— parachute (18+) | nicholas wang
synopsis | in a fear-driven, adrenaline-soaked haze, you confess your feelings for your best friend. who cares that he's spiderman?
details | spiderman!nicholas x female!reader, bffs to lovers, mentions of farting, pining, burglary, hostage situation, violence, mentions of weapons, descriptions of injury, blood, so much dialogue, i fucking love dialogue, cursing, banter, angsty moments, self-deprecation, love confession, mutual pining, mentions of alcohol and substances, making out, 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, groping, oral (f receiving), riding (p-in-v), unprotected sex (not for you. this is fake.), creampie (not for you. this is fake.), lowercase intended, no use of y/n
wc | 9.5k
from the author | i love spiderman and i love friends to lovers and i love nicholas and i love you, dearest reader
you slid your hand into the bag next to you, although it felt more like a deplenishing, foil carcass as you picked at the chip crumbs left in the bottom. every evening was like this; you sat at your desk, illuminated only by the vibrant, swirling colors of maps and graphs and charts. it wasn’t much, but it was honest work. if you were lucky, all you had to do was flip through traffic cams, monitor live street footage, and polish off whatever snack had been calling your name all day.
“you got a train on sixty-first,” you announced, seemingly to no one in the comfort of your bedroom as you popped a pathetic third of a chip into your mouth, “don’t get hit.”
the little green dot on your computer screen redirected, hooking a sharp left and avoiding the elevated subway track altogether. you rubbed your hands together, partially because you were satisfied with your expert directional skills and partially to clear your fingers of leftover crumbs. in the headset hugging your ears, lively static roared, followed by nicholas’s breathless voice. “can you crunch those chips any louder?”
“i changed my mind, actually. take a shortcut through sixty-first.”
nicholas had been the city’s favorite web-slinger for a couple of months, but he had been your best friend for way longer. you were grateful that he trusted you with his secret; you’d met him for a late-night frozen yogurt run, and he had pulled his t-shirt collar to the side in line for the toppings, revealing the royal blue and red that littered every front page of every newspaper. of course, you thought he was pranking you. not because you didn’t think he was capable of being a superhero- there was actually no doubt in your mind about that- but because he was a terrible liar. throughout your entire friendship, nicholas couldn’t so much as swipe a sip of your soda without looking extremely guilty. his hands were always the first giveaway, since they were too steady when he was lying. he overcompensated by seeming too sure of himself, palms pressed flat to his sides, chest puffed. like a caricature of an honest man. but that night, in front of the chocolate sprinkles and the gummy worms, his fingers trembled as he pulled the shirt collar away from his neck. his voice waivered when he asked, “are you upset with me?”
you hadn’t been upset with him; you could not have possibly been. instead, you were upset with yourself. of course, you had noticed his absence when he skipped your friend group’s weekly game nights. you’d searched for him at every party, even when he had texted you some loose excuse about dog sitting or working extra hours, but you had never asked him about the dog or how his shift went. you’d never showed any interest about any of it. your ignorance to his situation made you feel like an awful, terrible friend, one whom nicholas still, for some reason, confided in. he had trusted you to not only keep his secret but to help him navigate his newfound responsibility, all from the comfort of your apartment. you had been upset with yourself, too, for the dull ache in your chest when you realized he wasn’t confessing something else to you in line for frozen yogurt.
you watched the green dot continue its consistent strides across your screen, the balmy beep of his vitals in the bottom left corner pacifying any nerves you might have had over the speed of his swings. his pulse was impressively steady at such heights, spiking only just before his webs made contact with the next rooftop, as if his new instincts might fail him. “you’re funny,” his voice cut through again, zero traces of humor in his tone, “you chew loud as fuck, though.”
“i can hear every time you fart in the suit, by the way,” you added, fishing for another chip just to add fuel to the fire, “you’re disgusting.”
“i’d like to see you try doing this shit without letting a little something slip,” nicholas countered, and you could hear the smile in his voice. you tracked the moving dot before you with the sounds of his webs stretching beneath his weight, “and i bet you’ve heard worse than that in your little eavesdropping sessions.”
“yeah, i wish you’d stop doing that,” you sighed into your mic, leaning back in your chair.
“what?” nicholas’s smirk was audible, his arrogance dripping through your headset, “having sex with other girls? are you jealous?”
“having sex in the suit,” you pulled the mic as close to your mouth as you could, just to get it through his skull. one aspect of nicholas’s superhero persona that you didn’t fully expect was the amplified sex appeal. he had always been attractive, even when the two of you were in school. your classmates, all the way through university, would befriend you with the sole intentions of asking you to set them up with him. so while you were very popular for all the wrong reasons, nicholas bled charisma in sweatpants and a hoodie and basically had to scrape suitors off his arm at every turn. you admitted it- nicholas was hot, and, if it were possible, he was even hotter bound by spandex, the ridges of his muscles and slopes of his body taut and accentuated by the textured fabric.
nicholas hesitated, most likely waiting for the ringing in his ears to subside. “if it helps, i take the suit off. mask stays on, though. don’t you worry.”
you were all too familiar with the fact that he kept the mask on during his activities. only one time had you been concerned with the stationary nature of his tracker and the quick increase of his heartrate and slipped your headset over your ears. you’d received your answer before you could even ask what the holdup was, the moans and panting enough to tell you all you needed to know. you had swiped the headset off your ear so fast that you almost ignored the heat that pooled in your stomach, the twitch in your finger that wanted to reach for the headphones again. your mind betrayed you that night, conjuring flashes of nicholas’s sculpted torso, damp with sweat, and his thighs flexing, shifting that one delicious vein on his hip you’d mentally traced a thousand times. you should have known he would have turned the spiderman image into some kind of fetish, and you should have known you’d fall for it. and more. “it doesn’t help, and i am worried,” you said, , “it is my only job to make sure you don’t get, like, sniped or flattened. the least you could do is send a text.”
“right, you’re right,” nicholas sighed to himself, “i’ll text next time and let you know i’m getting my web shooters unclogged.”
“shit,” you muttered, sitting up straight in your desk chair. you swiped the almost empty chip bag away from your keyboard, blowing a direct gust of air over the keys to clear it of stray crumbs.
nicholas sucked his teeth, “didnt like that one? what about ‘my spidey senses are tinglinggggg’?”
you scrolled through the panel of security footage on your screen, the black and white boxes winking with commotion. people shuffled past, frantic and panicked. bulky figures stood brazen in the center of a convenience store, masks pulls over their faces and weapons in hand. you zoomed in on the pixelated image; hunkered behind barely stocked shelves were civilians. “nicholas,” you steadied your voice, a contrast to his joking, lilted tone, “there’s a robbery at the corner store about five blocks from you, th-the one with the mural and the backwards toilet.”
outside your window, the sun had long been set, but the city was alive, bright. streetlights flickered, bike bells clinked over the constant whir of traffic. the corner store was close to your apartment. you passed it every day on your walk home, and the owner would usually let you swipe a candy bar if you came in late enough. if you were bordering on drunk after a long night of bar hopping with nicholas, he would slide you a cold bottle of water. you watched nicholas, his green dot, shift directions, swinging at impressive and impending speeds toward the store. he asked, “how many?”
“looks like four,” you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, “they’re armed, nico. try not to escalate anything. it looks like a hostage situation.”
armed was a bit of an understatement. whatever these guys were up to, this stunt at the store was merely a test run. their weapons were unlike anything you’d seen, far from the typical handgun you’d seen nicholas satiate with a web a dozen times, and even further from a crowbar or pocket knife; these guys weilded otherworldly weaponry. literally. they radiated white-hot power, barrels glowing even in the grainy security footage, the existence of which made you even more skeptical about their intentions. one of the guys wore a device as a backpack, a nozzle connected to a tube slithering around his shoulders. you’d bet it was venomous, too. this type of villain was far beyond your pay-grade, which was a net zero dollars, and even further beyond your scope of knowledge. it seemed… wrong. all of it, but nicholas was already in pursuit, already touching down at the scene.
you watched with your hand partially covering your face as nicholas, barely rendered in black and white, slipped through a broken window behind the men. his broad frame peeked from either side of the metal shelving as he slinked toward the civilians in the corner, lingering in the plentiful blindspots provided by their masks. through your headset, you could hear muffled and muddled speech, panicked gasps, and nicholas’s soothing voice promising safety. you knew he would provide, even if it put himself in danger. he whispered, knowing you could see him on the camera, “they’ve got the owner up front. think i can sneak these three out the way i came in?”
“if you can do it while they’re distracted,” you kept your voice low, even though no one could possibly hear you but him, “and be careful.”
distracted was not the word you would use to describe them, though, as they cornered the store owner at the front counter. if they wanted the money in the safe, all they needed to do was melt the lock with the atomic goo shooter they each had resting under their arms. there was zero need for a combination, for a show like this. it was a display of force, of power. it was a trap. and you caught onto it too late, just as nicholas ushered the group of three hostages in a cluster on the back wall toward the gap in the shattered store window.
your voice roared to life in his ear, “wait, nico-”
and then everything fell apart. you watched, eyes unfaltering with horror, as nicholas all but threw the civilians out of the store. you knew they’d need stitches from the glass lining the window and the shards on the sidewalk outside, but at least they were alive, something you could only hope for nicholas as he ducked behind a shelf, shooting a web from his hand and pulling another toward him as a barricade. in your headset, you could hear him grunting, and you could hear the commotion in tandem with the shaking, blurry footage before you. it’s spiderman! get him! the men corralled around him, zapping their weapons in an intimidating performance. nicholas cleared his throat, his pulse spiking, “you gotta catch me first, idiots.”
the scene erupted in mayhem; nicholas pulled two displays down on top of the guys, using their magazine covered bodies as a trampoline as he cleared his way to the other side of the room, throwing various snack and tourist items at the remaining two guys, the plastic wrapped sweets and handheld fans bouncing gracefully off their chests. you heard the hum of their weapons before you saw it, and you could only imagine how bright the glow was up-close. in a blaze of destruction, you watched nicholas evade the hot kiss of fire, basically running on top of the closely arranged shelving, his arms working faster than his brain. thankfully. “hey! that’s not fair,” he yelped, “i dont have a big fancy plasma ray!”
and then it all went dark- the footage ceased, leaving nothing but an empty, static hum. you flipped through the other cameras nearby, still hearing the clattering and zapping and whirring of whatever extraterrestrial technology nicholas was up against, but ultimately found nothing. you fullscreened his vitals, “i lost visual. get out of there, nicholas. im serious.” all you could do was wait. you slipped the headset off your ears, but you could still hear the faint grunting and smart-ass one-liners, watching as his heartrate spiked with the clatter, as his blood pressure dropped, as his respitatory rate climbed higher and higher. you had tunnel vision on that little blinking green dot in the center of chaos. it seemed to stir in circles, an endless loop from one corner of the room to another. you wondered how many times it could spin before it would eventually stop.
you wondered and wondered until, finally, it did. after what felt like hours, the commotion on the other end ceased, the digital green fleck stalling out in an alleyway a block down. you weren’t sure when he had left the shop or how you’d missed it, but, thankfully, he was out of there. he wasn’t running, but his heart was thumping a mile a minute. and so was yours. you slipped the headset back on with a pit low in your stomach and whispered, “nico?”
his breathing was ragged on the other side, and you could barely make out what he was saying, as if his earpiece got knocked loose, “how about, ‘getting a bit sticky tonight’?”
“what?”
“so you don’t intrude on my hookups,” he winced, “what if i texted you that im ‘getting sticky’? does that sound good?”
“that sounds fucking awful,” you admitted, the heaving of your chest evening out the more he talked. at least you knew he wasn’t too injured to be a dumbass. “they’re all terrible.”
he chuckled to himself, and the sound made your breath catch in your throat. he had always been the full package: handsome, genuine, funny. the two of you could make a joke out of nothing and laugh until your sides stitched, smacking one another when your cackling fizzled into gasps. you’d be absolutely breathless, wiping your tears with your shirt. then, nicholas would wipe his tears with your shirt. and it would all start again. that kind of chemistry only found you once, and you’d refused to ever let him go. it pained you to hear his laugh, now, stifled by whatever injuries he’d sustained in the corner store. he coughed, sighing deep. you asked, “are you okay?”
“took a ray gun to the shoulder,” nicholas’s voice was weak, amplified by the terrible sound quality, “better that than the ass, though. that’s what i always say.”
“be serious with me. is it bad?” you stood up as you interrogated him, picking mindlessly at your fingernails. it felt like the city had surrendered, suddenly too quiet. the streetlamps hummed louder, traffic slowing. “can you swing home?”
nicholas inhaled deep, heaving and huffing as he lifted himself off the ground. he choked out a pained noise, and you could practically imagine him doubled over, holding his shoulder like it would numb some of his pain. the beeping on your screen increased rapidly as he stood, his heartrate quickly surpassing yours. “fuck,” he gulped, “no, i can’t. i could try-”
“don’t,” you blurted before he could even consider making any of his injuries worse, for his own sake and for the sake of the community he swore to protect when he put on the suit. and for your sake, as well. the last thing you needed was him losing his strength mid-swing. “walk to mine- my roommate’s out for a few days.”
you expected a fight. you basically heard him nagging, you want me to walk to your apartment, suit out and everything? as if there weren’t spiderman impersonators on every corner. no one would have batted an eye. instead of arguing, nicholas caved with an exhausted sigh. “okay,” he sniffled, and it broke your heart.
when you saw nicholas again, he was in color: royal blue, black, and so much more red than you were used to. he’d had enough strength reserved to climb your building’s fire escape and rap three times on your window. it was still cracked at the bottom, just enough for you to slot your fingers in and push the rest of the way up, revealing his masked face. a precautionary strand of web billowed in the city’s warm breaths, one he used to tether himself to the building, just in case. you held out a shaking hand to him, and you were thankful your heartrate wasn’t the one displayed on the computer across the room when he took it. his hands were warm even through the material of the suit, damp with what you hoped was sweat. you steadied him as he slipped through the window frame, and he let you.
his injuries were worse than he claimed. ‘ray gun to the shoulder’ your ass. his shoulder was not the only place he was hit with a ray gun. his suit was tattered to bit on his torso, his shin, and the side of his mask was scorched, tattered down to his neck. you grabbed his face, instinctively, rolling the material around his neck up and up, slowly in case you revealed any new, secret lacerations. when you pulled the mask the rest of the way off his head, his hair poofed to life, falling almost perfectly over his sticky forehead, into his red-brimmed eyes. your fingers gently grabbed his chin, turning his head from side-to-side, scanning for signs of hurt but finding only a scratch in front of his ear and a cut on his lip. blood pooled there as he let a smile overtake his tired face, red teeth still shining as he asked, “what’s the damage, doc?”
“not sure,” you said, tongue prodding your cheek as you feigned concern, “does this hurt?” you stuck your finger in your mouth, and then you stuck your finger in his ear. nicholas gasped, tucking his head into his shoulder and shoving your hand away. and then, he winced, coughing out a laugh and ghosting his palm over his stomach. seeing him in pain was worlds worse than hearing him. his brows seemed permanently creased, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, both from the fight and having to keep himself upright after. he didn’t have to do that, anymore, at least not by himself. “show me,” you coaxed.
nicholas stepped out of what was left of the suit, kicking it absentmindedly under your bed if only to distract from the fact that he was bloodied and bruised and standing in nothing but his boxers. and you were so fucking close to him, warm hands smoothing over his neck, down his chest, picking up his hands and inspecting every individual knuckle on his fingers. you bent them, squeezed them. you spun him around to check his sides, traced the dip in the center of his back. that one might have been selfish, but it had to be done. checking reflexes, or whatever. there were reflexes in your back, right?
his shins were merely scraped, as if he’d tripped in a parking lot. his shoulder, however, was worse than you anticipated, the gash deep and trickling a thick stream of blood down his arm now that the suit was no longer there to absorb it. you told him to stay, like a newly trained puppy, even though you knew he wouldn’t- couldn’t- go anywhere, and you slipped into the next room to grab whatever first-aid supplies you could find. some of the items you grabbed weren’t even first-aid, but you couldn’t think straight knowing your best friend was possibly bleeding out in your bedroom. and when you returned to the room, nicholas had slumped down into the floor, leaning back against the side of your bed. his head was leaned forward, legs outstretched before him. you’d sat with him like that before, once, when the two of you ate a little bit too much of a brownie your mutual friend had made. you stared out the window until the sun came up, unsure if you blinked even once the whole night. nicholas said you did, so you did.
“still with me?” you half-joked as you crouched down in front of him. you dumped the supplies in a messy pile beside him, scrunching an old towel on the floor under his elbow to soak up the dripping blood.
“i fucked it up,” he mumbled, voice quiet but broken, “the suit, and the mask. its all fucked.”
“hey,” you put your hand on his other shoulder, a different kind of burning, and squeezed gently, “we’ll fix it.”
you reached for a cloth, warm and wet, and wiped at the dried blood on his bicep. soft, delicate swirls on his skin left angry red splotches, like his cheeks when he was embarrassed or too sweaty. and when you inched closer to the wound itself, your touch was tender, like he was fragile. in many ways, he was- he just refused to show it. like any mask, his occasionally cracked, letting you see fragments of the turmoil beneath his cool, unbothered exterior. you dabbed the cloth against the gash in his skin, just once to see if the blood had stopped flowing, and nicholas’s entire body jerked beneath you. he sucked in a breath through stained, gritted teeth. you squeezed his other shoulder again, whispering, “sorry.”
“you’ll fix it, you mean,” nicholas grumbles, keeping his head hanging carelessly on its axis, “that’s how this works. i mess things up, and you fix them.” he leaned his head back, then, against the side of your bed. for the first time all night, his gaze fell on yours, and he was so tired. in more ways than one. you furrowed your brows, taken aback by the sudden deprecation.
“you don’t mess things up,” you were careful not to let your exterior split, not to let him see how deep that assumption really cut you. you reached for the bottle of saline solution and gently poured it over his shoulder. nicholas squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hand into a fist under you. a curse or two tumbled from his lips, but you couldn’t hear them over your repeated sorry, sorry, sorry as the liquid seeped in and around the cut. with most of the blood wiped away, it didn’t look nearly as bad. you breathed a sigh of relief, reaching for the roll of gauze next to you. “good news. i don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
nicholas frowned, watching you roll out a small patch in your hands. “see,” he muttered, “fixing it right now.” even though your hands were shaking, even though you couldnt find the end of the roll to start unraveling it. you were a fumbling mess under his attention, but he didn’t care. he only saw the good parts of you, his gentle and attentive friend. even as you sat between his legs, skin sticking to him from the proximity and the growing heat of the room, he saw only his best friend.
“stop acting like that, nico.”
“like what?”
“like you aren’t important to people," your voice cracked with the volume, hushed but desperate. you wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, but you couldn’t. he’d bleed again, and you’d have to get another towel and start this whole process over again. you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, attempting to disrupt the tension you’d accidentally brewed, like thick wine. “like you don’t save people.”
“are you being serious right now?” nicholas tilted his head toward you, pressing you to make eye contact with him, even as he winced from the pull of his muscle. you kept your eyes focused on taping the gauze to his skin, like if you pulled your attention from the area, it would erupt. it would consume him entirely, like he was consuming you, his stare bearing into the skin of your cheek as you gnawed on it. nicholas blinked once, like he couldn’t believe you, “because i can’t do shit without you. all i have is sticky hands, and i had a cool suit before i got fucking knocked around like a ragdoll for an hour. all because i got the security camera shot and you couldn’t tell me what to do.”
“you’re mad because i help you?” you flickered your eyes to his briefly and entirely on accident. from his tone, you expected fire, but you found only a glossy veneer over the dark, hazy eyes you knew so well.
“no,” nicholas said, firmly. it was the most sure he’d sounded all night, or possibly ever. “i’m upset because i need you to help me. i need you to watch traffic cams so i don’t get flattened by a bus while i’m running from my problems. i need you to tell me when someone needs help because my spidey senses tap out at, like, two miles. i need you to tell me where to go when i’m all turned around. i’m not the hero- you are.”
he let the tears fall as he spoke, lip quivering and hands shaking in an honest confession. he’d been vulnerable with you before, letting you see him cry during sad movies and admitting when one of your other friends hurt his feelings in passing. you’d been there for him after every breakup he’d endured and caused. you were no stranger to his emotions, but the culmination of events made this moment much more intense. it didn’t help that your nerves were wired so tight they might snap. nicholas shook under your touch as you taped the last strip over the gauze on his shoulder. good as new. nicholas inhaled, throat constricting the breath until it shook. he let his fingers wander to the hem of your shorts, pulling at the fabric to get your attention, “are you upset with me?”
the tears welled in your eyes, too, as you wiped one stray droplet from the top of his splotchy cheek with your thumb. you let it dry on the pad of your finger. you said, the most sure you’d sounded all night, or possibly ever, “no.”
you dragged your eyes up his neck as his throat bobbed, uncertainly, and your lips curled into a reassuring smile as you met his gaze again. there was a film over him, like sepia, like the color had been peeled from his face, until you cupped his cheek with your hand, smoothing your fingertips over the scratch in front of his ear. nicholas didn’t wince, only held his eyes steady on yours, fingers still drawing small circles on your thigh, just below the edge of your shorts. you leaned forward and dropped your head to his chest, resting your cheek on his skin, tacky with sweat, as your arms curled around his sides. nicholas lifted his good hand and placed it, naturally, between your shoulderblades, making languid strokes down your spine as you nestled into him. your voice was small as you spoke again, “you’re more than just spiderman, nicholas. i need you to know that.”
“i know,” he whispered, “i’m also a major sex symbol.” and then he laughed, lightly. he laughed as much as he could without it hurting deep in his core where bruises would later bloom.
“i’m being serious, nico,” you muttered, lightly smacking his back, “even if some people only see you as a piece of ass in spandex, they’d love you without the mask, too.”
in the silence that lingered, you assumed nicholas was thinking about how to turn the fact that you called him a “piece of ass” around on you. it was a prime opportunity to make you regret being nice to him, to make you revoke all sincerity in the foreseeable future, but nicholas’s chest rose and fell in solid, pondering swells. you heard him open his mouth, inhale, and then abandon the idea. he did this three times in the silence, his hand stalling on your spine. and when he spoke, finally, his voice was hoarse, “do you?”
“do i what?”
“love me?” nicholas gulped, rigid under you, “without the mask?”
you didn’t have to think about it, “yes.”
you loved him completely and in a way even you didn’t fully understand. you would have done anything for him, knowing he felt the same about you because you were best friends. you’d signed a contract as children, one that was sealed in blood from a papercut binding the two of you together forever. you remembered something in there about getting married if you both reached a certain age without finding true love, along with standard bff contract business that swore loyalty to the other person and described snack-sharing laws; he would always take any flavor that was blue, and you would have first dibs on any red. you adhered to every detail in the contract even now, cutting the red and blue gummy worms in half at the frozen yogurt shop after he’d revealed his life-altering secret to you. and it was incredibly difficult to cut the worms after they’d been sitting in the frozen treats, but you did it anyway, sealed in blood. but you were acutely aware that you loved him in ways that exceeded that contract. you’d grown to love him in a real, authentic way. you’d imagined loving him for the rest of your life, and you’d felt ridiculous for it.
nicholas’s heart slammed against his ribcage, over and over and over beneath your ear. you didn’t need the vitals on your computer to know his heartrate was through the roof. with a croak, he prompted, “in what way?”
“well,” you tried to control the wave in your voice. in the same way you knew nicholas was lying when his hands were steady, he knew you were lying when your voice faltered. you were forever grateful that you rarely found the need to lie to him. you weren’t lying now, but it felt like you were omitting the truth. your voice was partially shaking as you gave him a half-lie. “you’re my best friend.”
he traced his fingertips down your spine again. “and?”
you sat up from your place between his thighs, peeling your cheek from his chest and feeling off-kilter from the warmth on one side of your face. you looked him in the eyes, keeping your expression soft despite your confusion. you could’t decipher his intentions. what would he gain from knowing your true feelings? unless he, too, had been keeping secrets from you. unless nicholas had been harboring feelings for you in a pit in his stomach just like you. unless nicholas had been pushing down the urge to hold your hand as you walked to the corner store just like you. there was only one way to find out, and the benefit of a near-death experience was that all confessions and actions could be retrospectively blamed on the adrenaline spike and confrontation with mortality. you pulled your eyes from his, flickering your attention to his lips for a fraction of a second, the spark of a dull match before the winning strike. but when your eyes returned, his were on your lips, too. and they stayed there. the match was blazing, curling in on itself, scorched and wilting the same way your tongue felt as it let the word tumble out, “and.”
the way nicholas kissed you was the stuff of dreams, in that every touch was subtle; every choice was perceptive as he slotted his lips, gently, between yours. neither of you moved at first, simply swimming in the idea of it all. the taste of him made you dizzy, how sweet he was beneath the initial tang of metal, like the cheap chocolate coins you’d found at the store when you were younger that were shrouded in a contagious foil wrapper. the first press of his lips to yours was like peeling away the metallic, protective layer. nicholas pulled away, tentatively, before brushing his lips against yours, once and then twice, like he was testing the waters. it was you that made the second move, angling your head to capture his mouth in a kiss just as soft as the first. he sighed into you, his breath tickling your face as his hands settled low on your hips.
you hummed against him, letting your body finally relax into his kiss, his touch. it felt strange, in the unfamiliar sense and nowhere near the wrong one. nicholas once confessed that it was unusual that the two of you had never “experimented,” that all close friends have kissed once or twice just to see. you’d laughed it off, then, but it was all beginning to make sense now. he was incredibly drunk when he said that, so gone that he probably didn’t even remember it, and you never brought it up, thinking you were preserving his dignity, that he would have been so humiliated to have even suggested kissing you. you wished that you could go back in time and tell that version of you to bring it up. bring it up as soon as humanly possible. you pressed your palms against his chest, sliding them up around the back of his neck at the same time you bumped your tongue against his lips.
and when nicholas let you in, he let you in fully. the slide of his tongue against yours was electric, softly licking into your mouth and sending charged sparks to your belly like a livewire. you sucked his tongue deeper into you, and nicholas moaned. the sound was softer than you anticipated, less intense than you’d imagined. it was even less confident than you’d heard before, that fateful evening you had slipped the headset on and invaded his valuable privacy. this version of nicholas was unguarded, raw, yours. this version of nicholas was barely holding it together as you climbed further into his lap, threading your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. it was slow, sweet, and kind of messy, noses bumping in time with your overlapping sighs and moans. it was a perfect song.
nicholas disconnected from you, resting his forehead on yours as you brushed the hair from sticking to the side of his face. he squeezed your waist, flitting his eyes to yours to gauge your reaction as he breathed, like a whisper, “i love you. i’ve loved you for a long time, i think,” he licked his lips, pressing them together into a thin line, “just didn’t know it.”
you thought of every time you searched for him in a crowded room, especially the times you never found him. you thought of every protective arm thrown over your shoulder on your walks home. you thought of the years of heartfelt “goodnight” and “get home safe” conversations on the front stoop of your apartment, neither of you having the courage to say i love you, afraid of what it might really mean. even though you meant it with every shared meal, every impromptu sleepover, and every game thrown during game nights just to see the other beaming with pride.
“i love you, too,” your smile felt like it was going to split your head right down the center, “i think.” you knew. but you understood how scary it must have been for him to tell you how he felt. you, however, were perfectly fine swallowing it down forever. for nicholas, if he confessed and you didn’t feel the same, he would have lost more than just the “brains” of his spiderman gig- he would've risked losing his best friend, too, although you couldn’t imagine a world where you cut nicholas off for any reason, especially for something as sweet as having a crush on you. he knew too much about you, anyhow, had endured too many of your late-night conspiracy theories and stress-induced breakdowns to get off the hook that easily.
“don’t feel like you have to say it,” nicholas pulled back, letting you fully see his face, his serious, stern expression, “especially since i, like, cried and stuff.”
“you cried?” you feigned ignorance, casting a curious glance at the ceiling and tapping your chin with an animated finger, “i don’t remember that, sorry.”
“right, right,” nicholas smiled, dropping his head to hide the flush on his cheeks, “i said that i was useless. do you remember that?”
“mhm,” you nodded, brows furrowing. you couldn’t tell where he was going with this, but you feared he was going to spiral again. luckily, you had a lot of practice keeping him afloat. you smoothed your hands down his neck as he manually turned the gears in his head.
“okay,” nicholas’s hands cautiously slid beneath the hem of your shirt, just barely breaching the curve of your waist where the band of your shorts rested, folded over from leaning onto him. you sucked in a short gasp at the contact, feeling the goosebumps prickle your hot skin. “i said that i need you,” he squeezed your sides, pulling you closer to him. his voice was soft, breath fanning over your neck, “remember that?”
nicholas tugged your waist until you were situated fully against him, straddling the plush expanse of his thighs, now painfully aware of just how clothed you were in comparison to the thin boxers hugging his figure. there had to be a way to wear clothes under the suit, but you didn’t care enough to find one, selfishly drinking in every inch of his soft, partially scraped and bruised skin. you’d never been able to touch him, not really. nicholas, on the other hand, was physically affectionate with you in ways you couldn’t even comprehend, constantly draping an arm over your shoulder or kicking your leg, playfully. you were afraid of what would happen if you did the same, if your arm would burst into a torch or your head would explode, like fireworks. because that would happen to you, of course. but now you were free to roam with selfish hands. you raked your fingertips up his sides, and the flames never came, but the fireworks did; they sparked low in your core as nicholas urged you even closer, settling you right above the obvious tent in his boxers. “is this okay?” he whispered, just for you.
outside, the city stirred in short bursts of life. the warm breeze evolved into a rainstorm, the mellow pattering of droplets on the fire escape punctuating the sounds of your breathing, your gasps. “perfect,” you whispered back. you held his face in your hands, committing him to memory, breaking every rule you’d set for yourself since your feelings for him started shifting from friend to something else. you allowed yourself to kiss him again, slotting your lips into his, parting them and sliding your tongue over his. chocolate coins, blue gummy candy, cold water, rain on asphalt. you moaned into his mouth before you had even moved your hips, overwhelmed by him alone. but when you finally sank down, pressing your aching core against the strained outline of his cock, you felt the flames ignite. they started at your fingertips, threading through his hair and keeping his mouth moving hungrily on yours, and they traveled up your arms to your chest, where your heart threatened to either leap out of your ribs or fall flat into your stomach. and the flames settled in a blazing bouquet of heat right above your hips, where the friction of nicholas’s twitching cock nudged your clit in mind-numbing strokes. even through your shorts, you felt all of him, but you wanted more.
“fuck,” nicholas’s hips twitched beneath you, tipping his head back with his eyes squeezed shut, “need to feel you. c-can you ride me?”
“nico,” you rocked your hips, slowly, over him, shaking your head, “i don’t want to hurt you. let’s take it slow, yeah?” his wounds were still fresh, and you could only guess the places he’d be bruised tomorrow- his stomach, his ribs. the last thing you wanted to do was put him in any more pain, strain his body.
“you won’t hurt me,” he whined, “well, you might, but i don’t care. i’ve been taking it slow for years.” nicholas dropped his hands from your waist to your ass, taking two fistfuls of your flesh and squeezing, mumbling against your lips, “i don’t want to wait anymore.”
who were you to deny him? who were you to deny yourself?
“okay, nico,” you breathed. you realized that this was one of many firsts: your first time with nicholas, your first time being on top with anyone, and, most prominently, your first time being nervous around him. he was magnetic and forgiving, and you were rarely afraid to be yourself around him. you doubted the existence of a judgmental bone in his perfect, fragile body. nicholas knew how to make you feel at home, how to ease your mind in unfamiliar situations. he held your hand when you first tried ice skating, and he didn’t laugh when you busted your ass eight times on the frozen rink. he helped you back up, both hands interlaced with yours, and kept you steady. you hoped he would do the same now, and you weren’t far off, his palms sliding, comfortingly, down your calves as you stood up from his lap to shimmy out of your shorts.
it felt like autopilot, the way you’d played out these initial moments in your head dozens of times, all in a dreamlike haze and never reaching the good parts. it was like a poorly filmed highlight reel of nicholas’s mouth on your neck, clumsy hands getting caught in your bra, and the empty collision of bodies. you’d wake each morning feeling more frustrated than the last, logging onto your computer in the evening to casually track his every movement like you weren’t going to dream that night of elaborate weddings and lingering stares. but nothing compared to the reality, the electric nerves and adrenaline of having his calloused fingers striking, like matches, on your legs. your dreams couldnt imitate the fuzzy, fluttering pit in your chest as nicholas stared, fully rapt, fully captured by you, watching with his mouth softly agape as you stepped out of your underwear.
if you could have slithered into his brain, you would have drowned beneath the overwhelming shroud of regret, swirling around in his skull like a swarm. the buzzing would have rattled you senseless. nicholas had more regrets than he cared to count, many of which concerned the type of socks he wore inside of his shoes and buying collectibles when his bank account begged him to buy some produce instead. his gut had regrets, too. but at the very center of the swarm, the queen, was how long he’d went denying his feelings for you. he had brushed his butterflies off as misfire, as sheer happiness. other people felt tingly when they hung out with their friends, too. he convinced himself that it was totally normal to lose all rational thinking within three feet of you. on any other occasion, he would have just asked you, as though you were his own personal search engine, but he couldn’t call you and ask what the movie you had just watched was about because he didn’t pay a lick of attention to anything that wasn’t you. when nicholas researched it himself, his i cant think straight around my best friend searches yielded results like you’re fucked, pal. and he so was. he regretted being in so deep and pushing it down, fucking other girls to get a reaction out of you like an asshole. because you were kind, you never gave him one. because you were perfect, you gave him shit for it, way less than he deserved. and now, he was sitting, weak in every way and completely at your mercy, grateful you were trusting him with your body, that you felt the same way for him. he regretted that, too, that he’d wasted so much time thinking you could never love him back. he wanted to lean over, pat the side of his head two times like a cartoon character, and let all his regrets spill out like scrabble pieces for you to see. instead, he slid his hands up the backs of your thighs, diligently, like it was second nature to pull you closer to him, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. he whispered against the tender, sensitive skin there, “my beautiful girl,” and hoped that would remedy the buzzing in his head.
it did nothing to dull the buzzing in your belly, however; the intimate gesture only turned your insides over and over. his hair tickled your thighs as his pressed gentle kisses up and up, until his breath was ghosting over the soaked, puffy lips of your pussy. you resisted the urge to squeeze your legs together, already kind of embarrassed by how wet he had made you from nothing but jutting the outline of his cock against you and confessing. it was one thing to hear that he loved you; it was an entirely different thing to feel it, the warm, feather of a kiss he pressed to the top of your pussy. a shudder racked down your spine, mirroring the vibration of his voice as he asked, “is this okay?”
you peered down at him, threading your fingers in the back of his hair. “perfect,” you said, again, and nicholas smiled, the expression bleeding all the way into his eyes. he dipped his tongue between your still slick folds, slowly drawing the hot muscle over your clit with a groan, one of pure gratification. like licking brownie batter off the spoon, he plunged his tongue deeper into you, curling it around the sensitive bud at the precipice until you were rocking, gingerly, on his mouth.
he said, “so fucking sweet, baby,” and you felt your knees tremble beneath you, “soaking wet, sliding around on my tongue.” you curled your fingers in his hair as he hummed into your heat. the rumble of his voice went straight to your empty hole, pulsing around nothing. his lips drove you insane on a normal day- sweet, plump, and so expressive that you could read him from across the room- but, now, as he sucked your clit between them, his tongue flitting against it and twisting that molten coil inside of you, you were positive that he could have simply kissed you to orgasm. not that you would know, since he detached his lips from you just as the pleasure began to build, just as your chest began to swell unevenly, just as your hips moved with a mind of their own, chasing your high on his tongue. “not yet, angel.”
compared to the smug expression on his face, you were undoubtedly scowling. nicholas reached for your hand, sliding it out of his hair and to his lips instead. he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, hoping it would dissolve the exasperated glare you were boring into him but knowing it would make him feel better about his selfish decision to want to feel your orgasm rather than taste it. although, he planned to do that, too, on a separate occasion when his shoulder was healed and he could prop your legs up around his neck and push you over the edge until you couldn’t think anymore. but for now, he soothed your annoyance with a small smile, trying to ignore how painfully hard he was in his boxers. there were many ways to fix that, but he was only interested in one. he tugged your hand until you were back on the floor with him, on your knees between his legs, just as you were earlier as you cleaned his wounds, as you tended to him like a book with a weathered spine. he would never deserve you- nicholas was certain of this. he was also certain that he was going to die if he didn’t feel you around him soon.
and you felt the same; nicholas noticed the way you glanced down at his lap, at the outline of his dick constricted by thin material, mind running wild. from what you’d felt, you were positive he was going to split you in two, but you also knew he would piece you back together afterwards. you leaned forward, feeling your slick leak onto the inside of your thighs as you dipped your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down just enough to uncover his cock. he was beyond hard, tip leaking onto his stomach from a torturous ensnarement and shining glossy red like a coveted valentines candy. you thought about the contract, about how you had dibs on anything red.
you thought he would come right then, as you wrapped your fist around his base. it was like he hadn’t been touched in ages when you knew from personal experience that he’d been messing around in the suit. but he never sounded like this when you’d accidentally tuned in, so unguarded and desperate that even the slightest graze of your hand made his hips buck. he sucked in a sharp breath, pinching his eyes closed. “you’re killing me.”
“just returning the favor, dickhead,” you taunted, mourning your ruined orgasm as you stroked him, slowly. you let your lips brush against his, whispering over the sound of his panting, “or, what? did you want to come, too?”
“f-fuck you,” nicholas rolled his eyes and then his hips, chasing your hand as you teased him, “or fuck me. please, fuck me.”
only because he said “please,” and not at all because he was gorgeous, pliant putty in your hands did you succumb to his wishes, both of them. sure, you’d fuck yourself and, sure, you’d fuck him, all at once. you felt your walls clench in anticipation, pussy dripping as you positioned yourself over him. the descent onto his cock was agonizingly slow but absolutely necessary, letting your walls adjust to the stretch of him while reveling in the searing pleasure. nicholas leaned into you and captured your lips with his, attempting to swallow your moans. instead, he whined into your mouth, keeping his lips against yours as your jaw went slack. you felt so fucking full, having nearly taken all of him, unexpectedly thick and veiny. you felt him grating inside of you, slowly lighting up every nerve ending, stretching you to hell and back. you steadied yourself, gripping the edge of your bed behind him, surpassing his broad, stone-carved shoulders right in front of you. goddamn ray gun.
you moaned into his mouth when you’d reached the base of him, when your centers met at last, at least physically. emotionally, you and nicholas had been intertwined more intimately than this for what might have been years, each of you too stupid to realize the other had been right in front of you the entire time. you realized this, looking straight into his eyes, hips brushing, your bottom lip stuck between his teeth: this was right. nicholas felt it, too, fingers splayed on your back in a comforting grasp. he was keeping you closer, if it were even possible. he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, which you couldn’t help but sigh into, and mumbled, “beautiful,” he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist until you were practically flush against him, “so fucking beautiful, and mine.”
and then, you moved, a faint roll of your hips that wrecked the both of you instantly. it was intoxicating, the throb of his thick cock inside of you. a moan ripped through you at the sensation, “fuck, nico.”
“i know, baby,” he gulped, “you’re so tight.”
baby. it felt natural, hearing him say it. his voice was deep and hypnotic, a slight rasp to it after the nights events. you wanted to take care of him, even now, with the tip of his cock nudging the depths of your body. so, you rode him slow, partially to keep his injuries from progressing but mostly because you wanted to feel him for as long as possible, wanted to savor the breathy groans and whines that spilled from his mouth every time you lifted almost completely off of him. you wanted to savor the feeling of his nails digging into your ass as he watched the point where your bodies were joined, where your pussy swallowed him, welcomed him. your pace was driving him wild, his hips lurching gently up into you, driving him deeper inside of you in a way you didn’t consider possible until it was happening. your entire body was on fire with him: the taste of him on your tongue, the caress of his palms down your spine, and the blistering pleasure coiling in your stomach from the steady tilt of your hips.
“taking all of me so well, sweetheart,” nicholas groaned as you began to stutter, your movements growing messy as your climax approached. he slipped his hand between the two of you and pressed his thumb to your clit, sliding the pad of his finger along the swollen, sensitive bud in circles. the way you clenched around him only made him increase his speed, his pressure, drawing that coil inside of you tighter. “does that feel good? hm? tell me.”
“feels so good, nic,” you whined, “so, so good. i’m really close.”
“come on my cock, baby, please,” nicholas pressed his lips to your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin as if you needed any convincing, “wanna feel you squeeze me, make a mess on me.”
“wanna feel you, too,” you mumbled, and nicholas pulled his face away, shocked, like he couldn’t believe what you were asking him. but he didnt argue, only held onto your hip and rolled his, faster, to meet yours as you bobbed on his cock, his thumb still orbiting your clit in a pleasure-driven frenzy. “feels so good, nicholas. please don’t stop.”
and he didn’t until you were doubled over, face buried in his chest as your orgasm barreled into you. you chanted his name over and over like a prayer, pussy fluttering and squeezing him even more than before. you kept your hips rolling, riding out both your orgasm and his as nicholas threw his head back, mouth agape. you felt him twitch inside of you before you felt the warmth pool in your core, hot, thick ropes of his cum pumping into you. “holy fuck,” he groaned, “still cumming. fuck.” everything was hot. his skin was still damp, small beads of sweat collecting on his neck, and you felt your own body clinging to his as you stilled on his lap.
most prominently, however, you felt something strange, something cold where nicholas’s hands had latched onto you and had remained latched onto you for a concerning amount of time. curiously, you pawed at his wrist, attempting to disconnect his skin from yours, but it just wouldn’t budge.
and then you realized: he was stuck.
“nicholas,” you raised, “did you fucking web on me?”
his cheeks bloomed red, a shy smile taking over his lips as his chest heaved, recovering from his intense orgasm. of course, you would have some shit to say to him immediately. but he wasn’t sure what you were talking about until he tried to pry his fingers from your flesh. as if he had superglued his hand to you, your skin stayed attached to him as he gently lifted his fingers. in a clump at the base of your spine, and draping in loose strands over your ass, was silk- a cluster of webbing, sticky and fresh.
nicholas blinked, just as shocked as you, “uh, yeah, i did.”
“you didn’t think to mention that before?”
“honestly, it’s… new.”
he was still working to pull his hands from you, slowly lifting and flexing his fingers in small, delicate motions. he was obviously embarrassed in a way you couldn’t understand. you thought he had more control over the web thing by this point, but, honestly, as long as it wasn’t in your hair, mouth, or eyes, you didn’t care. it was kind of… hot?
you traced his jaw with your finger, biting back a shit-eating grin. “would you say i… unclogged your web shooters?”
nicholas laughed, finally pulling his hand free before pressing a light kiss to your lips, “i knew you liked that one.”
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