‧ ₊❝ spiderman!gojo gets a little hard seeing you trapped in his webs
“is that cum?”
the first thing you notice when you walk into satoru’s room are the strings of a sticky, white substance decorating his bed, all over the sheets and headboard. and now you can’t get the image of him jerking off on his patterned sheets, cock throbbing and glistening with slick, out of your head. definitely not how you should be thinking about your best friend.
“what—NO! i’ve been working on a new web formula. something stronger and more resistant, but doesn’t take too long to dissolve. the mayor’s been on my back again about 'littering public infrastructure with my webs'. ungrateful much...” satoru explains, waving his web shooter in the air, “i can’t seem to get it right though, and now i’m covered in webs that i can’t scrub off.”
ah. that makes sense. a lot of sense, actually.
you take a good look at the web shooter in his hands, its metal glinting under the fluorescent ceiling light. it’s a marvel of engineering, how he gets the resources and brains, you’re not entirely sure.
however, it’s clear he’s frustrated about his lack of progress. his metal-framed glasses lay crooked on his nose, smeared with thumb prints and perspiration. if it weren’t for his white hair, you probably would’ve noticed the strands of webs on that mop of frizzy hair.
you reach up on your tip-toes to pick them from his head, giggling, “do you need any help? i don’t think i’d be of much assistance for the nerdy stuff, but if there’s anything i could do…”
satoru ponders this for a moment.
“hmm, actually, there is something you could do for me,” he walks over to his desk in the corner, picking up a beaker. using the stirring rod propped up against the walls of the beaker, he froths up the mixture inside. when he lifts up the rod, the mixture clings onto the glass, stretching it out to reveal a web-like pattern.
“this is my newest trial, i was just about to test it when you came in. since you’re here, do you…want to help me test its strength?” he asks shyly, an awkward chuckle forced out of his mouth, “i mean— you don’t have to do it, just thought it’d be, y’know, easier for me to make observations.”
you giggle at the flush that creeps up his neck, the tips of his ears a burning red. you didn’t understand why he was being so nervous to ask for your help, as if you had never emergency-texted him at 2am for help on your chemistry homework.
“of course i’ll help! what do you want me to do?”
pushing his glasses up so they sit nicely on his nose bridge, he tells you, “i’ll web your body together, and all you need to do is to try your best to break free.”
with your approval, he takes his web shooter, carefully pouring the web fluid into the canister, locking it with a soft click. he fixes the device onto his wrist, bending his index and middle finger to lightly press against the trigger without releasing the webs.
“uh…sit on the bed and stick out your arms, i’ll shoot the webs there.”
you do as told, watching as satoru tongue darts out from the corner of his lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“okaaay, you ready?”
fwip!
he pushes his fingers against his palm, pressing hard against the trigger, the webs springing out from a small hole. it attaches to your right arm, then your left, slamming your limbs to the headboard. it feels cool against your skin, sticky (well, obviously), painting your arms a stark white.
you see satoru pull out his notebook, taking the tip of the pen between his teeth. you take that as a sign to start pushing against the webs. biceps flexing, you thrash against your restraints. you hear the scratch of a pen and a soft hum as satoru jots down notes.
you feel a thread snap, the web stretching against the raw strength you’re exerting, which you take as a single of progress. even more determined now, your body almost falls over as you attempt to escape, a bead of sweat sliding down you forehead. but it doesn’t budge further than that.
you had severely overestimated your abilities. and severely underestimated satoru’s genius and intellect.
suddenly, the notebook in his hand drops down to his crotch, arm tense and stiff. an abashed smile grows on his face, a sharp inhale of breath too loud for the small room.
“what—” your eyes drop to the notebook, and that’s when you see it. the subtle rise in his pants.
your voice comes out accusatory, “are you…hard?”
“NO! i mean, no, i-i’m not. what makes you say that?” he squeaks out, pressing the notebook tighter against him.
“then why are you covering your crotch with your notebook?” your raised eyebrow only makes him even more nervous.
“ummmmm…i find it easier to write like this. yeah-yeah, that’s right!” he even tries to demonstrate, stretching his other arm awkwardly to scribble on the page. “i swear i’m not trying to disrespect you!”
the blatant lie only makes him grow harder, pushing against the fabric. he looks huge, almost suffocating. was this an effect of the spider bite?
“i—it’s just…youlookreallyhotcaughtinmywebs.” he can’t even look you in the eyes as he says it, eyes glued to his beaten up shoes.
oh.
“well, i would offer my help, but uhh—as you can see, my hands are occupied,” your eyes dart to the webs. it’s an innocent action, but satoru catches the mischievous glint in your eyes.
hesitantly, he walks over to you, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your sweats. with an encouraging nod, you wrap a leg over his waist, pulling him in closer. he pulls your pants down, revealing a red pair of panties. intention disguised as a coincidence.
“fuuck, you’re dripping.” his eyes are glued to the wet patch. and it only gets even wetter under his heated gaze.
turns out he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the experiment.
a/n currently writing a longer fic for spideyjo, lmk if you want to be tagged!
This is my reaction when I find a cool fanfic but don't look at the header. And then I realise it's unfinished and the last chapter came out several years ago.
✧˚₊‧ down bad! peter parker who fucks like he’s mindless !
it’s not like he’s touch starved for any sort of real connection; everyone who he loves doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t have anyone to go home to besides that red and blue stupid spider-man suit that mocks him from the hanger. he watches the news as people cheer for him but no one wants him.
truly wants him. peter parker, not spider-man.
peter parker is a man who is starved of touch. he can live with no connection— it was just him and his aunt for many years… but the feeling of another person’s hands on him that wasn’t some goon in manhattan trying to put him to early retirement… it was foreign to him.
it’s been four years since mj, and he hasn’t felt anything on his body… except now, his breaking point.
youre not quite sure how you ended up in his vicinity anyway, but you did. you were simply in professor banners class when he came running in at the last minute, completely sloppy looking and out of his mind to talk to the professor. you stayed back to watch him ramble to him, seeing how disgruntled he looked, the bruises on his jaw and his forearm peaking out under the empire state hoodie.
when he left, you left, and you asked for his number.
that’s how you ended up here; in his messy bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you like a piston. he’s rough with his thrusts but gentle with his hands, like his fingers are trying to mark every single inch of your body, his lips haven’t left your neck since he’s thrusted.
“o-oh god baby.” he whispers, voice cracking under the pressure of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails rake down his biceps,
you moan around him, listening to his chorus of whimpers and pleads as the wet sound of his cock forcing its way into your puffy folds fills his mundane apartment bedroom. “f-fuck peter! keep going! oh fuck!”
the apartment walls in this place may not be the thickest, but peter’s cock is, so you don’t care that your moans could probably be heard from top floor to basement.
he moans when your fingers create more markings into his body, his senses going haywire with each stroke of his dick. “feels good baby? pussy needing me s’so much, don’t you?” he whispers, sucking on his right thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. “never letting you go, swear to god, fucking christ…”
each one of his thrusts picks up with the speed and velocity only a man like peter parker could display. you couldn't describe it but you felt so full but so good at the time time. your eyes rolled back as he kisses your cheek, feeling his balls slap against your clit.
he kept thrusting like he had something to lose; his hands touched you like he was trying to keep a reminder to himself what a female body felt like, what another human's body felt like under his own callous palms.
he's never felt like this in four years, and now, he's a selfish man and who could blame him?
peter was a man suffering in silence, currently thrusting into you like he was personally trying to break your cervix— and you didn't mind it, feeling like heaven itself as his forearms cage your head, kissing your face even as the tears flow from overstimulation, his mouth catching each one.
he brings you closer and closer, groaning deep into your ear as you tighten around him. the bed was louder than you at some points but you didn't even try to be quiet.
if anyone truly knew what peter parker was suffering with for four years... they'd understand why he fucks like this. why he fucks like it's his last day on earth. why his cock ruins you like it's never done before... and you didn't quite understand the full extent of it...
you just understood peter parker making you cum, and feeling ropes of his hot and heavy cum filling your pussy.
and in the same night? he tucks you in and sneaks out the fire escape, because peter parker only gets temporary joy when the city needs spiderman all the time.
click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, brand new day is gonna eat so hard. ive never written for peter, but he was so fucking fine in that trailer, so why not write for him. sadie, tom, and zendaya in the same movie + promotion is gonna be so funnnnn, I can’t fucking wait. I do not care; i will somehow get a sadie hot ones episode as well as a sadie vs tom hot ones episode because I said so.
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
summary: You go to Peter’s expecting a normal hangout, only to accidentally discover he’s Spider-Man… and react way more excited than he was prepared for.
warnings: use of y/n, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual crush, identity reveal, humor, mild suggestiveness, awkward nudity (non-explicit), aunt may interruption, chaotic reader, peter parker being a mess, first kiss, light teasing, lower case intended!
notes: reader is said to have hair.. sorry if you're bald! slightly proofread!
word count: 3.9k
you were sitting cross legged on Peter’s bed, absently flipping through a worn comic book, the pages soft from being read a hundred times over.
the oversized Spider-Man top you borrowed from peter.. and maybe planned on never giving back, slipped slightly off one shoulder, your pajama pants loose and comfortable against your legs.
every now and then, you glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps.
ned had bailed last minute, something about his grandma needing help “cleaning spider webs off the ceiling,” which sounded completely made up but you hadn’t pressed.
honestly… you didn’t mind.
if anything, it made your stomach flutter a little.
because now it was just you and Peter.
you tried not to smile at the thought, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned another page without really reading it.
you’d been looking forward to this all day, telling yourself it was just a normal hangout, nothing special but the quiet would feel different without Ned there filling every silence.
your eyes drifted around peter’s room, the scattered school books, the cluttered desk, the half finished projects and you couldn’t help but feel a little fondness bloom in your chest. It all felt so… him.
and maybe just maybe you liked him a little more than you should.
okay, a lot more.
but it wasn’t like it was one sided… right?
you bit your lip, staring down at the comic in your hands, though your mind had completely wandered.
the way he looked at you sometimes, the way his voice softened just a bit when he said your name…
or how he’d glance at you first when something funny happened, like your reaction mattered more than anyone else’s.
or the way he’d get just a little flustered when you stood too close, like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, or his words, or himself... it had to mean something.
a small smile tugged at your lips as you hugged the comic a little closer to your chest.
yeah… you were pretty sure peter liked you too.
a sudden thwip at the window made you jump.
the comic in your hands slipped slightly as your grip tightened, eyes snapping toward the sound.
the window.
something had hit it.
another faint creak followed, the soft rattle of glass shifting in its frame, like something or someone was right outside.
for a split second, everything stilled, your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
peter wasn’t home yet.
and may was downstairs.
so… who?
you slowly sat up straighter on the bed, pulse thudding in your ears, every instinct suddenly on edge as you turned your head and stared at the window, waiting for something, anything to move.
a small tug, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it but no, the bottom edge of the window shifted, just barely, like something was pulling at it from the outside.
the latch gave with a soft click, your fingers curled more on the comic book, gripping harder while your eyes stayed locked on the window as it began to slide open a few inches on its own.
cool air slipped into the room first, brushing against your skin, lifting the curtains just enough to make them sway.
your heart was pounding so loud you were sure may could hear it from downstairs.
the window opened wider.
the outside noise crept in, distant traffic, a horn somewhere far off, the hum of the city.
a slow, creeping chill ran down your spine as something moved around outside of the window.
you couldn't move or speak, it was like you were frozen in place.
a blur crossed your line of sight, and before your brain could catch up, a figure swung through the opening with impossible speed, landing inside peter’s room in one smooth motion.
a quiet thud against the floor, crouched perfectly, like they had done it a thousand times before.
you watched, breath trapped in your chest.
the figure stayed crouched for a second, one hand pressed flat against the wall, the other steadying them on the floor.
muscles coiled, alert, like they were listening for something outside.
oblivious to the fact that someone was already in the room.
then slowly, almost cautiously, they straightened. The light from the window caught the fabric of the suit, and suddenly the details came into focus.
your stomach dropped, 'No way.' you thought to yourself.
standing in the middle of peter’s room was spider-man.
the suit shimmered faintly under the sunlight, all red and blue. Then, almost hesitantly, they reached up and pulled at the mask.
your eyes widened, jaw slowly falling open as the mask came off.
peter parker’s face was revealed, messy hair falling across his forehead, eyes wide and frantic, cheeks already pink from exertion.
peter, unaware that you were already there, exhaled shakily and began loosening the suit.
first he tugged at the shoulders, peeling them down slowly, you stayed silent, captivated, every muscle of your body tense as you watched.
he slid the sleeves off one by one, then slowly reached for the zipper at the back of the suit, sliding it down just far enough to reveal the top of his chest.
then, sliding the arms down, revealing his pale, toned arms that flexed with each subtle movement.
his breath was heavy, his movements were careful, as if he could feel the tension in the empty room even though he thought he was alone.
your eyes, though you tried to look away, betrayed you.
they lingered, dragged along the lean lines of his arms, the curve of his shoulders, and then his back as he slid the suit down further.
and then, without warning, his eyes flicked to the bed.
you. sitting there. watching. silent. time seemed to freeze.
peter froze mid motion, hands clutching the suit at his waist, face flaming red. “y-y/n…” he stammered, voice breaking slightly.
“peter.” your voice came out breathless, barely a whisper at first, then louder as realization hit. “you… you’re… spider-man?!” eyes still tracing him, but now in full realization. “It’s you… the whole time… it was you?”
“how’d you get in here i-“ he spoke, tilting his head before you cut him off.
“may let me in..” “wait… wait… wait!” you shrieked, springing upright. “you’re spider-man?! are you kidding me?! that’s insane! that’s so cool! i can’t believe it’s you!"
peter froze, muscles tensing, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t.. uh…”
you stood up on the bed, jumping around, hands flailing, pacing in excitement.
“this is unbelievable! you’re swinging around the city, saving people, and i had no idea it was you! oh my gosh, peter, i can’t even.. ”
in his panic, flustered and overwhelmed by your energy, peter tugged at the suit’s zipper again. “I... I can’t… just...” he yanked the rest of the spider-man suit off in a desperate attempt to explain, revealing his bare chest and toned torso. by the time he realized it, he was down to nothing but his boxers.
you thought for a second, then pointed a finger at his chest, heart still racing from your excitement. “wait- why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you tell me it was you this whole time?!”
peter’s mouth opened and closed, cheeks bright red. “I… I… I didn’t… I didn’t think… you’d.. uh…” he scrambled, trying to cover himself with his hands and the discarded suit.
and that’s when it happened, the door swung open.
“peter? Y/N? are you-”
it was May and both of you froze. Your finger was still pointed at his chest. Peter was frozen mid cover, boxers on, red-faced beyond belief. You were half standing on the bed, still vibrating with excitement.
may’s eyes went wide immediately. The image of you two looked… wrong. Very, very wrong.
peter groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “May! I… it’s not what it looks like!”
may blinked at the two of you, clearly mortified herself. “I… I’m going to… give you two a minute.”
and just like that, she spun on her heel and walked out, shutting the door behind her.
the sound of the click echoed in the room.
you blinked at Peter, who was still hunched over, trying desperately to cover himself with the suit. His ears were red, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“well… that was… something,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, still vibrating from excitement.
peter groaned again, flopping onto his bed beside you, pulling the suit over his lap. “I… I hate you right now.”
you laughed, now sitting, eyes tracing his bare chest. “I love you right now. This is amazing.”
“okay… okay,” you said, leaning back on your hands, still grinning, heart racing. “Seriously… does anyone else know? Like… Ned? MJ? Anyone?”
peter’s eyes went wide. His cheeks flushed deeper, and he shook his head quickly. “N-No! Nobody knows. It’s just… you. You can’t tell anyone. Not Ned, not MJ, not anyone. Promise me.”
you nodded. “Don’t worry… your secret’s safe with me.
you sat up a little straighter, your eyes still on peter. “…What?” he asked cautiously, already suspicious.
you clasped your hands together, leaning forward. “Okay. Hear me out.”
“No.” “I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“I know that tone,” he said, pointing at you.
you grinned. “I just think… hypothetically… as your very trustworthy best friend…”
“Uh-huh.”
“…I should get to try the web shooters.”
peter laughed in disbelief. “…Absolutely not.”
your jaw dropped. “What?! Why not?!”
“Because they’re not toys!” he shot back. “You could, like.. stick your hand to the ceiling! Or your face! Or something worse!”
“That sounds awesome,” you said immediately.
“That sounds like a hospital visit,” he corrected.
you scooted closer, grabbing his arm lightly. “Peter, come on. Just once! I won’t even aim at anything important. I’ll aim at, like… your chair.”
“My chair is important!”
you groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re no fun.”
“I am fun! I just don’t want you accidentally webbing May to the wall!”
you snorted. “Okay, first of all, I would never...” There was a pause. “…Okay, maybe a small chance, but still!”
peter shook his head, trying not to laugh. “No. Not happening.”
you sat up again, closer this time, closer than before.
"I’m getting dressed. This conversation is over.”
“Please?” you said, softer now.
he hesitated, big mistake because you noticed immediately.
“Oh my god, that almost worked,” you whispered, eyes lighting up. “Peter.. ”
“Nope,” he said quickly, standing up. Peter was shaking his head, pacing a little now, running a hand through his already messy hair.
“No. Nope. Bad idea. Terrible idea,” he muttered. “You with web shooters? That’s statistically a disaster.”
you followed him with your eyes, arms crossed, trying not to smile. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic. I have experience with these. You don’t.”
you slid off the bed and stepped closer. “Then teach me.”
he stopped pacing. “…Teach you?”
“Yeah,” you said simply. “You said they’re not toys. Fine. Show me how to use them properly.”
he hesitated. you could see the argument forming, the refusal right there. Then he sighed, a long, defeated sigh.
“…One shot,” he said, pointing at you. “One. You aim at something harmless. You listen to everything I say. And the second it goes wrong, I take them back.”
your entire face lit up. “Wait... really?!”
“I’m already regretting this,” he mumbled.
“Peter!” You grabbed his arm, practically bouncing. “You’re the best!”
"Yeah yeah." He said, as he turned around, walking toward his closet where he tossed his suit in.
you watched, very much not looking away this time, as he hurriedly grabbed a pair of plaid pajama pants.
he glanced back at you, feeling your eyes on him. "Turn around!"
you didn’t.
you just raised an eyebrow.
“Y/N.”
“Peter.”
“…Please.”
you hum as if in thought, but finally turned around, holding your hands up. “Fine. I’m being respectful. Look at me, respecting your privacy.”
“I don’t believe you,” he muttered, scrambling behind you.
you could hear the quick shuffle of fabric, the thump of him nearly tripping, a quiet “ow.. ” under his breath.
“…You okay?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
“I’m great,” he said, very obviously not great.
a few seconds later, “Okay. You can turn around.”
you did, he was in plaid pajama pants, a lightly wrinkled t-shirt and his hair was even messier.
“…Wow,” you said, looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You clean up nice, Spider-Man.”
he groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”
“No promises.”
he moved to his desk, grabbing one of the web shooters. When he came back, his expression was serious, focused in a way you hadn’t seen before.
“Okay,” he said, gently taking your wrist. “Hand out.”
you obeyed immediately, he slid the web shooter onto your wrist, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusted it. “It fits… okay, I think.”
your breath hitched just a little. “Feels… cool.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said quickly, he lifted your hand slightly, guiding your fingers into position. “Alright. You press here, but only when you’re aiming. And you have to flick your wrist like this...”
his hand wrapped around yours to demonstrate, for a second, neither of you spoke. Then you whispered, “You’re, like… really good at this.”
he huffed softly. “I’d hope so.”
you glanced up at him, your faces closer than you realized.
“…Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Target. Uh.. chair. You said chair.”
you nodded, forcing yourself to drag your eyes away from him.
“On three,” he continued. “One… two…”
you didn’t wait for three.
thwip!
the web shot out, sticking perfectly to the chair across the room.
both of you froze, then your eyes went wide. “I DID IT?!”
peter stared at the web, then back at you. “…You actually did it.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were still buzzing.
like, actually buzzing, pacing a little, shaking out your hands like you’d just had ten cups of coffee.
“I can’t believe that worked,” you said for what had to be the fifth time, staring at the web still stuck to the chair. “I mean.. I can, because I did it but also, I can’t.”
peter leaned against his desk, arms crossed, trying very hard to look unimpressed.
“Beginner’s luck,” he said.
you spun toward him immediately. “Excuse me?!”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, failing to hide a small smile, “first try? Suspicious.”
you narrowed your eyes. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You are. You’ve been doing this for, what, months? Years? And I nailed it in one shot.”
“I was bitten by a radioactive spider,” he shot back. “You had a tutorial.”
“Still counts.”
he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, well, tutorial’s over. Hand it back.”
you immediately clasped your hands behind your back. “No.”
peter blinked. “No?”
“One more.” “No.” “Peter.” “Y/N.”
“One more,” you repeated, stepping closer, your voice dropping just slightly.
he shook his head, but he didn’t step away. “I said one shot.”
“And I listened. I did everything right.”
“That doesn’t mean you get unlimited turns!”
“Not unlimited,” you said quickly. “Just… one more.”
“No.”
you tilted your head, studying him, before you stepped even closer, close enough that he had to look down just slightly to meet your eyes.
“…Are you really gonna take it away after I was that good?” you asked, softer now.
he hesitated again and you saw it again.
“Oh my god, you’re thinking about it,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips.
“I’m not...” “You are.” “I’m really not...”
“You are,” you insisted, gently catching his wrist. “Come on. I won’t mess it up. I promise.”
his gaze flicked down to where your hand was touching him, then back up to your face. “…One more,” he said finally, like it physically pained him. “And that’s it. Seriously.”
your face lit up instantly. “Yes!”
“I mean it.”
“I know, I know,” you said, already holding your arm out again.
he sighed, but stepped in, adjusting the web shooter back into place on your wrist. “Okay, same rules.”
“Same rules,” you echoed.
his fingers were slower this time, more careful, like he was suddenly very aware of every point of contact.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Focus.”
you nodded, but your attention drifted the second he stepped in closer behind you, closer than before.
his arm came around yours again, guiding your aim.
“Target,” he murmured. “Desk.”
“Mhm.” “Wrist straight.” “Mhm.”
“Focus,” he murmured again.
you tried, you really did but it was a little hard when you could feel him this close.
“…Peter,” you said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I forgot what I was aiming at.”
he let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Your fault,” you said. “You’re distracting.”
“I’m distracting?”
“You’re the one hovering.”
“I’m teaching!”
“Mhm.”
“…You gonna shoot?” he asked, voice quieter now.
“…Maybe,” you said, but you didn’t move your hand.
instead, you turned your head slightly.
he was right there.
close enough that your noses almost brushed.
his breath hitched and for a second, he didn’t move.
you glanced down at his lips before your eyes met his, watching him as he slowly leaned in, closing the gap.
the kiss was soft at first, a little tentative, like he was still catching up to what was happening but it didn’t stay that way for long.
his hand shifted slightly against your arm, steadying you as you kissed him back, the was kiss a little more sure this time, a little less hesitant.
the web shooter was completely forgotten.
when you finally pulled back, your lips still tingling, you smiled faintly. “…Okay,” you said softly.
he blinked. “Okay?”
you lifted your wrist up in front of you again, the web shooter still snug against your skin. “Now I can focus.”
it took him a second, then his eyes widened just a little. “Wait..”
thwip!
the web shot out clean and fast this time sticking to the edge of his desk with a soft tck.
you gasped, eyes lighting up all over again. “I DID IT AGAIN!” You laughed, pure excitement bubbling out of you as you grabbed his arm. “Twice! That’s not beginner’s luck anymore!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re a fast learner.”
“Maybe I’m just that good.”
the web hung forgotten across the room on the edge of his desk.
your hand slowly slipped from his arm to his hand instead, fingers brushing against his.
“…So,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips, “does this mean I get promoted to… assistant Spider-Man?”
peter groaned, but didn’t let go of your hand. “Absolutely not.”
💭 𓈒⠀𓈒ㅤㅤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moans—feeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, he’d let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.
panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didn’t have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.
his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.
the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shock…whispering shared and desperate ‘I love yous’
Ი𐑼 yeah so it’s short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 I’m not prepared for the person I’m going to become when the movie is out … I’m already freaking out from the trailer 🤓
summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣
— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.
Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.
— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.
Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.
— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.
Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.
— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”
Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.
— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”
Rating: 0/10. Wicked.
— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.
Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.
— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.
Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.
Synopsis: He believed the entire world had forgotten Peter Parker, until the girl he never spoke to in class said his name. [Gif Creds: manny-jacinto].
First Peter Parker fic in celebration of the trailer drop ✨💃
(Edited 3/31: I officially made this into a small little series, so I DEEPLY apologize for the previous mess of formatting 😭🙏)
『••✎••』
His face changed in an instant.
The easy, half-apologetic smile Peter had been wearing—sorry, my bad, let me help—froze, then cracked. His brown eyes widened, pupils blowing out like he’d been hit with a flashbang. The color drained from his already pale cheeks, leaving the faint acne scars and the sheen of nervous sweat stark against his skin. His mouth parted, lips forming a silent what? before any sound could escape.
You blinked up at him, crouched on the grimy New York sidewalk, one hand steadying your precariously tall stack of books, the other hovering over the scattered ones at your feet. The world kept moving—the rumble of the subway beneath the pavement, the wail of a distant siren, the shuffle of pedestrians flowing around the two of you like water around stones. But in the sudden, suffocating vacuum between you and him, all of that noise simply dissolved.
"Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry," he’d been saying just a second ago, a familiar, breathless rush. He’d bumped into you—a classic traffic jam on the sidewalk—and your world had tipped sideways. Physics took over. Textbooks on organic chemistry and literary theory splayed out across the concrete like a fan.
He remembered you. He was sure of it. You sat two rows ahead and one to the left in Mr. Harrison’s history class. You never spoke, but he knew you were one of the smartest kids in the room, your hand perpetually in the air while he was usually trying to calculate if he had enough web fluid for patrol later that night. He’d seen you in the halls—a quiet, focused presence that never seemed to intersect with the chaotic orbit of himself, MJ, and Ned.
You smiled, a small, polite curve of your lips as you both reached for the same copy of The Great Gatsby. Your fingers had brushed.
"It’s okay, happens all the time." You had said, gathering the last book and tucking it into your stack. Then you looked him in the eye, a brief, friendly glance of acknowledgment, and said the words that had just short-circuited his entire nervous system.
"See you around, Peter."
And just like that, the universe tilted on its axis.
You’d pushed yourself to your feet, adjusting your bag, giving him another polite smile before turning to merge back into the river of people on the sidewalk. The moment was over—a simple, forgettable bump with a vague acquaintance from high school.
Except it wasn’t.
Wait.
His lungs seized. The name echoed in the hollow of his chest, a ghost of a sound, but it was the most real thing he’d heard in an eternity. Peter. Not "hey, kid" or "that guy" or the frustrated sigh of a landlord who never knew his renter’s name. Peter. Said with the casual familiarity of someone who had always known it.
A frantic, desperate energy seized him. He couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t let you walk away and vanish back into the faceless crowd, leaving him to wonder if he’d finally, truly lost it.
"Wait!"
He shot forward, a burst of speed that felt more like a spider’s leap than a human’s jog. He caught your arm just above the elbow. It was a gentle touch, barely any pressure, but you stopped instantly, turning back to him with a look of surprise, your brow furrowed. Your books wobbled in your arms.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in a silent room. He leaned in, not caring that he was blocking the flow of foot traffic, that a businessman had to sidestep him with an annoyed grunt. All that mattered was your face, your confused eyes, and the five letters he needed to hear again.
"Wait," he repeated, his voice raspy, thin. "What… what did you say?"
Your confusion deepened, a small line creasing between your brows. You glanced from his wild-eyed face down to where he was still touching your sleeve, then back up again.
"Uh…" you hesitated, clearly thrown by the intensity of his reaction. "I just said, ‘see you around’?"
"No, before that. The… the last part." He could barely breathe the words out. Please. Please say it again. Let him know he wasn’t hallucinating, that the loneliness hadn’t finally cracked him open.
You blinked, slow and deliberate, as if trying to decipher a foreign language. A flicker of something like concern crossed your features.
"Peter?" you said, his name a soft, questioning thing in the city noise. "Are you okay?"
The world shattered around him.
It wasn’t a question of how. He didn’t care how. Not yet. The sheer, overwhelming fact of it crashed over him like a tidal wave. The weight of a year’s worth of invisibility, of nonexistence, suddenly lifted. Air rushed into lungs that had been starved for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to breathe. A tremor ran through his entire body—a violent, shuddering release of tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding.
He didn’t answer your question. He couldn’t. All he could do was stare, his grip on your sleeve slackening until his fingers just brushed the fabric of your jacket. He was looking at you, but he wasn’t seeing a college student with a stack of books anymore. He was seeing an anchor. A lighthouse in a fog that had swallowed him whole.
A shaky, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips—a broken sound that held the ghost of a sob. He stared at you as if you’d just handed him the entire universe, piece by precious piece.
You, completely unaware of the magnitude of the moment—of the dam you’d just broken—just stood there. You took in the dazed look, the trembling hands, the way he was looking at you like you were a miracle.
And you just looked… concerned. Worried for the weird guy from your old high school who was currently having some kind of meltdown on a public sidewalk.
"Peter," you said again, a little firmer this time, reaching out a hesitant hand. "Seriously. Are you alright?"
And he was. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was more than alright.
