturbation, finger licking, dirty talk, peter’s like overly freaked and so are you. read responsibly! mdni, 18+
Word Count: 9.1k
Author's Note: This is some freeeaaaky shit. There’s, like, very limited fucking around here. We are getting straight into it (but I also just kept writing shit).
Inspiration: “Angel” by Massive Attack and Horace Andy. Just listen to it. Also, if you're from my TikTok: hey queen ;)
Going to shoot pool at the bar was Frank’s idea of a fun, relaxing fortieth birthday celebration. Peter tried to talk him into dinner, trying out the new reclining theatre seats at the cinema—literally anything other than having to surround himself with old, angry drunks who cared far too much about some numbered balls on a table. You didn’t have any qualms with it, though. It was just another excuse for you and your boyfriend, Peter, to get out of your stuffy apartment, still not quite over the way your brand new AC unit broke ten days into the New York summer heat.
Plus, no one really had any complaints when they watched you bend over the pool table, aiming your pool stick with careless precision after one too many beers. Peter’s eyes were glued to your ass, desperate to find out the color of your panties every time your tight-fitting denim skirt lifted in the back.
Frank did all he could to not let his gaze wander, forcing his attention to stray every time he saw your ass perked up in the air when you arched your back over the side of the table. But every time you turned to him, frowning up at him with your big, round eyes, after missing your shot, it took every ounce of his feeble self-restraint to not melt completely.
He’d always had a soft spot for you, but seeing you like this—with a hazardous amount of liquid courage pumping through his system and your short skirt barely fitting over the curve of your ass—he couldn’t tame the twisted desires that penetrated his mind.
“Frank,” you whined innocently, growing irritated that you were losing, missing your target for the nth time.
The muscle in his jaw tensed at your pleading tone, but he forced a cheeky grin. “I told you, darling. You can’t beat me.”
He was positioned on a bar stool, one leg propped on the rod between the legs of the stool, and the other lazily spread. His hands were resting on top of his pool stick when you caught the slur in his cocky tone.
Your eyes rolled, gaze sluggishly moving to your boyfriend, who was taking up the stool on the other side of the table that split him and Frank, sipping on his beer and chuckling at you.
Shoulders sagging, you glanced back at Frank. “Well, can you help me?”
He nearly choked on his drink. “Help you?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, frowning over at the pool table. “Help me aim better.”
Frank’s gaze shot to Peter, not necessarily looking for approval, just curious to know what his reaction would be. Tilting back the rest of his beer, Peter just swirled the empty bottle.
“I’m gonna go get another,” he announced nonchalantly, placing his hand on the small of your back as he passed between you and Frank. He eyed you softly, like he always did. “You need one, angel?”
You shook your head. “No, I‘m good,” you told him, nodding over at your bottle on the table that was still full.
He nodded, effortlessly kissing your temple with a quick peck before carrying on to the bar.
For a moment, you just observed him. The way he had a lazy stride, like there was something weighing him down with each footstep. His hair was growing out, curling at the ends in a way that made you want to tangle your fingers in it, and the T-shirt he was wearing was a little too tight around his biceps, the fabric bunching over the ridges of his muscles.
When Peter left the area, shimmying through the thick crowd to the bar, your longing gaze danced back over to Frank.
“So—” you rested your chin on the tip of your pool stick, smirking up at him “—you gonna help me, or what?”
Frank licked his lips, pushing himself off his stool with a huff. He took one last long gulp of his beer before closing the space between the two of you.
“Let me see this thing,” he said, voice gruff and lazy from the number of beers he’d downed. You let him take the pool stick from you, your eyes glued on his profile as he studied it. “Your problem’s your focus. You can’t let your eyes off your target.” The front of your body grazed his, the sharp outline of his belt buckle scraping your stomach, as he repositioned himself. “Here. Let me show you.”
You chewed on your bottom lip to simmer the excitement that coursed through your veins when he offered his guidance.
His hand slowly moved to your back, gently nudging for you to return to your position against the pool table, the same position that had become permanently engrained in the back of his dark mind.
Holding the pool stick at your side, you slowly slid the tip of it onto the table, slipping it between your fingers. In order to get a better view of the path needed to hit the white ball onto your striped number seven, your top half lowered to the table.
Frank was right there with you, a reluctant inch separating him from your arched back.
A snicker spilled out of you, registering his hesitance, but he ignored it. His thoughts were too busy trying to strengthen his self-restraint.
“You gotta lower the tip. If you hit the top of the ball, it’ll spin against you,” he explained, voice gruff and too close to your ear.
You raised the hand that was balancing the hilt of the stick, your tongue grazing your bottom lip in concentration. “Like this?”
“Uh-uh,” he grunted, head shaking.
Huffing in frustration, your muscles sagged. “Can you just show me? I don’t get what you mean.”
You knew exactly what he meant, but your body was writhing in nervous flutters with him close, but not close enough to satisfy the craving you had.
He exhaled heavily, standing up and leaning down over top of you. Achingly slow, his hands slid down your arms to guide your grip in the correct position. “Just like—” his hips dug into your backside, hand forcing its way into the grip you had on the stick “—that.”
“Oh.” You stifled your smirk.
The move you made next was careless. Beneath him, you arched your back further, ass sticking up to where his hips were.
A ragged breath came out Frank, his jaw screwed tight enough to splinter. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, a fragile warning.
You giggled, smirking at the power you suddenly had over him. He wasn’t making any move to shift away from you. The small motion you added with your hips, pressing harder against his growing bulge, was just a taunt.
“I saw you watching me,” you told him, voice barely above a whisper.
When his dark eyes flashed to yours, you blinked slowly.
The way you batted your lashes was enough to break the mental chains holding him back. He didn’t respond.
He wasn’t able to deny the way he’d been silently haunting the corner of the pool room, eyes transfixed on you each time you bent over the side of the table, imagining what it would feel like for him to bend you over in front of him, having his way with you.
You bought your lips up to his ear. “Don’t worry, Frank,” you whispered. “I won’t tell.”
Frank’s thoughts spiralled, frozen and glued to you despite how wrong it felt.
You were his friend’s girlfriend. You were half your age. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he repeated in his head like a pointless mantra.
He shook his head, forcing himself out of his own head, and loosened the grip he had on you. With shaky steps, he slowly backed off of you.
Your head followed him, the same smirk eating away at your full lips that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.
“That’s fine.” You sighed, returning your attention to the pool stick and then down to your target. “I think I got it now.”
Your back was still arched in a way that felt illicit, the curve of your spine making a shape Frank knew would forever be stuck in his deepest, darkest thoughts. Your skirt had rode up from where he’d been pressed against you and when you sunk back, fixing your aim just before shooting, he saw it. The swollen mound between your legs that was clung with red, lacey panties, leaving little to the imagination.
It was barely a glimpse, he thought he’d made it all up in his mind for a moment.
When the tip of your chalked pool stick slammed into the white ball, you bit down on your lip with apprehension, hoping you wouldn’t miss again.
Peter walked back through the crowd with a fresh beer when the striped number seven ball clattered into the corner pocket, his attention immediately falling on his overly-enthused girlfriend.
Guilt immediately crashed through Frank’s chest. He could barely look at Peter, knowing he had just felt the outline of his girlfriend’s curvaceous figure on his body, felt the softness of your skin against his calloused hands, drowning in the worst thoughts about you.
“You make it in?” Peter asked you with a proud look on his chiseled features. His tongue sunk into his jaw, coughing out a laugh.
You nodded, jumping up and down with excitement. “Frank helped me.”
Frank’s heart hammered in his chest when Peter’s gaze met his. The younger guy just smirked at him, though, raising a curious brow. “Good man.”
There wasn’t a good thing about himself, Frank thought.
He suddenly had a desire to suppress the awful things he was feeling, knowing another Corona wouldn’t do the trick.
He huffed and told you and Peter, “I’m gonna get a drink,” before exiting the pool room in quick strides.
But you caught the way he adjusted his hardened length when his back turned to the two of you.
When Frank eventually returned to the pool room, nursing an old fashioned and grieving his shredded dignity, Peter was sitting back on his stool, legs spread, peering over at Frank while sipping his beer with his arm slung around you from your standing position next to him.
You tilted your head up at your boyfriend, whispering something Frank couldn’t make out from his distance. It wasn’t until he returned to his side of the bar table, setting his drink down and stuffing his wadded dollar bills into his wallet from paying the bartender, that he heard your small voice tell Peter, “he wants it, trust me.”
Frank’s eyes twitched, curious gaze flashing up to you and Peter, whose lips were smirking around the rim of his glass beer bottle at whatever his girlfriend was telling him.
You inched away from Peter so you could see his face better. Your brows raised inquisitively, searching for approval. He tilted his chin, nodding with a soft smile.
Peter slid off his stool, adjusting his grip on his pool stick before going over to the table. He was aiming for the solid number two, back turned to you and Frank, when Frank slid back on his stool with uncertainty running through his thoughts.
Frank understood something had shifted while he’d been at the bar, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was.
You made your way around the table cautiously, slowly stepping closer to Frank.
When those big, round, puppy dog eyes of yours flashed up to him again, his chest heaved. It wasn’t until your hands fell on his knees—slowly crawling their way up his thick, muscular, jean-clad thighs—that he felt the closest he’d ever been to a cardiac arrest.
“Wha—What are you doin’?” Frank asked, leaning as far back in his seat that he could, as if that would somehow mark him safe from the way he craved your wondrous touch.
You grinned up at him, finger nails digging into the impenetrable muscle of his thigh. “It’s okay, Frank. Peter doesn’t mind.”
His brows stitched together. “The hell you mean?”
Ignoring his confusion, you slid your petite frame between his spread legs, hands moving from the tops of his thighs to his rock-hard abdomen, feeling the outline of his rigid, toned stomach beneath his T-shirt.
With your eyes exploring along with your touch, you could feel his shaky nerves, the invisible currents of electricity coursing the warmth of his skin.
“Do you like this?” you whisper, eyes flicking up to his dark, dilated pupils. “You like me touching you?”
Your name spilled from his lips, caught somewhere between a plea and a warning.
He should have backed off, politely told you that you were taking it too far, warned you of how much chaos could ensue because of your reckless actions. But he didn’t. Because he did like it. He liked it so much, he exhaled through gritted teeth when your hand snaked up his chest further, your head tilting so your nose brushed his sharp jaw, lips grazing the smooth skin of his neck.
“This isn’t right,” he managed to say, resisting the urge to grab your waist and bring you closer to him.
You pulled away just enough to look at him. “If it feels good, it can’t be wrong, Frank.”
Your small hands moved to his much larger ones that were resting at his side, guiding them to where you knew he wanted them to be. One placed on your waist, the other on your chest.
You maintained eye contact with him the whole time as his warm palm pressed against the exposed skin of your chest, right above the hem of your tank-top.
“Do you feel that?” you asked, hoping he could feel the rushing rate of your heart—an example of how badly you wanted him.
He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, exhaling through his nose. His hand subconsciously tightened around your waist, sinking deeper into your skin.
“Yeah,” he muttered just as some newfound sense of bravery overcame him.
He moved the hand that was pressed to your chest, gripping yours and moving it to the bulge forming in his suddenly too-tight jeans.
He cocked a brow. “Do you feel that?”
Your eyes dropped to his lap splayed before you, hand moving along the outline of his hardened dick. A curious moan vibrated in your throat, sizing him up.
There was always something about Frank that enticed you. Always so closed-off and angry with the world. But the more time you spent with him—thanks to his friendship with Peter—you saw there was much more to him than that.
His guarded walls broke slowly. It took him time to realize you weren’t a threat. You often helped stitch up his cuts when you found yourself at his warehouse by the harbor with Peter, knowing all too well how the two of them avoided hospitals like the plague. His lifestyle would scare most people, but it didn’t phase you. If anything, it just worried you the same way it did with Peter. The threat of something going wrong, something hurting either one of them, kept you up at night.
It wasn’t until a couple months ago that something changed. Frank no longer looked at you as Peter’s little girlfriend, a risk personified, that knew too much about them. Instead, he started seeing you for what you were. Tough, quick-witted, a little too reckless for your own good. Fucking gorgeous.
He would pretend not to be phased when he would barge into your shared apartment with Peter, finding you on the couch in nothing but a big T-shirt and shorts that were short enough to be classified as panties. When you would purposefully brush your ass against him when shimming past him in the slim hall of his kitchen, he’d have to teach himself how to breathe again.
The night he accidentally walked in on you getting out of the shower when Peter told him the bathroom was free, not knowing, he nearly lost himself. The sight of your naked body, your curves perfectly shaped before him, and the way you didn’t immediately rush to grab your towel and scream at him to get out. All of it resided in the back of his mind.
He would think about you often, especially at night when he was restless and tossing back and forth in bed. Sometimes, at a weak point, he’d touch himself to the thought of you. Thinking of what you’d look like with your hands on him.
It was all wrong, though, he knew that.
He would never do anything to purposefully hurt Peter, despite their constant bickering and bullshit. You belonged to Peter, not him. But a creative imagination didn’t harm anyone.
However, now that he had you in front of him, palming his dick in a way that he never could have imagined in his wildest dreams, his resilience was wavering.
Peter’s solid number two ball fell into the pocket with what felt like an ear-piercing crash. It really wasn’t anything but a soft thud, but it felt like sirens going off in the back of Frank’s mind.
Straightening his posture, Peter’s eyes moved to where you were standing between Frank’s legs. Something in the air thickens, no one making any move to stop what was happening, but no one urging it on either.
Your hand grips his bulge, lips pursed with needy anticipation. “Do you wanna come back to the apartment with us?”
Frank’s dick twitched beneath your touch. “Us?”
The realization dawned on him the minute his dark eyes trailed over to Peter, who was watching the two of you with an odd fixation. One hand was propped on the edge of the pool table, shouldering his weight, while a faint smirk spread on his lips.
“He likes it,” you whispered to Frank, noticing his apprehension.
That kinky bastard, Frank thought. Of course.
Frank’s jaw muscle ticked when he looked back down at you, riddled with confusion but suddenly incredibly intrigued. “What exactly is it that he likes, darling?”
With your back still turned to Peter, you carefully pull yourself up on your tip-toes, lips moving to the side of Frank’s neck. Before pressing a sloppy kiss on the skin, you breathe out a quick, “This.” Your hand continues working his erection, desperately wanting him to get over his hesitation and understand your need for him. For both of them.
Your free hand takes his, bringing it down to the hem of your skirt between the two of you. You push his big hand under the denim fabric, telling him exactly where you wanted him without having to utter a word.
The second his fingers grazed the outline of your warmth, a shudder rolled through your body. The soft movement—the sharp breath against his skin—caused a barely audible grunt to escape his tight throat.
He took his time, lowering his fingers agonizingly slow, until they were met with the damp, puddled patch of your arousal between your quivering thighs. It was a miracle you were still standing, completely losing your strength with his touch.
A shallow breath came from his parted lips when he allowed himself to rub a gentle circle around the wetness, wanting so badly to know what you felt like beneath your drenched panties.
For a moment, he forgot Peter was still standing a few feet away from the two of you. He forgot the two of you were at a bar. He forgot it was his turn at the table. He forgot his own fucking name. He forgot everything.
The only thing he could think of was the feeling of you this close to him, the delicate shape of your folds beneath your panties, the firm grip you had on his dick.
“Come on,” you whispered, pulling away from him slightly. You were reaching your breaking point. Your desire to feel more—to have more—was eating you alive. “Come with us.”
Frank’s lethargic vision shot to Peter, who made slow strides over to the two of you. Completely unphased by what was unfolding before him, he set his pool stick against the wall with the row of others and picked up his beer off the table.
Peter took a swig of it, then another, and looked over at Frank. “Don’t be a pussy, Frank.”
“Yeah, Frank—” you drawled, backing away from him with a cheeky grin, “—don’t be a pussy.” It sounded like a teasing jest, but it was pure desperation in your voice.
Earning a chuckle from Peter, who reached out to grab your hand and drag you towards him, you fell into his grasp like it was second nature. His arm held you in, wrapped around your waist as the both of you studied Frank.
Frank dragged a hand down his face, trying to think about how he got himself in this position.
“This is so fucked up.” His eyes darted over at Peter. “You’re okay with this shit?” he asked, still reeling in disbelief.
Peter tilted his head with a taunting expression on his face. “You mean am I okay with you touching my girlfriend like that?” His voice was sharp, almost accusing, but you knew he was messing with Frank. He was always messing with Frank. As soon as Frank’s expression hardened, your boyfriend coughed out a laugh. “Yes, Frank. I’m okay with it.”
Still simmering in Frank’s silence, your boyfriend pulled his wallet out of his pocket without disengaging the way he was holding you. “Don’t leave her hanging, man.”
Your index finger’s nail was between your teeth, biting down with a sloppy little grin on your face when Frank raked you over once more with his dark eyes.
For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. You knew Frank was still trying to figure out if the two of you were pulling some evil little trick on him, but the way your heart was thumping with enthusiastic anticipation, you didn’t care.
All you wanted was for him to agree, so the three of you could go home and you could find some relief from the agonizing desperation pooling between your legs.
It took five minutes, if that, for Peter to close out his tab and for Frank to get his shit together long enough to leave the bar.
By the time the three of you walked out into the warm, mid-August night air, you debated having one of them hail a taxi so you could get back home quicker. But Frank and Peter had a weird thing with public transportation. They didn’t trust anyone, let alone some potentially ill-intented taxi driver.
Some nights, when the streets were quiet and there was no one around to question it, Peter would swing you home with his organic web, laughing every time you burrowed your head into the crook of his neck or screamed when he got a little too fast with it.
You wondered what Frank did to get places quickly. He had some big, armored truck once, but Peter told you he wrecked that during some eventful run-in with a “bad guy.” His words, of course.
Walking home was seemingly Peter’s motive this evening. One of his arms was lazily draped over your shoulder, his other hand was stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans.
Frank walked a few steps behind you, matching your pace with precision.
You noticed him do that a lot. Whenever the three of you would walk the streets, Peter was always at your side, and Frank was always right behind you.
Initially, you assumed it was his way of keeping you safe. It definitely was, but now you found yourself wondering if he just wanted to watch the way your ass shook when you walked.
Frank had lit a cigarette from his crushed pack of Marlboro reds. He took a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke that floated between you and Peter, causing your boyfriend to snap his head around with an annoyed expression.
“Are you smoking?” he gaped, face scrunched.
The older man shrugged, flicking ash on the concrete mid-stride.
Peter scoffed. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Only do it in high-stress situations,” Frank told him with a comically calm tone.
You craned your neck to look back at him, laughing. “Awe, are you stressed, Frankie?” Your bottom lip poked out just to tease him, the streetlamp reflecting off your shiny lipgloss.
Frank wanted to taste it. “A bit,” he grumbled.
You slowly slipped yourself out of Peter’s grasp, causing both men to halt in their tracks. They always stayed extremely close when out in public. You never really thought about anything with them. What could possibly go wrong when New York’s beloved Spider-man and the man the news called The Punisher were at your side?
Turning on your heels, you reached out and grabbed Frank’s belt buckle. He was so tall compared to you, it was right within your reach. You intended to pull him into you, but he was completely immovable, the action only caused you to stumble forwards into him.
Chuckling at your own actions, you peered up at Frank. “You don’t need to be stressed.”
“Yeah?” he tilted his head down at you, absolutely at a loss of willpower with you on him. “Why’s that?”
“Because—” laughter spilled out of you “—we’re gonna have so much fun.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke, angling it away from your face, and reeled.
He wanted to be hesitant. Hesitance would be a completely logical feeling. It would be entirely normal for him to feel a bit of apprehension about the plan you’d concocted to have them both, given that wasn’t something Frank had ever partook in.
But he wasn’t hesitant. Not anymore, at least.
Beyond his confusion regarding what exactly it was that he was getting himself into, it was complete and utter lust that coursed through him. Lust for you.
He wanted you in all the ways he’d imagine when he was laying in bed at night, fucking himself with his own hand, or in the shower with his forehead pressed to the tile, picturing it was your pretty, glossy lips around his cock.
Peter could sense it. He wasn’t fucking stupid—he saw the way Frank always looked at you, like he wanted to devour you. He had just been waiting for it to all come to a head.
He called it sharing. Sounded innocent and less vulgar that way. He liked sharing you, knowing it was him that you always chose. It was him that you were completely devoted to—always would be.
You were hesitant when he’d talked about it one day, asking him, “Isn’t that cheating?” He’d laughed at you and countered with, “Not if I’m giving it to you, too, angel.”
There was some deep, dark part of him that sprung to life when you were being fucked by someone else, trembling with pleasure, and the only name you moaned was his. Because you were his.
Walking up the stairs to your apartment because the elevator was under maintenance for the third time this month, felt like a chore. But your footsteps were eager.
Both men were on your trail as you skipped up the echoing stairwell, their attention trained on the view they had up your skirt.
“The red ones, angel?” Peter joked, playfully lifting the back of your skirt. “Must be a special occasion.”
Frank’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight, earning a taunting laugh from your boyfriend. Peter turned to the man next to him, smirking devilishly just as you swatted his hand away.
“You like what you see, old man?” Peter asked, nudging Frank’s side.
You briefly glanced back at him, curious to what his answer would be. He just rolled his eyes.
“Playing hard to get, Frankie?” you probed, finally reaching your floor.
He tilted his chin up, towering over you. “Never that, darling.”
Peter pulled the stairwell door wide and your gaze hung on Frank as you backed into the hallway.
There wasn’t a single light on in the apartment when the three of you walked through. It was unbearably hot, very little airflow in the small place due to the broken AC failing to combat the summer heat. You kicked off your shoes, inching further into the apartment to flip on the lamp by the couch.
Peter tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, raking a hand through his dark waves.
Frank had been inside your apartment countless times, but, for some reason, it all felt new to him. The colors on the thrifted rug in the living room seemed brighter, the humming of the refrigerator felt louder, and the smell was visceral. It smelled like the candle you always kept burning, the same one you’d bought Frank to keep at his place after stating it smelled “like death” one time.
But over all the vibrance, sounds, and smells, was the tension brewing. It was sharp enough to cut, weighing on your shoulders like a tangible object.
Peter rounded the couch, falling back on the center cushion.
A second passed of more silence before he cocked his head up at Frank. He furrowed his brows. “You just gonna stand there like some creep?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “The fuck you want me to do, Pete? I just walked in the door.”
Your boyfriend shifted on the couch, finding a more comfortable view of you where you were standing in the center of the living room.
He tilted his head, ushering Frank to come closer. “Kiss her.”
Peter was a very matter-of-fact person. Usually, Frank was, too. There was a zero tolerance policy regarding bullshit in their friendship.
But, for a moment, Frank genuinely thought Peter was bullshitting.
“You just gonna watch, or some shit?” Frank asked him, unsure.
Your boyfriend’s head lulled back, laughter spilling out of him. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you fuck my girl, like some cuck?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know what your freaky ass is into.”
The back and forth between the two of them was becoming unbearable. Your core was aching with an insatiable need. All the talk was causing you to fluster, growing desperate and needy.
It seemed Frank felt the same. In three quick strides, he was right up against you, peering down at you from his height.
“You want me to kiss you?” he asked you.
Your lips curled. “Amongst other things.”
It was like lightning. That was what it felt like when his lips crashed onto yours. It was soft at first, a slow, deep peck. He pulled away for half a second, studying your face, before colliding back with you.
The second time his lips met yours, there was a newfound sense of hunger in his movements.
His lips parted, tongue running along your lips, begging to get through so he could taste you. When you let him in, your tongues tangled around each other's. teeth grazing.
It was a desperate kiss, sloppy and wet, but it had you completely folding.
The minute your fruit-flavoured lipgloss met Frank’s tastebuds, he was lost. He was lost in the kiss, lost in you. God, he wanted to be in you.
Your arms draped his shoulders, interlocking around his neck to force him down, keeping him as close to you as possible. His hands wandered about your body, reaching around to grip your ass.
He pulled your skirt up without a thought, hands gripping the flesh of your ass with a throaty grunt. The skin was so soft and plump in his touch, he felt a shudder roll through his body.
His hands reached down to your thighs, picking you up off the floor with such effortless ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the couch without breaking the kiss.
Peter’s jaw was taut with tension, watching every move you made with such precision, it was borderline obsession.
He stood up, giving Frank the space to lay you down on the cushions. But your legs were still so tightly bound around him, it forced him down on top of you.
You reached down to the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to remove it.
In response, he broke the kiss, standing up off the couch to shrug it off, while you situated yourself on the couch.
“You, too,” you said to Peter between shaky breaths, gesturing to his shirt.
Your boyfriend tore off his T-shirt in one swift motion, kneeling down to crawl on top of you the same way Frank had.
Propping himself up with hands next to your head, he peered down at you and smirked. “You, too, angel.”
You rolled your eyes at his show. “You do it.”
Peter obliged, digging his fingers under the hem of your tank-top and lifting it over your head, leaving your top half completely exposed. You never wore a bra, especially when it was as hot as it was outside.
Neither of the two men admiring the way your perky tits sat seemed to have any qualms about it.
You took a second to eye the two of them, reeling over their tanned, muscular chests. Your brain lapsed over the sight of the hair trailing down Frank’s prominent V-line. You wanted so badly to see what he had under his pants. Analyzing his hardened bulge, your heartrate quickened.
Both of them stood over you on the couch, shirtless and writhing in anticipation.
Peter unbuttoned his jeans first, prompting Frank to follow suit.
Frank thought undressing himself next to Peter would have been more uncomfortable. But neither of them thought twice about it, coming to the joint understanding that this wasn’t about them. It was about you.
“Come here, angel,” Peter mumbled to you.
You complied, sitting up on the couch, and folding your legs beneath yourself.
Sitting back on your calves, you watched with eagerness as Peter stepped out of his boxers. His painfully hard dick slapped his lower stomach during the movement, causing a puddle of desire in your needy center.
He took a step closer until his shins met the couch, his cock right in front of your face. Your hands trailed up his bare legs until they reached his length, stroking it once in your hand before bringing your tongue to the hilt, giving it one, long lick up to the tip.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Peter moaned, gathering your hair in his fist. “Show Frank how good you can suck my dick, angel.”
The deepness of his voice rattled your nerves as you took him in your mouth. Your throat tightened around his tip, a gag tearing from your throat as you tried to take as much of him as possible. You continued bobbing your head, saliva dripping down your chin. What you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you worked in a matching rhythm with your sticky, wet hand.
Peter’s eyes were stuck on you, watching your eyes water when he pulled your hair and pumped himself in your mouth. His jaw went slack, breathing ragged at the absolute pleasure you were giving him.
“Fuck…” he groaned, pulling your hair harder, just like he knew you wanted him to.
You pulled away from him, panting heavily, but still working him with your hand. Swallowing hard, your eyes shifted to Frank who was completely lost in the performance you were giving.
Peter laughed, but it came out more like a moan. “Your turn, old man.”
Frank moved closer to the couch, his erection begging to break free of his tight-fitting boxers. You continued working Peter with one hand while the other worked to get Frank undressed.
He noticed your intent, pushing them off until they fell at his ankles. When his dick finally broke free, a deep moan tore from his throat.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of it.
Peter had a big dick, there was no denying that, but Frank’s was a devious competitor. It was girthy in a way that had you concerned, but just as formidable in length.
You wasted no more time. You wanted to feel him in your mouth. Really, you wanted to see if you could fit him in your mouth.
Peter pulled away from your grasp around his saturated cock, giving you the ability to focus completely on Frank.
He watched you try to take Frank in his entirety, gagging when you neared the base of him. His eyes fixed on the way your throat tightened, knowing exactly how it felt when you did that.
Frank’s fingers ran coursed through your tangled mess of hair, gathering it all up in a fist so he could see your face while you choked on his dick.
It was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.
The thought dawned on him suddenly—the reason why Peter always called you his angel. That was what you were. Some heaven-sent creature.
Your lips suctioned around his girthy shaft, gripping onto his hips as he pumped himself in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, tongue running circles around his tip each time you could reach it.
“Holy… fuck…” Frank panted, tugging on your hair.
His teeth chattered, his nervous system pumping with adrenaline and something akin to pure euphoria.
He wasn’t going to last long with your mouth around him, he knew that. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, he could barely trust that this was his true reality. He must have been dreaming, he’d thought.
He felt his release coming, it was so fast, he pulled out of your mouth with a pop and drew in a sharp wince. He had to halt his breathing for the longest moment, chest caved, in order to hold himself back from cumming all over you.
You brought the back of your hand to your mouth, wiping the mess you’d become away.
“Lay down, angel,” Peter said, leading you to slip off your knees and situate yourself on the couch, your back flush with the soft cushions.
He climbed onto the couch at your feet, dick throbbing with desperation. Your eyes noticed the bead of pre-cum at his pink tip, wanting so desperately to lick it up.
His hands moved to the waist band of your denim skirt, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. “Lift up,” he instructed.
Your hips bucked, giving him the space he needed to pull your skirt down. He brought your panties with it, slipping both off in one quick stride and discarding them on the living room floor.
“Mm,” Peter sounded, gaze fixed on your exposed pussy. “Look at how wet we got her, Frank.”
You were growing irritable. “Please touch me,” you pleaded, hands wandering to your tits, massaging the plump muscle and pinching your pebbled nipples. “Please.”
Peter’s fingers trailed your folds, smirking down at just how drenched they became from your arousal. It was pitiful, really, the way you were squirming against the couch, panting and quivering under his touch.
He noticed it. Hell, he could smell it.
Ever since his arachnid DNA had started betraying him, attempting to dominate his human form, his senses had been heightened. In situations like this, it became worse. He could hear your heart beat like it was his own, make out the miniscule beads of sweat running down your temple, and smell your arousal. The sweet, salty scent had him folding under your intoxicating pleas.
His fingers entered you unannounced. He gave your walls time to adjust around them, grunting at the wet sounds that filled the quiet room as your needy flesh suctioned him in.
Frank moved to the couch, positioning himself on his knees above your head.
“Fuck, angel,” Peter moaned, pumping his fingers in and out of you.
Your head tilted back, back arching off the couch at the all-consuming pleasure. Your hand reached up to Frank’s dick without thinking. You just needed to do something with your hands.
He sat up on his knees, watching the faces you made as Peter fucked you with his fingers and the way you stroked his dick.
“Yeah. Just like that, baby,” Frank muttered, gripping the back of the couch. “God, yes. Just… like that.”
Peter used one hand to continue pumping you, adding two fingers to your tight, drenched entrance. With the other, his thumb moved in gentle circles over your swollen clit.
The overstimulation was too much. You felt your vision blurring, body twitching. Your legs clenched around Peter’s hand.
“Uh-uh,” Peter warned. He moved his hand from your clit for less than a second, just long enough to drape one of your legs over his broad shoulder. “Keep those legs open for me.”
Your head dug into the couch cushion, your strokes on Frank’s cock becoming sloppy.
“Oh, God,” you cried out, nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “I’m–I’m gonna—”
“Good girl,” Peter coaxed, not slowing his rhythm. “Cum for me. Show Frank how good you feel.”
His words were the last piece you needed to hit your release. Your jaw went slack, ragged pants escaping you. Your hips bucked against Peter’s hand as your orgasm flushed out of you.
“Fuck—you look so good like that,” Frank mumbled, brows pinched together, teeth chewing at his bottom lip, as he watched you.
“So do you,” you chuckled, still quivering from your high that you were already to chase again.
Peter pulled his fingers out of you slowly, immediately bringing them to his mouth. Watching him suck on your arousal like that was the most attractive thing you’d ever seen. You gasped at the sight.
“Fuck, Frank—” Peter sucked his finger once more “—you gotta taste her, man.”
Frank chuckled. “I got a better idea.” He sat back on his knees. “Turn my way, baby.”
Every muscle in your body felt like jelly. It was so soon after your orgasm, everything that touched your skin—the fabric of the couch, your hair falling down your back, Frank’s hands gripping your thigh—was enough to send you over the edge.
Turned around on the couch, Frank’s fingers dug into the skin of your exposed hips. With one swift movement, he pulled you closer to him.
You didn’t give a second to adjust himself before your hand reached out and grabbed his throbbing cock as soon as you were close enough to do so. You aligned the tip of him to your quivering entrance.
The second his sensitive tip touched the wetness of your folds, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Let me see that mouth, angel,” Peter said, sitting up on his knees behind you.
Your head fell back on the couch, chin tilting until his tip aligned with your swollen lips. You welcomed the way he slid through, immediately suctioning around him. You pumped the rest of him with one hand, the other gripped the couch.
“Yeah, just like that,” he grunted.
Frank held your hips up, thrusting into you once. The movement tore a moan from your stuffed throat.
“Fuck—You feel so good,” Frank stammered, reeling in the way your tight walls clung to him.
He pulled away slowly, but not entirely. He had just the tip in when he pounded into you again, reeling in the way you cried out in pleasure against Peter’s dick when he did it.
Peter watched the way Frank thrusted into you repeatedly. He couldn’t get enough of the way your body shook, squirming all over the place, with your mouth full of him.
Your tits bounced the harder Frank pounded into you, each movement bringing you closer and closer to that high you so desperately wanted to reach again. You could tell he was there, too. You felt the way his thick length twitched inside of you. His head was lulled back, eyes screwed shut as he held you against him, angling and fucking you the exact way he always wanted to.
You wanted so desperately to be able to see him. You wanted to see the way his chiseled chest was moving up and down with quick pants every time you clenched around his cock. You wanted to see the way he admired your swollen cunt every time he looked down, witnessing the wreckage he was giving you.
“Faster,” Peter said, his tone gruff and eager from the way you were sucking him.
Frank’s eyes shot up to him. He didn’t stop his motions inside you when he tilted his head. “What?”
“Fuck her faster—rougher. It’s what she likes.”
You pulled your mouth off Peter’s dick, working him with your hand so you could finally get a glimpse of Frank. His eyes narrowed on your boyfriend, annoyed more than anything.
“Come here,” Frank ordered, crooking his finger.
He remained inside you as you sat up further on the couch. He reached out, grabbing you by the throat. It wasn’t a cruel grab. It was the most delicate way you’d ever been touched. You wanted it harder, though.
The smirk that appeared on your mess of a face was a devilish one.
Frank sat back on his calves, bringing you to straddle him with his hand still clung to your throat.
“You like that?” Frank probed, squinting up at you as you grinded your hips. He was so deep inside you, you could feel the exact spot he was hitting in your core. “You like when I choke you like that?”
You nodded, biting down on your lip as your hips moved in circular motions on top of him. The friction it brought to your clit had you moaning incoherently, eyes rolling back in your head as squirmed in fast, desperate motions on top of him.
“Say it. Say you like this shit,” Frank grunted through his gritted teeth, barely holding on.
Your head lulled back, eyes fluttering closed. “I like it, I lo—”
A gasp tore from your throat when his hands suddenly moved to your hips, lifting you and slamming you down on him unforgivingly. He had a desperate, hungry look on his face.
“Holy… fucking… shit,” you panted, falling back on the couch, causing your back to arch and hips rise above your head level.
All of the blood was rushing to your head as he pounded into you relentlessly.
He knew that Peter knew you better than anyone. Peter knew exactly what you liked, how you liked it, and where you liked it at. That was fine.
Frank was just determined to give you more to like.
He wanted to fuck you in a way that you were going to beg Peter to mimic the next time he had you all to himself. He wanted you to not be able to cum again without remembering the way he had you splayed out in front of him, becoming a flexible mess with his cock buried so deep inside you, it almost hurt.
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned again the second Frank’s fingers started working on your clit. “Yes, Frank. Just like that—Please.”
The moment Frank’s name slipped off your tongue, Peter sprung off the couch.
“My turn,” he said, but it came out aggressive.
Frank slowed inside of you. Part of him wanted to keep going. He wanted to be the one to make you cum all over his dick, but he knew better than to fuck with Peter like that—not when it came to you, even if his thoughts contradicted him.
When Frank slid out of you, you winced. The sudden emptiness was agonizing.
Your eyes fluttered up to Frank’s, immediately seeing the way his features hardened when Peter picked you up, twisting you around so that your back was flush with his.
Peter sat on the couch the same place he’d been before, allowing you to face Frank as he slowly inserted his pulsating length inside you from behind.
You knew what he was doing. You knew he wanted Frank to see him fuck you in all the ways he knew you liked. Peter wanted Frank to see you come apart for him, forcing Frank to remember who you belonged to when it was all said and done.
Peter’s fist clenched around your hair, pulling you flush to him as he pounded in you with just the right kind of force. Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arched in a deviously seductive way. Your ass slapped against his waist everytime he thrusted deep inside of you, incoherent and muffled cries of pleasure spewing out of you the quicker he got.
Frank sat back on the couch, legs spread before him.
With a great deal of effort, you lifted your head off of your boyfriend’s shoulder so that you could see Frank, gasping when your eyes immediately met his.
He wasn’t watching the way Peter was fucking you—he wasn’t entertained by the way your tits were bouncing, or the way your ass was clapping against his friend’s skin. He was entertained by you.
Your eyes honed in on him. Peter’s moans echoed behind you, but you couldn’t look away from the way Frank’s hand moved to his still-saturated cock, stroking himself and looking at you in a way that made you want to crawl on top of him.
His nostrils flared, chest rising and falling as he pumped himself at a relentless pace.
You kept your attention on him as your hand wandered to your clit, moving in quick motions over the swollen flesh.
His stare was so intense, it felt like he was seeing through you. Combined with the stimulation on your clit and the way Peter was pounding into you, your release came quick. It was an entirely new high, watching the way Frank’s face scrunched as yours did, his fingers digging into the back of the couch as his cum squirted from the tip of his throbbing, slick-sounding cock.
You were breathless, permanently engraving the sight in your memory.
“Fuck, yes,” Peter moaned. Sitting back further on the couch and letting you ride him with your back still turned to him. His hand collided with your ass, drawing a breathy moan from your throat. “Doing so good, angel.”
Even with his release littering his flexed stomach, Frank’s eyes stayed on you. It was just taunting at that point.
Peter sat up on his knees, forcing you down on the couch in an attempt to drive his dick further inside you. You kept yourself up on your arms, realizing you’d fallen right over Frank’s semi-hard dick.
His tongue ran along his top row of teeth, wondering what Peter’s little angel was going to do next.
Arching your back, giving your boyfriend the perfect angle to thrust into you with vicious momentum, you bowed your head dangerously close to the small puddles of Frank’s white cum.
When your tongue shot out, lapping up the salty remnants of his release, he drew in a sharp, piercing breath.
“Oh, shit…” he drawled, watching you lick up and swallow his seed.
Peter gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy and untimed.
He knew what you were doing. There wasn’t a thing you did that Peter didn’t catch.
“Come here,” he grunted, pulling your hair and forcing your back to collide with his rigid front again.
He was getting pissed off, you knew that.
You liked that.
Your head fell back on his shoulder again, his lips pressing to your flushed ear. “You’re mine,” he hissed, thrusts becoming just cruel.
A smirk spread on your face.
“Tell him,” Peter demanded, bringing his hand to your throat and squeezing. “Tell him who you belong to.”
“You,” you managed to get out despite Peter’s grip threatening your airways. “I… belong to… you.”
He gripped tighter. “Louder.”
“I belong… to… you,” you said, nearly shouting as your vision spotted and walls clenched around him.
“Mm,” Peter moaned in your ear. “You gonna cum for me again, aren’t you, angel?”
You couldn’t manage a response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Peter laughed. “Watch her, Frank—I know you want to,” he taunted. “Watch her cum all over my dick.”
Frank did, of course. But he wasn’t worried about whose dick she was coming on. In that creative imagination of his, it was his dick inside you. Now that he knew what it felt like, there wasn’t anything holding him back.
A pleasured cry spilled from your lips, your body convulsing in Peter’s grasp.
“Good girl,” he cooed, never once relenting. “You want me to fill you up now, angel?”
You nodded, every nerve in your body frazzled. “Please.”
Peter’s head dug into the crook of your neck, his teeth biting down on the delicate skin there in an attempt to hold back the guttural screams threatening to depart from him. It was an absolute miracle he had lasted this long inside you. He wanted to finish the second he entered you, but he wanted Frank to sit and watch him work you in all the ways he wanted.
Sharing was a kind way of putting it, he thought back. It wasn’t exactly sharing, what he was doing. He just wanted to show you off. He wanted the third person in the room with the two of you to watch how he took control of you, making you become completely undone for him. He wanted them to see what he could do to you—the ways he could fuck you, the pleasure he could give you.
He wanted to watch them try, just like he had let Frank try. Then, he wanted them to watch him do it even better.
His teeth sunk in deeper as he pounded in you one last time before his warmth spread inside you.
You felt the exact moment he came. The feeling was almost as good as your own release.
He rode out his high, his cock twitching inside of you until there was nothing more he could release inside you.
When he pulled out of you with a squelching sound, his gaze fixed on the sight of his cum leaking out of you.
“God, I love that shit,” he mumbled.
He slowly fell back on his calves, repositioning himself to where you could lay back against him, giving you time to collect yourself before he helped clean you up.
Your gaze immediately flashed to Frank when you rested back against Peter’s chest, squeezing your thighs together to keep from leaking all over the couch.
Frank was sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge and the other bent up, spread out shamelessly before the two of you.
“You okay, Frank?” Peter asked, his tone returning to his usual, calm self.
Frank coughed out a laugh and shook his head.
“What?” Peter countered, smirking. “That not a good enough birthday present for you?”
“A card will do good next year,” Frank jested, combing a hand through his dark hair.
Peter hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
hope you enjoyed it!
pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.”
୨ৎ─ delaney!
want more little angel, or have a unique idea you want me to write? request it here. i accept anonymous asks!
description: late-night visits are rarely quiet, especially when the neighborhood hero crashes through your bedroom window. desperate for a hideout, spider-man seeks refuge in your room—only for his mask to slip, revealing peter parker: the shy, elusive neighbor who has been dodging your gaze for months.
tags/warnings: small plot, reader insert, next door neighbour peter, accidental break in, pining, cursing, mutual attraction, explict sexual content, nudity, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, creampie, small aftercare. NSFW, 18+.
you had moved into an apartment in the Manhattan area only a short while ago, so you were still getting used to the place and the rhythm of living in a building entirely different from what you were accustomed to.
fortunately, the apartment left nothing to be desired. it was comfortable, well-located, and, to your surprise, the neighbors were remarkably welcoming. it didn’t take long to realize there was a genuine sense of community among the residents—there was always someone willing to lend a hand when needed, whether it was picking up a package, helping carry something up the stairs, or simply exchanging a few words in the hallway.
you had already managed to familiarize yourself with a few of them, but there was one guy in particular who seemed to make a point of acting strangely whenever he crossed paths with you.
it was almost as if he were allergic to your very presence.
you could tell he often kept an eye on you in the corridors, but the second your eyes met, he’d avert his gaze or invent some flimsy excuse to hurry off in the opposite direction. the oddest part was that you had never done a single thing to him. even so, you kept a polite smile on your face every time you bumped into him, even as it left you increasingly baffled, wondering if there was something wrong with you. maybe you had said something without realizing it, or done something that annoyed him. maybe he just didn't like you. the problem was, if that was the case, you had no idea why.
one night, you were lying in bed, covered up to your hips, trying to finally overcome the insomnia that had been stubbornly keeping you awake. the window remained slightly ajar, letting the chilly night air drift into the room and causing the curtains to sway gently back and forth.
the apartment was completely dark, illuminated only by the distant glow of the New York lights filtering through the window, while the hum of the city leaked in alongside the wind. occasional honking, distant voices, and the low rumble of cars passing on the streets below formed a steady backdrop of ambient noise that, somehow, managed to soothe you.
you were just beginning to feel the heavy pull of sleep over your eyes when a sudden noise coming from the exterior fire escape made your entire body jump in bed. your heart instantly hammered, and you froze for a few seconds, trying to discern what had caused the sound. then came another noise—closer this time—followed by the sound of the window being shoved fully open.
before you could even process what to do, someone stepped into your bedroom.
you went stone-still.
the only thing you could make out in that moment was a dark silhouette set against the faint light streaming from the window, and your first immediate thought was that someone was breaking into your apartment. panic seized your chest as you pushed yourself up on the bed, wildly trying to decide whether to scream, run, or simply stay frozen. your hand reached out blindly until it found the lamp on the nightstand. the moment you switched it on, a warm yellow light flooded the room, illuminating the figure standing just a few feet away.
the red and blue suit was unmistakable.
your eyes widened as you realized the man standing inside your bedroom was dressed head-to-toe as Spider-Man. the suit bore clear marks of wear—grime smudged across the fabric and subtle signs of tear, as if he had just come straight from an intense situation. probably saving someone. or fighting someone. after all, that was Spider-Man. the famous neighborhood hero featured constantly on the news who had, apparently, just decided your bedroom would make a great place to break into in the middle of the night.
you were still trying to wrap your head around what was happening when he reached up with both hands, grabbed his mask, and pulled it up over his head, exposing his face. he seemed completely focused on orienting himself, scanning the room as if trying to figure out where he had ended up. for a brief second, he didn't notice anything amiss. then, his eyes swept over the space once more and finally landed on you, sitting right there on the bed.
his eyes went wide instantly.
you recognized that face.
your neighbor.
the guy who always acted so bizarrely whenever he passed you in the hall.
he stood there frozen for a few long seconds, staring at you as though his brain had completely short-circuited. then he glanced side to side, likely looking for any logical explanation for the situation, until it finally clicked that he had just broken into the wrong apartment. the worst part wasn't just that he had walked into the wrong flat—he had climbed straight into your bedroom, in the dead of night, fully clad in a Spider-Man suit, and was now standing there with his mask off.
"oh…" was all he managed to get out.
you just kept staring at him, utterly incredulous, while he seemed to spiral into a full-blown panic right in front of you. his eyes darted frantically to his suit, swept around the room again, and ultimately snapped back to you. realizing there was no possible way to wriggle out of this without giving a full explanation, his eyes widened even further, and he spun around on his heel as fast as he could, presenting his back to you.
“I'm sorry. I got the wrong apartment."
silence hung in the room for a few moments as you tried to process the sheer absurdity of it all. your neighbor was Spider-Man. the guy who practically sprinted away from you every time you met in the hallway was actually the same man swinging between Manhattan skyscrapers on the nightly news. of all the wild theories you had cooked up to explain his strange behavior, that certainly hadn't made the list.
"so..." your voice finally cut through the silence.
he seemed to stiffen even more at the sound of your voice and rushed to speak, his back still firmly turned toward you. "I can explain," he blurted out, as if that were the only coherent thought left in his head.
you raised an eyebrow, eyeing his back. "you don't even know what I was going to ask," you countered, a soft laugh slipping out despite yourself at his blatant nervousness.
he went quiet for a beat, seemingly rethinking every word he was about to say. "right. fair enough. but considering the circumstances, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet," he admitted smoothly.
despite the madness of the situation, you almost let out a genuine chuckle. almost. you were still far too occupied trying to figure out how the boy who could barely hold a conversation with you was now standing in your bedroom in the middle of the night, wearing a superhero suit.
"you broke into the wrong apartment," you repeated, more to yourself than to him, trying to organize the sequence of events in your mind. "and, for some reason, you decided to enter specifically through my bedroom window."
"technically, I didn't decide to break into your room," he answered quickly, turning his head slightly in your direction, though still making a point not to look you directly in the eye.
"oh, really?" you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for the explanation.
"really. I thought it was my apartment," he replied, grimacing slightly as he realized just how ridiculous that sounded out loud.
you glanced around your own room before bringing your gaze back to him. "you thought my apartment was yours?"
"when I'm wearing the mask, spatial awareness gets a little... tricky," he explained, making a small gesture with his hands as if that made the whole thing perfectly reasonable.
"so you routinely climb through your window?" you tilted your head slightly, genuinely curious.
he hesitated for a second before answering. "sometimes," he conceded with a faint shrug.
"into the wrong apartment?"
"no," he shot back immediately, shaking his head.
"just tonight?"
"just tonight," he confirmed, letting out a low sigh.
you continued to watch him for a moment, still trying to grasp how this had come to pass. he remained facing away from you, as if turning around would somehow make everything ten times worse—even though you had already seen his face and knew exactly who he was. his answer should have been enough to wrap up the conversation, but there was one thing that kept bugging you. in truth, it was something that had been bugging you ever since you moved into the building.
"Peter."
he froze dead in his tracks.
you noticed it instantly. it wasn't just the fact that he'd heard his own name. it was the way his shoulders went rock-rigid, as if that single word had completely rendered him motionless.
"you know my name," he noted, still without turning around entirely.
"we've been neighbors for weeks. it wasn't exactly hard to figure out," you replied, giving a light shrug.
he let out a quiet breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. "right."
"and now I know your secret."
at that, he finally turned around to face you. his eyes locked onto yours, and there was a shift in his expression. it wasn't just the panic of getting caught anymore. there was genuine concern there—almost a silent plea for you not to blow this up into something bigger than it needed to be.
"you can't tell anyone," he requested, taking a tentative step toward you.
you held his gaze for a few seconds before answering. "I won't."
he looked genuinely taken aback by how easily you agreed. "you won't?" he asked, as if needing to hear it one more time to actually believe it.
"no," you confirmed, keeping your eyes fixed on him.
"seriously?" he tilted his head slightly, still visibly skeptical.
"Peter, I'm not five years old."
he cast his eyes downward for a moment, looking endearingly sheepish. "right."
"I just want to know one thing in return."
he looked back up at you, snapping to full attention instantly. "what?"
you took a deep breath before asking the question you’d been holding onto ever since moving into the building. "what’s your problem with me?"
his expression shifted immediately. "what?" he asked, clearly caught off guard.
"you heard me," you replied, crossing your arms again.
"I don't have a problem with you," he assured you.
you let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "seriously?"
"seriously," he insisted, throwing his hands up in self-defense.
"because you act like I have some kind of contagious disease," you pointed out, narrowing your eyes.
"I do not," he shot back quickly.
"yes, you do."
"no, I don't."
"Peter, you literally cross the hallway to the other side whenever you see me coming."
he opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out right away. "that's..." he started, frantically grasping for some justification that didn't sound completely absurd.
"coincidence?" you supplied, raising an eyebrow.
"yeah," he answered, but his hesitation immediately gave away the fact that even he didn't believe that.
you let out a quiet laugh. "you once tried to hide behind a plant."
he blinked a few times, clearly trying to recall the moment. "that plant was huge," he argued, pointing a finger at you as if he’d just presented a perfectly reasonable defense.
"it was a fern," you countered.
"exactly," he responded, nodding with dead seriousness before realizing he’d just proven your point.
for a few seconds, silence fell over the room. a smile played on your lips, and Peter seemed a little less tense now that he’d managed to coax a genuine reaction out of you. however, the moment he caught himself smiling, he averted his eyes again, as though suddenly remembering this wasn't a conversation he should be having.
"I just..." he began, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not really good with people," he admitted with a small sigh.
"you seem pretty great with people when you're wearing that suit," you noted, subtly gesturing toward his gear.
"that's different," he answered almost instantly. but seeing you wait for an elaboration, he dragged a hand over his face and let out another sigh. "when I'm wearing the mask, it's... different. I can be awkward, make terrible jokes, talk too much, and nobody really knows who's behind it. it's kind of an advantage."
you knit your brows, still trying to see where he was going with this. "and you can't do that with me?"
"not exactly." Peter winced slightly and stared at the floor for a beat before looking back up at you. "because you're my neighbor."
"i know that," you answered, crossing your arms once more. "you're my neighbor, too."
"I know." he nodded quickly, as if just realizing how nonsensical his answer sounded. "that's—that's precisely what I meant."
you let a soft laugh slip out, and he shook his head, looking thoroughly exasperated with himself.
"I'm not explaining this right."
"you really aren't."
"great." he let out a dry laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "at least we're on the same page."
you waited a few more seconds, but Peter was still hunting for the right words, his eyes sweeping the room as if one might be hidden in a corner. finally, he took a deep breath and decided to just spill it.
"I started noticing you."
you raised an eyebrow. "noticing me?"
"yeah." he shrugged, instantly looking like he regretted the movement. "I mean, not in a creepy way. that was a terrible choice of words."
you smiled.
"I just mean..." Peter paused, pointing at you and then at himself, as if trying to construct a visual diagram. "you moved in, and I started seeing you around. in the hall. in the elevator. sometimes by the front entrance. and after a while, I just started recognizing when you were nearby."
"that still sounds a little creepy."
"I know." he closed his eyes for a second. "God, I am making this so much worse."
you laughed out loud, and Peter ended up smiling too, though he still looked completely out of his depth.
"it wasn't supposed to be like this," he continued, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "I just... I noticed you. that's all."
"you noticed that I exist?"
"yes."
"congratulations."
"thanks," he replied automatically, only to catch the sarcasm a split second later. "wait. no. that's not what I meant."
you burst into another laugh, and he pointed at you with an incredulous grin.
"see? that right there!"
"what?"
"you do that."
"do what?"
"you make me lose my train of thought."
you tilted your head, amused. "I'm not even doing anything."
"that's the problem."
the answer came out way too fast.
Peter went silent.
so did you.
he blinked a few times and immediately looked away.
"that sounded so much weirder out loud," he muttered, bringing a hand up to cover his face.
"a little bit."
"I should stop talking."
"probably."
"definitely."
you smiled, but you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily. "so, what's the issue, then?"
peter dropped his hand and took a deep breath. "there isn't an issue."
"Peter."
"fine." he held up both hands in surrender, taking a small step back. "there is an issue. but it's not you."
"then what is it?"
he remained quiet for a few seconds, searching your face as if trying to decide how much of this conversation he should actually be having. in the end, he seemed to give up on finding a better dodge.
"I think you're pretty."
you blinked, taken aback.
Peter immediately held up a finger, as if needing to establish ground rules before you could say a word.
"don't make a big deal out of it."
"I didn't even say anything!"
"I know, but you're making that face."
"what face?"
"that face like you're going to turn this into something it's not."
you crossed your arms, biting back a smile. "and what, exactly, is it?"
"it's just..." he paused, looking off to the side. "you're pretty. I noticed. that's all."
"so you run away from me because you think I'm pretty?"
Peter opened his mouth, then went quiet for a few seconds. "when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculously shallow."
"because it is?"
"no!" he pointed at you almost instantly. "that's not what I meant. I just... I don't know you."
the answer caught you off guard, rendering you silent.
Peter seemed a bit more comfortable once he finally got that out.
"that's the whole point," he continued, distractedly picking at the red fabric of his glove. "I don't know anything about you. I don't know your favorite food, I don't know what kind of music you like, I don't know if you're a nice person or if you secretly hate dogs or something oddly specific like that."
you knit your brows. "I don't hate dogs."
"great." he nodded, looking genuinely relieved. "look at that, one piece of data down."
you laughed.
"but that's just it. I don't know you," he repeated, a bit more seriously this time. "and I didn't want to start building some idealized version of you in my head just because I thought you were pretty."
the sheer honesty of it caught you entirely off guard.
"so you decided to avoid me altogether."
"that was the plan." he shrugged. "a terrible plan, apparently."
"why?"
"because you keep showing up."
you raised an eyebrow. "I live here."
"I know." peter let out a faint laugh, shaking his head. "that's another issue."
"did you want me to move out?"
"no!" the answer flew out of him so fast his eyes widened at his own intensity. "no. absolutely not." Peter paused, running a hand over the back of his neck as he tried to reorganize his thoughts. "I just meant it would be easier if I didn't... run into you all the time."
"but I live here."
"I know."
"and so do you."
"I know that, too."
you let out a soft chuckle, and Peter dropped his gaze for a second, looking endearingly self-conscious.
"you realize how completely irrational that sounds, right?"
"I do." he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "which is why I was trying to avoid this conversation in the first place."
"because you can't explain it?"
"because I can't explain it without sounding like a total idiot." he raised his eyes to yours again, making a slight face. "which, considering how this night started, probably doesn't make much of a difference anyway."
you laughed, and Peter couldn't help but smile too.
for a few seconds, he seemed to relax. the quiet that settled between you no longer held that uncomfortable tension from before. there was still an inherent absurdity to the situation—he was still standing in your bedroom in a Spider-Man suit in the dead of night, after all—but now you were starting to see the boy behind the mask.
and for the first time since you had moved into the building, Peter didn't look like he was trying to run away.
"so..." you began, breaking the silence once more. "you think I'm pretty."
his smile vanished on the spot.
"oh, no."
you laughed.
"I was just confirming."
"you don't need to confirm."
"but you just admitted it."
"I know." Peter squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if deeply regretting every single choice that had led him into this room tonight. "and I would very much like to rewind time by about five minutes."
"why?"
"because I was doing okay."
"were you?"
"not great, but definitely better than I am right now."
you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you let your eyes wander back over the suit he was still wearing. up until that moment, you had been so caught up in the sheer absurdity of the situation that you’d barely stopped to actually look at him. now that the initial shock had begun to wear off, curiosity was starting to take over. Spider-Man was standing in your bedroom, just a few feet away from you, and as bizarre as it was, there was something almost fascinating about finally seeing the suit up close.
"can I see it?"
Peter knit his brows, looking as though he hadn't quite understood the question. "see what?"
"the suit."
he looked down at himself, seemingly remembering that he was still fully gear-clad as Spider-Man. "oh. right." Peter made a small, vague gesture with his hands. "sure you can."
you pushed the covers aside and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up while keeping your eyes fixed on him. Peter, on the other hand, remained rooted to the spot, looking like he was waiting for explicit instructions on what to do next.
"you can come closer," you said, picking up on his hesitation.
"I can?"
"it's just a suit, Peter."
"I know," he nodded quickly. "right. a suit."
you raised an eyebrow. "you're making this weird."
"I know."
despite his response, he finally started taking a few tentative steps toward you. his movements were cautious, almost calculated, and you noticed he came to a halt at a considerable distance from the bed—as if he'd drawn an imaginary line in the sand as a safe buffer between you two.
you studied him for a few moments before standing up.
Peter went rigid instantly.
"you didn't have to get up," he noted, his eyes following your movement.
"I wanted a better look."
"up close?"
"up close."
he swallowed hard and nodded, though he didn't offer a response. you walked over to him without any rush, closing the gap between you until you came to a stop directly in front of him. now that you were standing this close, you could catch details that would have been completely invisible from afar: the subtle scuffs on the fabric, the faint layer of grime lingering in the seams, and the intricate grid lines running through the material.
"may I?"
Peter looked down at you. "may you what?"
you pointed toward the spider emblem on his chest. "this."
"oh." he dropped his eyes to his own chest before snapping them back to yours. "yeah. of course."
you reached out, carefully sliding your fingers over the symbol, taking in the distinct texture of the material beneath your fingertips. it was much firmer and more structured than you had pictured, yet it still felt remarkably flexible—clearly built to allow for an unrestricted range of motion.
"it's so much more detailed in person," you remarked, tilting your head slightly as you traced the lines of the suit.
Peter looked down, tracking the motion of your hand. "it's... made for that."
you looked up to catch his eye. "made for what?"
he paused for a beat. "being detailed."
you stared at him for a few seconds. "that was a terrible answer."
"I know." Peter let out a low laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I meant there are multiple layers. certain areas are reinforced."
"reinforced?"
"yeah." he gestured subtly toward a spot near his shoulder. "like here, for instance."
your eyes followed his hand, and you leaned in slightly, lightly tapping the area he'd indicated. "is this stitched?"
"that part, yeah." Peter stared at your fingers resting against the suit. "but it's not just stitching. there's a padding layer underneath."
he stepped a fraction closer, almost without realizing he was closing the remaining distance between you, and brought his hand up to yours. his fingers brushed lightly against yours before gently taking hold, guiding your hand a couple of inches to the side.
"like this," he explained, far too focused on his breakdown to immediately register the proximity. "right here, you can feel the difference."
you allowed him to guide your hand across the fabric.
his fingers lingered over yours for a second longer than strictly necessary.
"feel that?" he asked, his gaze still anchored to where your hands met.
"I do."
"this part's thicker."
you nodded, though your focus had subtly shifted away from the suit. the touch had been brief and completely harmless, yet you could distinctly feel the warmth of his hand bleeding through the fabric of his glove onto yours.
Peter seemed to register the exact same thing a split second later.
his fingers froze.
he looked up.
you were looking directly at him.
for a moment, neither of you uttered a word.
then, Peter let go of your hand—far too slowly for it to pass as entirely accidental—and took half a step back.
"sorry."
you knit your brows slightly. "for what?"
"I..." he glanced down at his own hand, as if it had acted on its own accord without his permission. "I don't know."
a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "do you apologize for everything?"
"lately? feels like it."
you turned your attention back to the suit, opting not to push him just yet. "what about this section?"
peter looked down to where you were pointing, looking visibly relieved to have something concrete to explain again.
"that's different." he tapped the side of his torso with two fingers. "I need maximum mobility here."
"because of the web-slinging?"
"that, too." he began gesturing as he spoke, finally looking a bit more in his element. "if I can't move my right arm properly, doing basic things gets pretty tricky. and when you're swinging between skyscrapers at an altitude you definitely shouldn't be at..." he paused briefly. "well, you really want to make sure the suit doesn't tear."
you smiled. "you talk about it like it's the most normal thing in the world."
"it's not exactly normal." Peter shrugged. "it just became normal for me."
you kept watching him as he spoke. there was a subtle shift in him whenever the topic turned to something he truly knew inside and out. the nervous edge softened, his hands moved animatedly as he explained things, and he seemed to momentarily forget that he was supposed to be keeping his distance from you.
"you like this," you noted.
Peter cut himself off mid-gesture. "like what?"
"talking about this."
he looked down at his suit, then back up at you. "maybe."
"you seem less nervous."
"that's because I'm talking about something I actually understand."
"so, should I just ask you about Spider-Man whenever you get nervous?"
Peter offered a soft smile. "maybe."
you reached out to touch the spider emblem on his chest once more, your fingers moving a little slower this time.
"then tell me."
"about what?"
"about you."
his smile gradually faded. "that's... a lot more complicated."
"why?"
Peter held your gaze for a few quiet seconds before speaking. "because I know a whole lot more about Spider-Man than I do about Peter Parker."
silence settled over you.
he didn't break it either.
the distance between you was still razor-thin, and right now, neither of you seemed particularly interested in stepping back.
you tilted your head slightly. "maybe I could get to know both."
Peter exhaled slowly. "that," he murmured, his gaze dipping away for a brief moment, "is precisely the kind of thing that makes it so hard to be around you."
you smiled softly. "why?"
he looked back up at you.
this time, he didn't look away.
"because you make it sound so easy."
you held his gaze for a few long seconds, feeling the silence between you grow heavier by the moment. Peter was still standing there, close enough that the slightest movement would close the gap completely, yet he seemed determined not to make a move. almost as if he were waiting for you to take the first step.
so, you did.
without saying a word, you took another step closer.
Peter held his breath, his eyes dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back up to meet your gaze, almost as if he were scolding himself for looking.
"you're doing it again," he murmured.
"doing what?"
"that."
"you're going to need to be a little more specific."
Peter let out a low laugh, unable to hide the underlying nerves in his voice. "leaving me clueless about what to do."
you smiled.
"maybe I know."
before he could ask what that meant, you brought a hand up to his face and kissed him.
Peter went stone-still.
for a brief, suspended moment, it seemed as though his entire body had forgotten how to react. then, as if the realization finally hit him that this was actually happening, he let out a long breath and returned the kiss.
the sheer relief that seeped out of him in a soft sigh made your chest tighten.
his hands hovered around your waist for a few hesitant seconds, as though still trying to gauge whether he was allowed to touch you. when he finally made contact, his fingers closed gently over the fabric of your pajamas, pulling you a few inches closer.
the kiss deepened naturally, unhurried, and you felt Peter unwind against you, inch by inch. the tension that had been locked in his shoulders from the moment he climbed through your window finally began to melt away.
your hand slid up to his hair, your fingers tangling into his soft curls. Peter let out a low groan against your lips when you gently pulled him closer, and his reaction brought a faint smirk to the corner of your mouth.
he noticed.
"don't start," he murmured against your lips.
you kissed him again before he could complain any further.
his hands began to trace slowly up your back, as if he were still adjusting to the reality of being able to touch you. every time you moved closer, he seemed to lose a little more of his ability to pretend this wasn't getting to him.
and as much as he tried not to dwell on it, Peter caught himself wishing there wasn't a layer of fabric between you. the thought hit him so suddenly that he instantly tried to push it aside.
no.
definitely not.
this was already complicated enough.
you were his neighbor. the girl he’d been actively avoiding for weeks precisely because he didn't want to turn a simple living situation into something weird. and now here he was, with your arms wrapped around him and your fingers still threaded through his hair, while he desperately tried to ignore how badly he wanted to throw all those reservations out the window.
he broke the kiss for a few seconds, keeping his forehead rested against yours as he caught his breath.
"this is wrong," he whispered.
your hand stayed tangled in his hair. "is it?"
"probably." Peter closed his eyes for a beat. "we shouldn't be doing this."
"why?"
"because we're neighbors."
you let out a soft laugh. "is that your excuse?"
"it's a very valid excuse."
"you climbed into my bedroom through the window wearing a Spider-Man costume."
"suit," he corrected automatically.
you smiled. "suit."
Peter shook his head, but he couldn't hold back a smile either.
"this is just going to make seeing each other around way weirder," he continued, even though his hands remained firmly anchored on your waist.
"you were already crossing to the other side of the hall whenever you saw me."
"I know."
"so I don't think it can get much worse."
he let out a laugh, nodding in defeat. "you have a point."
you leaned in close again, lightly brushing your nose against his.
Peter went quiet.
this time, he was the one to close the gap.
the kiss returned with a newfound urgency, yet remained careful, as if you were both trying to figure out where this night was heading. your fingers tightened in his hair again, and peter let out a muffled sigh before wrapping his arms around you completely.
when he finally pulled back, he just stared at you for a few long seconds. there was an almost incredulous look on his face, as though he were still trying to process that this was actually happening.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," he confessed, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
you raised an eyebrow. "to kiss me?"
Peter nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I've wanted to taste you for so long."
this time, you were the one left speechless.
Peter noticed and let out a short laugh, suddenly looking thoroughly flustered by his own honesty.
"sorry. that was..."
"it wasn't."
you grabbed him by the collar of his suit, pulling him down with you as the two of you tumbled onto the bed. Peter caught his weight on his forearms, framing your head on either side, and kissed you again. this time, though, something had shifted. the kiss was far more intense, heavy with all the unexpressed tension you’d both been trying to ignore since he walked through the window.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, erasing whatever space was left between you, as your hands traced the broad expanse of his back through the suit. Peter exhaled a ragged sigh against your lips, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as if trying to hold onto some shred of self-control.
"this is a terrible idea," he murmured between kisses, even as his hands held fast to your waist.
"you can leave," you teased, pulling him right back down.
peter let out a breathy laugh. "I know."
but he didn't move an inch.
instead, he captured your lips once more, and you felt the muscles in his arms flex as he held himself above you. there was something almost contradictory about the way he acted: he still seemed nervous, still hesitated at times, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
"Peter."
he paused mid-kiss, keeping his face inches from yours as he waited for you to finish.
"take it off."
your eyes flicked briefly down to his suit.
he understood right away.
"are you sure?"
you nodded.
Peter went quiet for a few seconds before finally shifting off you. sitting on the edge of the bed, he began peeling off the suit, casting quick, uncertain glances back at you as if to make sure you hadn't changed your mind.
you propped yourself up against the pillows, watching him.
now, without the suit, he looked different. not because he had stopped being Spider-Man, but because for the first time, you could see just Peter. the same guy you passed in the hallways, who got completely tongue-tied whenever your eyes met, and who, until just a few minutes ago, seemed ready to do anything to avoid having a real conversation with you.
you reached out a hand toward him, beckoning him close.
"come here."
Peter obeyed.
the moment he moved back in, you ran your hands up his arms and over his shoulders, pulling him down to you as you drank in the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. he closed his eyes for a fleeting second and let his breath out slowly, as though that simple touch was enough to send his nerves flying again.
"you're shaking," you noted.
"I am not."
"you are."
Peter opened his eyes and pulled back slightly, letting out a soft laugh as he scanned your face. "maybe a little," he conceded, giving a slight shrug.
you smiled before pulling him right back down.
he leaned over you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where he began pressing clumsy, wet kisses against your skin, slowly working his way down. with every touch, his breathing grew heavier, and you felt his arms lock again securely around you.
his mouth found a sensitive spot just below your ear, and a soft gasp slipped from your lips when he nipped lightly at the skin, followed by a gentle suck that made your shoulders tense. Peter let out a low whine at your reaction, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on you.
"Peter..." you whimpered, your hands sliding up his back to feel his taut muscles.
he didn't reply with words, only with renewed intensity, continuing his trail of kisses down toward your collarbone. his hands slid down to the hem of your pajama top, clutching the fabric with a hesitation that lasted only a fraction of a second before he pulled it up over your head. you helped him, lifting your arms so he could strip it off completely, leaving your upper body exposed to the soft glow of the lamp.
Peter slowly looked up, freezing in place. he hovered on his knees between your legs, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight before him.
a heavy breath escaped his lips before he leaned down, taking your mouth once more. at the same time, one of his hands slid up your torso until it cupped your breast, squeezing with a delicious firmness that wrung a moan from your throat right into his mouth. the sensation only intensified as his skilled fingers began to play with your nipple, pinching and teasing until you involuntarily arched your hips up against his.
“you’re so beautiful…” he whispered between kisses, his voice raspy and breathless, while his other hand slid down slowly, tracing your waist in light, fleeting caresses.
your usual self-confidence flickered for a second, replaced by a warm flush creeping up your cheeks. you waited in silence, hoping the darkness of the room would hide the effect his words were having on your body.
giving yourself no time to overthink, you locked your thighs around his hips, eliminating any remaining space between you. the pressure of his bulge frictioning against your cunt wrung a heavy sigh from Peter. driven by an almost primal reflex, he shed his hesitant demeanor and began grinding against you, locked into a slow, agonizingly provocative rhythm for both of you.
it was impossible to ignore the way he throbbed against your skin through the fabric of his boxers—a stark contrast to the slick heat already pooling in your panties.
guided by sheer impatience, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down to his mid-thighs, freeing his rigid cock and balls from their restraint. your hand wrapped around the hot, thick base, initiating a slow, rhythmic stroke that slid up and down his entire length.
when you looked up to catch his eye, you found Peter completely undone. eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed, his lips parted as low groans and sighs escaped him with every stroke of your hand. the strain in his biceps betrayed just how hard he was fighting for self-control, desperately resisting the urge to thrust into your palm just to prolong every single second of the sensation.
“fuck, I can’t hold back anymore,” he gasped against your neck. “I need to be inside you.”
his hand slid down with firm intent to the hem of your pajama shorts, hooking the fabric along with your panties and pulling them to the side in one fluid motion. without hesitation, he slid two fingers deep inside you, discovering just how ready and impossibly wet you already were. he began to fuck you right then and there, maintaining a slow, deliberate pace designed to drive you straight to the edge.
your entire body shuddered as his fingers curved against that exact spot, making your head spin. but before you could lose control completely, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to suck away the wetness coating them.
reclaiming your lips with a hungry, possessive kiss, he made you taste yourself before positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. Peter slid inside slowly, feeling every single inch adjust to him until his hips flushed flat against yours. you whimpered his name, arching your back off the sheets to accommodate his size, until he began to move with careful precision, watching your face intently to test your limits.
Peter's precision was borderline torturous. he refused to rush, making his cock hit unbelievable depths you didn't even know existed. his hand, warm and steady, slid slowly up the back of your thigh, adjusting the angle to sink even deeper.
the stark contrast between his usual shyness and the sheer authority of his movements left you entirely disarmed. your cunt throbbed, clamping around him so tightly with every stroke that Peter let out a heavy moan, shutting his eyes for a split second and clenching his jaw to resist the urge to pick up the speed. he wanted you to feel every single millimeter.
you threw your head back, digging your nails into his broad shoulders as the pleasure coiled unsustainably low in your stomach.
“you feel so fucking good, Peter,” you whimpered in pleasure, your voice breaking with every slow, deep thrust. “right there... oh, God, yes.”
Peter tilted his head down, locking a hypnotized gaze onto the exact point where your bodies joined, watching his cock slide in and out of your cunt. the sight of the continuous friction seemed to flip a switch in him, sending his enhanced senses into overdrive. everything was amplified: the slick sound of wet skin against skin with every thrust, the subtle creak of crumpled sheets, your ragged breathing, the frantic thumping of your heart. that sudden hyper-awareness only stoked his hunger, stripping away his caution as he picked up the pace.
the rapid rhythm made the bed frame creak against the wall, but Peter didn't slow down. sliding his fingers up to the top of your entrance where you met, he rested his thumb right over your clit, applying a calculated, steady pressure that made your vision blur and your hips lift to meet his involuntarily.
“God... you’re taking me so well,” he gasped against your ear, his shaking voice revealing that he was right on the precipice himself. “just like that...”
the relentless stimulation on your clit paired with the accelerating thrusts created an unbearable pressure in your lower belly. the sensation finally overflowed all at once, blurring your sight as a electric shock shot straight down your spine.
you let out a muffled cry against his shoulder, your entire body going taut as your cunt hit violent spasms, contracting and squeezing his cock with overwhelming force. the sheer tightness of your orgasm shattered whatever thread of self-control Peter was clinging to. he let out a low, guttural growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he buried himself to the hilt two more times—blind, desperate thursts—before coming deep inside you.
the full weight of his body collapsed over yours for a few long moments. Peter seemed utterly incapable of moving a single muscle, simply absorbing the lingering tremors rippling through both your bodies as the peak slowly ebbed away.
with extreme care, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his side, letting out a heavy, shuddering sigh as his shoulders sank into the mattress. the quiet of the late hour reclaimed the room, broken only by the synchronized sound of your heavy breathing trying to catch a normal rhythm.
beneath the half-open window, the red and blue suit lay crumpled on the hardwood floor—looking like a strange, forgotten relic against the raw intimacy that had just taken over the room. the chilly Manhattan wind drifted back inside, swaying the curtains and cooling down your feverish skin.
noticing your faint shiver, Peter reached out and pulled the heavy comforter up, tucking it around both of your shoulders. he turned to face you, sliding a hand under the nape of your neck to pull you flush against his chest. you nuzzled into the curve of his body, feeling the steady, grounding thud of his heart against your cheek. his fingers began tracing calm, lazy circles over your bare back—a comforting, effortless touch.
"I think that was officially the worst first impression in neighbor history," he murmured, his voice delightfully raspy with exhaustion, lips brushing against your hairline.
"you broke into my room, scared the hell out of me, admitted you’ve been actively dodging me, and then used me in my own bed," you countered, your voice muffled against his chest, though an inevitable smile gave away your tone. "yeah, the rap sheet is pretty long."
Peter let out a low laugh that vibrated pleasantly against your cheek. he tilted his head back slightly, staring down at you with his eyes soft in the dim yellow glow of the nightstand lamp. there was a sweet vulnerability in his expression—not a single trace left of the skittish boy who used to dodge your eyes in the elevator.
"I promise I'm never going to run away from you again," he declared, his tone turning genuinely earnest. his fingers traced up your face, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "no lame excuses, no pretending I didn't see you in the lobby, and no taking the fire stairs just to avoid a conversation."
you looked up, meeting his eyes.
"does that mean you're going to learn how to say a proper 'good morning'?"
"it means I'm going to have to invent excuses to linger in the hallway just to wait for you to walk out," he corrected with a faint smirk, sealing his promise with a slow, lingering kiss on your lips. "after all, I've got a lot of lost time to make up for."
Warnings: NSFW/explicit smut, possessive Bucky, a bit of a breeding kink, dog tag kink, unprotected sex, praise, eye contact kink, soft!dom Bucky
Summary: You wear his tags to sleep because it makes him smile. You didn’t know taking them off would make him snap.
You weren’t trying to be seductive. You weren’t to get a reaction. You were just tired, had just finished brushing your teeth and you had basically floated barefoot back into Bucky’s room, your skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and soft against your shoulders. The borrowed t-shirt you usually wear to bed was in the hamper, leaving you in just a plain black bra and cotton panties.
And his dog tags.
You’d started wearing them one night, joking that if he could mark you with hickeys like a possessive punk, you should get to wear his tags like a soldier’s girl. He hadn’t even laughed just slid them around your neck with that quiet, reverent look like he wanted to worship the ground you walked on.
So you wore them. Always. Because they made his eyes go dark in that very special way.
You were half-asleep as your fingers reached up to unclasp them. And that’s when you heard it.
“No.”
You blinked before slowly turning.
Bucky stood in the doorway. Still in his tactical pants, black shirt damp with sweat, eyes locked on your bare chest more specifically, on his tags in your hand. “You don’t take those off,” he said, stepping forward, voice low and edged with something sharp. “Not when you’re in my bed.”
Your breath caught. “I--I was just-”
“Uh-uh.”
He crossed the room in two long strides and took the tags from your hands, draping them back around your neck with slow, deliberate fingers. They settled cold between your breasts, and you shivered.
“You wear these to bed,” he murmured, leaning in, his mouth brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. “You wear them when you wake up in my arms. You wear them when you go to the store or talk to one of our little team mates. You wear them when I fuck you. You wear them always, sweetheart. You got that?”
The tone if his voice, the way it got deeper, and allowed his Brooklyn accent to thicken made your knees go weak.
“Y-yeah,” you breathed nodding dumbly.
“Good.”
Then he was kissing you, devouring you. His hands gripped your waist as he walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. You dropped with a soft gasp, and he followed, hovering over you like a stormcloud about to burst.
Bucky peeled your panties down your thighs, slow and hungry, and tossed them to the floor. He undressed in pieces each button and buckle undone with purpose until he was bare and hard above you.
“You don’t take off what belongs to me,” he growled, lining himself up. “Not without asking. Not when it marks what's mine.” Then he pushed in, deep and thick and claiming, and your head fell back with a strangled moan.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
You looked up; meeting his gaze. He was already watching you like you were the only thing that existed, his dog tags swaying gently between your chests, clicking softly every time he rocked into you. “Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel like home... Always fucking do.”
His pace was slow, deliberate-- possessive. Like he wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was imprinting on you. Staking his claim, right down to the bone.
“You like this?” he asked, voice like gravel and honey. “My tags bouncing on your tits, my cock buried so deep you’ll feel it for days?”
“God, Bucky--yes-”
“You’re mine.” His hand slid between you, thumb brushing your clit. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, hips jerking. “Fuck-I’m yours--”
He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “That’s right. My girl. My bed. My tags.”
Your thighs were trembling, back arching, slick sounds echoing in the room as he worked you open, fucked you through it--made you feel it. And the whole time, those damn dog tags stayed cold and heavy against your chest like proof.
“Gonna come for me?” he murmured. “Let me have it, baby. Wanna feel you crumble for me.”
You crumblee with a choked cry, nails digging into his back, your body clamping down around him so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He buried his face into your neck and cursed against your skin. Thrusting into you harder one last time before staying there--grinding deep, grinding in as far as he possibly could as he spilled with a growl and a shudder, fingers bruising your hips.
When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, panting, forehead resting on your shoulder. The room was quiet except for your breaths. And the sound of his dog tags clicking against your skin as your bodies slowly relaxed into one another.
You finally whispered, “You really like those tags, huh?”
He laughed, voice still rough. “Baby, you could be wearin’ a trash bag as long as those are around your damn neck.”
You grinned. “So I shouldn’t take them off?”
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.
“Only if you want me to fuck you like that again.”
i cannot emphasize enough how this man is the love of my life. in a totally normal and chill way.
✷ - smut // ❤︎ - fluff // ꩜ - angst // ⚡︎ - funny
wrong number (2 parts) ― @fauxpoebros ✷
summary: “Reader takes some sexy pics for her situationship and ends up sending them to her recluse neighbor on accident.”
comments: by far my favorite interpretation of this trend
Dean’s List (3 parts) ― @delaneycore ✷! ꩜
summary: "Peter Parker and his arrogant charm thrive on the ability to get under your skin. When you reluctantly spend your Saturday night partying at his fraternity, he finds the perfect opportunity to torture you in all the ways he knew how to. However, you offer him a few new ways to not only get under your skin, but in it."
comments: this is one of the best things i've ever read. you HAVE TO read all three parts. delaney is a genius.
Midnight ― @starlordsandrockets ❤︎ ✷
summary: "Tony threw his annual New Years Eve party and Nat and Wanda have a plan to get you and Peter together by the end of the night."
comments: i love a pwp with fluff like yes give me that emotional connection!
When Did You Get Hot ― @waitimcomingtoo ❤︎ ⚡︎
summary: "You see Peter for the first time in years and suddenly find it hard to be around him due to all his new improvements"
comments: this is easily the funniest fanfic i've ever read in my life. everything that @waitimcomingtoo writes is SO FUCKING FUNNY do yourself a favor and read this
A Matter Of Time (10 parts) (ongoing) ― @starlordsandrockets ❤︎ ✷ ꩜
summary: "You awake one afternoon in the Avengers Compound with no idea how to got there. You soon learn you can no longer go home, however, you find out of the company of Peter Parker isn't too bad..."
comments: as of me writing this, this series is still ongoing and let me tell you the slow burn is BURNINGGGGG.
Tongue In Cheek (11 parts) ― @gossameres ❤︎ ✷
summary: "peter parker’s never kissed anyone, and pretending to do it in a closet was just to spare him the humiliation. teaching him the basics? innocent enough. until he starts learning how to touch, how to beg, and how to make you forget it was ever pretend"
comments: a full length fanfic with a fake dating plot and a little bit of angst and fluff AND smut? yes please.
Itsy-Bitsy ― @waitimcomingtoo ❤︎ ⚡︎
summary: "you recruit Peter’s help when you spot a spider in the shower"
comments: all i have to say is that @waitimcomingtoo does it again.
friends helping friends ― @uhhhj13iguess ✷ ❤︎
summary: "sex pollen with peter parker x fem!reader"
comments: i originally read this six months ago and i still think about it and re-read it frequently. some top-tier emotional smut.
Nothing and Everything ― @harringtonsdiary ✷ ❤︎
summary: "you don't know your fwb spider-man, is your upstairs neighbor, peter parker"
i love you i'm sorry ― @uhhhj13iguess ✷ ❤︎
summary: "what if i took hurts, but i know how to hide it. kinda like it, but peter wasn't as overtaken by his arachnid hormones yet? what about that exact dynamic with such an overstimulated, needy, messy peter who still can't help himself, but he's whiney and pathetic and an apologetic mess the entire time?"
no feelings ― @harebrainedhare ❤︎ ✷
summary: "You desperately needed a date to your aunt’s fancy wedding. Who better to take than your attractive lab partner?"
comments: fun fact about me if i see the words "only one bed" i'm gonna drop everything.
Stay With Me ― @thollandsgirl2013 ꩜ ❤︎
summary: "After getting stabbed on patrol, you seek Peter’s help. He’s furious, but his anger fades into love and comfort."
I Thought This Was A Closet Party ― @waitimcomingtoo ⚡︎ ❤︎
summary: "Peter helps you with a favor that brings you closer than ever. Like, stuck in a closet together type of close"
THUNDER STORMING DISTRACTIONS ― @carmysdoll ✷ ❤︎
summary: "you find a way to comfort your boyfriend during a thunderstorm"
comments: you guys know how i feel about emotionally intimate smut yayyyy
hold me tighter (even closer) ― @xiaoale ꩜ ❤︎
summary: "despite being his only confidant, spider-man has been putting up walls around you from the very first moment he saw you. from the day he broke into your apartment to what you’ve built to now, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never know the man behind the mask. well… he still remains a mystery, but you now know what his lips taste like."
Wrong number (2 parts) ― @fauxpoebros ✷
summary: "Reader takes some sexy pics for her situationship and ends up sending them to her recluse neighbor on accident."
comments: by far my favorite take on this trend (which i'm completely addicted to)
3:28 AM ― @mrs-din-djarin ❤︎
comments: this one is short but so so cute i was kicking my feet
i have literally 400 peter fics saved so this list will probably continue to grow until the end of time
all the avengers (including sam and bucky obviously) living in the compound with the occasional visit of thor, and yes he’s in the kitchen with his pop tarts, clint in the vents, peter in the lab with tony and bruce or patrolling the streets in his free time and them all being one big happy family (and not just coworkers!!!!) is my canon. like that scene in age of ultron??? thats their friday if they’re not on a mission
