i'm all yours, i've got no control
part 2 here!
summary: after a mission leaves peter shaken and unstable, (y/n)’s told to keep her distance for his safety and hers. but when he shows up at her door in the middle of the night, trembling and barely holding on, it becomes clear: this is more than just recovery. whatever’s happening to him, it’s changing everything. and he only wants one thing to feel whole again — her.
pairing: peter parker x fem! reader
genre: SMUT, little bit of angst and fluff
word count: 2.5k
warnings: sex pollen, explicit smut, soft!dom peter, praise kink, overstimulation, (mild) feral behavior, begging, avengers cameos lol
a/n: ok so the timeline? not accurate. we're pretending tony is alive & well for the sake of this one-shot thank u. also yes, this is my take on the classic "sex pollen" trope. i've read it like twice and couldn't resist doing my own version lol. and because it's 1D's 15th anniv... u already know i had to do it, hence the title wink wink
MINORS DNI
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
The first time (Y/N) saw Peter Parker hurt, she was fourteen and sitting on the edge of his hospital bed in Queens after a run-in with muggers had gone sideways. His arm was in a cast, his ribs were taped, and yet somehow, he still looked at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Now, six years later, she couldn’t even see him through the damn glass.
“Why won’t anyone tell me what the hell is going on?” (Y/N)'s voice echoed off the sleek, too-sterile walls of the floor Tony Stark used for emergencies. She wasn’t stupid — she knew something was wrong, something bad — but all anyone would tell her was that Peter was “stable,” and that “this is for his safety and yours.”
Which was bullshit.
“Please sit down,” FRIDAY’s voice said gently, for the fourth time. “Mr. Stark has asked that you remain calm.”
“I'll sit when I see him.” (Y/N)’s jaw clenched as she approached the locked observation room, her boots striking the polished floor. Through the small circular window of the reinforced door, she could just barely make out the figure pacing behind the frosted glass. Peter. She would know that silhouette anywhere; tense shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching, restlessness radiating off of him in waves.
They hadn’t seen each other in three days. Three excruciating days since the mission on Kepler-49X, where the avengers encountered a flora-based species with some bizarre biological effects. Thor had cracked jokes about “pollen and mating seasons.” Tony had gone completely silent, and Peter… Peter hadn’t come back the same.
(Y/N) is his girlfriend. His mate, as Thor annoyingly called it. She had every right to know what was happening to the boy who had been her everything since junior year.
The intercom clicked.
“(Y/N)?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Peter?”
His voice was strained. It was low, gravel-edged in a way she’d never heard before. “You need to go. I'm not safe right now.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Not safe? What the hell are you talking about? What happened to you?”
Silence. Then a slow, ragged inhale.
“They hit us with something,” he said, voice tight. “Some kind of compound. It's like a sex pollen, or a hormone trigger, or I — I don’t know. Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are trying to figure it out, but it’s designed to bond people. Or make them m-mate. I — fuck, (Y/N), it’s so much worse than it sounds.”
Her mouth went dry.
“Mating? Peter, are you in pain?”
“Yes,” he breathed, and it wasn’t just pain she heard. There was a need behind it — something primal. “Not the kind you can stitch up. It's in my head. My blood. It's like every nerve is begging for you. Every second I'm not touching you, I feel like I'm burning alive.”
(Y/N)'s heart twisted, torn between panic and something far darker, deeper; a sharp sting of want. “Peter…”
He groaned. A sound that was entirely too feral for the boy she knew. “You can’t be here. I'm barely holding on. Every time I even hear your voice, it gets worse. My senses are locked on you. I can smell you through the glass. I need you.”
Her thighs clenched involuntarily.
“Peter-”
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry. If I touch you like this, I don't know if I'll be able to stop.”
The door opened behind her.
“Jesus, kid,” Tony muttered, walking in with Steve close behind. “What did we just say about using the intercom?”
(Y/N) turned on them, fury igniting in her chest. “What the hell is happening to him?!”
Steve gave Tony a look, and Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“He’s been dosed with an alien compound that heightens mating instincts. We think it’s temporary, but it’s… aggressive. The last thing we need is him losing control and accidentally hurting someone.”
“You mean me.” Her voice trembled.
“I mean anyone,” Tony replied flatly. “But yes, given your history, we’re trying to keep you safe.”
(Y/N) stepped forward. “He would never hurt me.”
“We’re not taking that chance,” Steve said, softer but firm.
“Maybe she’d help,” Thor’s booming voice came from behind them. He was eating grapes, leaning against the doorframe. “The boy is clearly bonded. His instincts are driving him to his mate. Let them be.”
Tony threw him a sharp glare. “This isn’t Asgard.”
“No, it’s Earth. Where you lot still think locking a love-drunk spiderboy in a room is gonna fix a chemical problem with his balls.”
“Thor,” Steve warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. But (Y/N) was frozen.
Mate.
Was that what Peter had been trying to say? That this wasn’t just about sex? That some part of his body, his DNA, knew her as his? It was crazy. And yet not.
They’d been each other’s firsts. Each other’s constants. They'd grown up tangled in each other’s lives, so tightly wound it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
If what they were saying was true — if this was physical and emotional and biological — then how the hell was she supposed to walk away?
That night, Tony agreed to let her stay, but not on Peter's floor.
“If you so much as breathe near his containment room again, I'll have you escorted off the premises.”
“But-“
“Look, I’m sorry, I mean that. But this is for both your safety. Understood?”
She agreed. Begrudgingly.
(Y/N) was staying in one of the guest rooms four levels below, tucked beneath layers of biometric locks. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t sleep, and she could barely think. Her skin buzzed with anticipation and dread; and under it all, longing.
Because as wrong as it was, some dark part of her wanted him — needed him.
It happened just after 3AM.
A crash echoed through her room, followed by a loud thump. (Y/N) shot up in bed, heart pounding and frozen.
He was there.
Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit. Torn, unzipped halfway to his navel, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His curls were damp with sweat, eyes blown wide with black-dilated pupils. And he was on his knees at the foot of her bed.
“(Y/N),” he rasped.
“What—Peter—How did you—”
“I couldn't stay away.” His voice broke, and there was raw desperation in it. “I tried. I fought it. But my body, every cell in me, wants you… I need you. I need to touch you. I'm begging you.”
Her breath hitched.
“Did you break out?”
He nodded, almost ashamed. “I didn't mean to. I think — I think FRIDAY let me out. She scanned my vitals and said something about a fail-safe.”
“You can’t be here,” she whispered, though her thighs were already pressing together, heat pooling low in her belly.
“I know,” he said. “And if you tell me to leave, I will. I swear. But I can’t take this anymore.”
He looked up at her, eyes glassy, face flushed.
“Say the word, (Y/N). Just say no, and I'll crawl right back to the cell and lock myself in.”
There was nothing in his posture but reverence. Nothing but worship.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry with shock and confusion. Then she whispered:
“Come here.”
Peter didn’t move at first.
Even when (Y/N) said the words “Come here,” his body trembled, as though the permission alone had set him on fire.
She sat upright on the bed, hair a little messy from sleep, tank top clinging to her skin. Her lips were parted, unsure. But she didn’t pull away when he crawled toward her, every movement careful, reverent, like he was approaching something divine.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, hovering just above her, his voice shredded with restraint. “If you even hesitate, I’ll back off. I’ll crawl back to that cell and-”
“Peter,” she whispered, touching his cheek. Her thumb grazed the high arch of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw. “You said you needed me. So take me. Please.”
That was all it took.
Peter crashed his mouth into hers like he was starving — and in truth, he was. Not just for her body, but for her presence, her voice, her soul. His tongue swept into her mouth with desperation, tasting her, mapping her. His hands were already under her shirt, calloused palms dragging across her skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.
He groaned, deep and low, as he pressed her back into the mattress. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he gasped against her neck. “I’ve been losing my mind, (Y/N). I can smell you. Hear you. I dream about you and wake up hard and aching.”
Her breath hitched. “Peter-”
“I need you to say yes.” His voice cracked, his lips trembling against her collarbone. “Say it again. Please.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Always.”
He shuddered, letting out a relieved sob, and then his mouth was everywhere. Kissing her neck, sucking gently, nipping just enough to leave heat in his wake. He dragged her tank top up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her nipples pebbled instantly in the cool air, and Peter moaned as he bent down, taking one into his mouth.
“Fuck—Pete—”
He groaned in response, flicking his tongue over her nipple, then gently sucking before switching to the other. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”
She arched into him, fingers threading through his curls.
Peter’s suit had come half-undone in his escape, and now (Y/N) reached to peel the rest of it off, revealing the lithe, trembling power of his body beneath. His skin was flushed pink, damp with sweat, muscles twitching like he was barely holding himself together. She grazed her fingers down his stomach and he whimpered.
“You’re sensitive.”
“You have no idea,” he groaned, leaning into her touch. “My senses are in overdrive. Every time you touch me it’s like, I don’t even know how to describe it.”
He was rock-hard against his thigh, cock flushed dark and leaking at the tip.
She wrapped her fingers around him, gently, and he cried out — dropping his forehead to her shoulder.
“(Y/N)—fuck—baby—please be careful—if you keep doing that I’m gonna come just from your hand,”
She smiled. “You’re really this desperate?”
His hips bucked, and he nodded against her skin. “You don’t get it. I can feel the air on me and it makes me wanna explode. But it’s not just that. It’s you. You. The way you smell, the way you feel near me — I’m going crazy.”
She guided him back to her lips. “Then go ahead, Peter. Show me.”
Something snapped in him.
He pulled her panties down in one frantic motion, exposing her soaked core. When he saw how wet she was, he groaned like it physically hurt him.
“Is this for me?” he asked, voice ragged. “Did I do this to you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s always been you.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Peter dropped to his stomach and buried his face between her thighs.
“Peter — oh my god — ”
His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up her slit before he sucked her clit into his mouth, groaning like she was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. She bucked beneath him, hands gripping the sheets as his tongue worked her in steady, firm laps, his fingers gripping her thighs like anchors.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, dragging his tongue in lazy circles. “Could live here. Would live here.”
(Y/N) moaned, thrashing under him as the coil in her belly began to tighten. “Pete — I’m gonna — I can’t”
He flattened his tongue against her, flicked, then sucked hard — and she came with a loud, shaking cry, thighs clamping around his head.
He didn’t stop.
Peter kept licking her through it, slower now but persistent, tongue gentle as she trembled. And when she started to squirm, overstimulated, he held her down.
“Just one more,” he begged. “Please. One more. I’ve been dreaming about this. About making you fall apart over and over until you forget your own name.”
(Y/N) gasped, teetering on the edge again. “I can’t — I don’t — Pete —oh fuck— ”
He slipped one long finger into her, crooking just right and that was it. She came again, louder this time, body arching off the bed as he worshipped her like something sacred.
When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening, pupils blown. His voice was low and reverent.
“Let me fuck you, baby. Let me show you how much I love you.”
She nodded, dazed, chest heaving.
Peter lined himself up, pushing the tip in slowly. He was thick, and the stretch made her gasp. But he moved gently, watching her face with trembling control.
“You’re so tight, love. Fuck. You feel like heaven.”
“Go slow,” she whispered.
“I’ll go as slow as you want. Just don’t ask me to stop.”
He slid in deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her. They both gasped; the connection blinding. Peter dropped his forehead to hers, eyes clenched shut.
“Don’t move,” he begged. “Just — just let me breathe in this for a second. Being inside you is the only thing that’s made me feel sane in days.”
She cupped his cheek. “Then take what you need.”
He moved.
Slow at first, hips rolling in a steady rhythm that made her toes curl. But it didn’t take long for the need to rise again — the sex pollen in his system twisting pleasure into something ravenous.
Soon he was pounding into her, moaning her name, gasping things like “so good”, and “you were made for me.” He begged her to come again, to scream for him, to let him give her everything.
When she clenched around him, nails raking down his back, Peter lost it. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, groaning her name like it was a prayer.
But he didn’t stop. Not even after.
He kissed her feverishly, still hard, and pulled back just enough to look in her eyes.
“Again,” he whispered. “I can’t stop. I need more.”
And she let him.
They went three more rounds. Each more intense, more desperate, more consuming than the last.
By the time they collapsed into each other, the sun was rising, Peter was trembling with aftershocks, and (Y/N) couldn’t walk.
Literally.
When she tried to stand, her legs gave out.
Peter caught her mid-stumble, arms wrapping around her like instinct. He was utterly wrecked, drenched in sweat, but still strong enough to lift her effortlessly. “I got you. FRIDAY?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Wheelchair. Please.”
(Y/N) groaned, hiding her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, kissing her temple as he cradled her tighter. “You love me.”
“…I do,” she mumbled.
His smile turned boyish and warm. The kind that always made her stomach flip. And he kissed her again, slower this time, and whispered, “And I love you. So fucking much.”
And with her nestled in his arms, the morning light pouring over them, it was impossible to tell where the heat ended and the love began.
a/n: ik this is a one-shot, but should i do a part 2 or what?
