#tasm!peter Parker smut

[parkerpeter24]

quiet temptations

pairing ➳ tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

word count ➳ 2.3k

warnings ➳ SMUT. characters are 18+ and MINORS DNI. this contains depictions of fingering, oral (m recieving). fluff, peter being sweet but also horny-

summary ➳ you’re awfully quiet but peter can’t seem to take that.

“is everything alright?” peter mumbled as he laid beside you. your back was to him, his arm wrapped around you, “you’re not talking.”

the bed you were laying on was warm, a thin blanket over the sheets because you got extra cold during the winters and a quilt that covered you and peter both. your fingers danced against the wall adjacent to the bed, feeling the cold plaster contrasting peter’s own fingertips that danced on your waist, under your sweatshirt.

“you gonna talk?” he placed a kiss on your hair that was loosely tucked behind your ear, making it fall over your eyes. chuckling when he heard you groan and push the lock of hair back in its original place, “so.. no?”

you sighed softly.

“that’s alright.” peter responded, feeling as if he was just talking to himself now, “we don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

the sound of your hum was accompanied by peter’s hand gliding under your sweatshirt and caressing your stomach. he was careful, as if you were made up of glass, watching out for any signs of refusal on your face but your features looked solemn, unchanging.

he sighed, not being able to hold in his concern, “alright, just nod if everything is okay…”

he waited for you and surely you did nod after a few seconds, making peter’s worries dissipate.

“what’s gotten you so quiet?” he tried to get you to talk, his fingers taking a detour from trailing upwards, making contact with the elastic hem of your sweatpants– which originally belonged to him, “‘cause one way or another, i’m gonna hear that pretty voice.”

you felt your face heat up but peter still didn’t notice any change in your expression. if he couldn’t see the blinking of your eyes and sense changing breathing pattern, he’d have assumed you were asleep.

“at least tell me you want this.” he mumbled into your neck, pressing his lips against your exposed skin.

“yeah.” you mumbled and peter wasted no time in sliding his hand under the fabric of your lower, arm holding your body against him. you let out a soft breath as his fingers travelled lower. his middle finger slid your panties to the side before making contact with the skin. he pressed soft kisses to your neck before his nimble finger delved into your folds.

a leg pressed between both of yours, parting your thighs as he nestled a warm hand against your sex.

you let out a soft sound, clutching onto the quilt. his finger sank deeper until he found the earliest bit of your arousal and pulled it out, wanting to spread the wetness everywhere.

his finger travelled up to your clit, circling around it and you bit your lip when he fucked it back into you, knuckle deep. he groaned softly, loving the way your muscles almost clenched his finger.

he repeated his actions a few more times until you couldn’t hold back the soft needy moans that he beyond waited to hear. you felt his teeth sink into the skin of your neck before he sucked that spot, soothing the sting from the bite.

you moaned when he curled his finger, trying to search for a spot that would make your sounds louder. his finger dipped into you inch by inch every time, showing he was in no hurry.

peter’s arm was strongly keeping you pressed against himself as you started to arch your back. he could tell you were getting needy but he wished to hear something from you– even though he was loving the musical moans you were letting out.

he pressed his ring finger into the mix, adding it when he pumped them into you the next time. his face pressed further into your hair when you tried to get away. he could tell you needed more– you were writhing, trying to grind your hips into his already hard cock– but he kept going at the slowest pace he could. one brush of his fingers against your most intimate spot and your lips parted in a loud gasp.

you tried to arch your back which only led to peter’s arm pressing harder against your abdomen. his lips were pressed together, letting out soft hums which accompanied each one of your moans as if encouraging you.

he pulled out both his fingers, fucking in again and then back out and in again until it became a faster rhythm. squelching sounds filled the mostly silent room as his leg parted yours even further.

peter rolled his fingers into you continuously, the heel of his palm nudging against your clit which had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, “pete-” you gasped, “m-more.”

the desperation in your voice made peter grind into your ass. his fingers fucked you faster, holding your legs apart, curling them into you just right until you were jutting your hips, chasing your high.

“good girl.” peter mumbled, “keep it up, baby.”

his fingers moved continuously in and out of you. he could tell you were close with the way you clenched his fingers, however before the coil in your abdomen burst, his fingers pulled out of you, a soft wet sound following it– completely opposite to the loud whine that left your mouth.

“oh my god- why’d you stop?!”

“now you wanna talk?” he mumbled into your hair.

you felt your cheeks heating up further than they were. you hid your face into the pillow, but peter wasn’t letting that happen. he tugged at your chin with his free hand, “oh, baby. trust me, i want you to cum.”

you whined, biting your lip softly at his dirty words. you wondered if peter came prepared for this because no other day would you have expected such filthy words escaping his lips. he’d never done so before in all the times you two were intimate.

he turned you around gently, slowly pressing his forehead against yours as he brought up his fingers to his own lips, sucking them clean. he moaned at the taste as his tongue swirled around the digits, sending a wave of shivers up your spine and arousal to your core.

the second his fingers were released from between his soft, warm lips, your own pair replaced them, tasting remnants of yourself on his lips. you moaned softly, pressing your chest up against his.

“want you.” you breathed out heavily.

peter only shook his head, “not until you tell me what’s with the silence.”

“huh-” your brows pulled together in confusion, “you’re really not gonna-”

“first you tell me what happened.” he pecked your lips once, twice, and a few more times.

you sighed, pursing your lips as you tried to formulate what to say to him– or rather how.

when peter saw you struggle, opening your mouth and then closing it, he brushed a thumb against your cheek, “it’s okay, you should take your time.”

you nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand transfer to your cheek as your eyes met. his chocolate brown eyes swam with what you could identify as pure adoration.

“until then…” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss you.

soft at first, it escalated when he brushed his tongue past your lips, quickly finding yours in a slow yet passionate dance. peter pressed you against the mattress, handling the covers to stay over your bodies.

he wasted no time in moving his lips to your neck, hands going to hold your thighs apart as his thumb now brushed against your clothed thigh, kneading gently as his teeth nipped at your collarbone.

you gasped softly, letting him do as he pleased with you. as you held the back of his head with one hand, the soft, brunette sea of hair engulfed your fingers.

peter moved his hands to the hem of your sweatshirt, wasting no time in sliding it up past your chest, careful enough that you weren’t exposed to the coldness of the room. he dived under the quilt, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, the other being knead in the palm of his fingers.

you gasped as peter’s tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, your stomach flush against his torso.

you could feel his lips curl into a smirk before he switched, rolling your sensitive left nipple between his slender fingers as he licked and pulled the right one in his mouth.

you were getting fidgety, squirming under peter as he felt your grip tighten on his locks, not enough to hurt. he moaned against your skin, placing a few kisses right under your breast, moving lower, now seeming in a hurry.

“pete-” you almost pleaded, finding your voice breathy.

his hands travelled under the pair of sweatpants, making quick work of sliding them down as he traced your thighs, down to your knees before you felt the material slide off you.

you lifted the quilt slightly, just wanting to get a glimpse of peter. the few rays of light that touched him weren’t fast enough to warn you as his lips pressed to the wet patch over your panties. you gasped and threw your head back.

you felt peter’s hot breath and the muffled sound of his moan from under the blanket. he pushed your thighs apart, diving deeper as his nose pressed against your clit, the fabric thick enough to make you grit your teeth, wanting his lips and tongue on you.

maybe peter heard the clenching of your teeth or the way that your hand found home in the tufts of his hair again but he was eagerly pushing down the material past your legs throwing it down to the floor.

you felt peter’s forearms lift your thighs as he shuffled closer to your core, licking up a bold stripe across your folds. your back arched but peter’s grip was keeping you against him.

for a moment you heard him groan as he retracted, “what’s wrong?” you breathed out, supporting yourself up on your elbows.

you almost laughed when his hand creeped out from under the quilt, holding his fogged up glasses out for you to take. with a chuckle, you held the frame between your fingers, quickly placing them to the bedside table.

as you laid your back against the bed, peter was quick to wrap his lips around your clit. you let out a moan as he licked and sucked on the bundle of nerves.

he held onto your thighs, keeping you firm against his lips as he explored the very intimate part of you. his tongue darted out, poking at your entrance, but not giving you enough time to notice that as he slid the muscle deeper against your walls.

you moaned, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle the lewdest sound you’ve ever made. the bridge of his nose poked against your clit and peter only pressed deeper as his tongue delved in and out of you. it seemed as if he would see no tomorrow if he stopped making out with your dripping hole.

you arched your back, “pete- oh god-”

you felt him hum against you, sending your jaw drop open as you finally felt the pleasure crash all over your body. your toes curled and eyes rolled to the back of your head. you could swear this was the hardest you’d ever come before as goosebumps covered your arms.

you let out a sigh as peter helped you ride out your high, keeping up his ministrations. finally stopping, he placed a soft kiss over your clit, sending your body flinching at the action.

when peter climbed out from under the blanket, surely he looked like he needed to clean up. his chin dripping with your arousal and forehead all sweaty from being so long under the warm quilt.

“you need to wash your face.” you chuckled, brushing back a few locks of hair that were sticking to his forehead.

“and you need to tell me what’s wrong.” he mumbled and you sat up, adjusting your sweatshirt back down.

“it’s nothing-”

“and don’t you dare say it’s nothing.” he sat up as well, beside you, wiping mouth with the sleeve of his shirt– that thing was going in the washing machine the second this conversation was over.

“it’s… just… exams and stuff. you know how anxious i get.” you sighed.

“i know… but you don’t have to! there’s still a week left before-”

“okay, that may seem like a long time but trust me, it’s not.” you looked up at him, meeting the brown eyes that held concern, “i’m sorry, i… i was just overwhelmed. didn’t feel like talking.” you almost pouted, making peter pull you against his chest as he hugged you. you in turn wrapped your arms around his waist.

“trust me, i know how stressful exams can be. but it’s nothing you haven’t been through before.” he placed a soft kiss against your hair, making you hug him even tighter, “you got this, beautiful.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah. easy for you to say.”

he chuckled, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re like, i don’t know, the smartest guy of our whole generation.” you mumbled against his shoulder.

peter shrugged at that comment, “hey, even i watch youtube videos for help sometimes.”

“yeah, but you grasp every concept so quickly, like you don’t even have to try.” you looked up at him, blinking when you realised how that must have sounded, “...that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“you’re adorable.” peter chuckled, “how about we study together? i’ll make a time table; and don’t worry, it’s not going to be super chaotic, just a simple time table; and we can figure it out together. how’s that sound?”

you smiled at him, feeling your heart swell at the amount of his care, “sounds perfect.”

his smile mirrored yours, “thanks for telling me.”

you gave him a grin.

“now since i told you, can we fuc-”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

masterlist

[vivwritesfics]

"I Know"

Peter Parker has the best girlfriend ever

1.1K

Peter Parker x Reader

I've been MIA for the longest time because the inspo just hasn't been there. But I've gotten away from university for a few days, and this is what came from my peaceful time alone

"I'm so sorry, baby," said Peter. He stood on top of a building, watching a bank robbery happening opposite. A bag full of snacks and two pairs of his favourite pyjamas lay discarded beside him, and Peter made a mental note to pick it up later. The wind was biting, but Peter didn’t care. His attention was split evenly between his girlfriend and the bank robbery.

This was not the first time he had flaked on date night, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He and his girlfriend both knew. But Peter Parker had the most understanding girlfriend in the world.

"It's okay, Pete," she said. Peter could picture her now, snuggled up in her bed, waiting to change into a pair of his pyjamas, with her snack basket filled and her laptop loaded up with a Christmas movie. "Go... save the world."

It wasn't quite saving the world, but she made Peter smile. She always made Peter smile. Y/N was the most understanding person in the world. "I'll be at yours as soon as I can. Don't open the chocolate without me."

After that, Peter had no choice but to hang up. The bank robbery had started to wrap up and Peter had to stop them. He put his phone in his bag, pulled his mask over his face, and swung down to the bank. "You guys have ruined my date night."

“What the fuck?” One of the bank robbers dropped his white bag filled with green notes and swung a bat at Peter.

It was cartoon-y, how these robbers were behaving. The white bags, the notes flying all over the place. Their ski masks weren’t masks at all, but unfolded beanies with the eyeholes cut out. “Wait, can I get a picture? My girlfriend is going to love this.”

***

Y/N’s family loved Peter. Somehow, he’d never been late to dinner with her parents. Either criminals decided to take the day off, to let Peter have his dinner, or for once somebody else was cleaning up the city in his stead.

But not tonight.

“I’ll be maybe ten minutes late,” he said as he swung through the city. His suit was discarded, but his tie was still around his neck.

Y/N had her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she put in a pair of earrings. Dinners like these were a big deal to her parents. The whole family dressed up fancy, all of her sibling’s partners were invited and they had at least three courses. “Pete, babe, it’s fine. I’ll cover you.” And, as she said it, she didn’t sound disappointed at all.

Peter really had the best girlfriend in the world. “Holy shit, I love you,” he said, only just noticing his tie. But it was too late to remove it now. “Please send me the cover story.”

They said their goodbyes (with Y/N begging him to stay safe) and went to do their things. Peter fought the bad guy, managing to keep his rather expensive tie intact. Y/N finished getting dressed for dinner and went downstairs to greet her parents.

Her siblings and their partners were already downstairs, drinks in their hands.

“There she is!” Called her brother as Y/N stepped into the room. He checked his watch and feigned a frown. “Not like that boyfriend of yours to be late, is it?”

With her hands clasped behind her back, Y/N rocked on her heels. “Actually, Peters gonna be late today,” she said, hoping they weren’t going to ask anymore questions.

“That Parker boy is never late,” her father said, “What’s holding him up?”

Before now, Y/N hadn’t thought of an excuse for Peter. She had just hoped they wouldn’t ask, and then he could’ve come up with his own backstory. (Peter had gotten good at that).

“Uhh…His house… caught fire? And his aunt… is in the hospital… with death?” oh yeah no this was not going well. “Oh! And the tire on his bike popped.”

Yes. That was very believable.

But nobody questioned it as Y/N sat beside her sister and her sister’s girlfriend. “He’ll be here soon.”

Her eyes shifted to the floor, which only made everything more believable. She pulled out her phone and sent Peter the cover story, just seconds before the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” She shouted, jumping up.

Racing to the front door, Y/N pulled it open to see Peter stood there, still sorting out his suit. “You are so lucky nobody else answered the door,” she said and buttoned up his shirt correctly. “I sent you over the cover story,” she whispered and kissed his cheek.

Pulling him into the house, Y/N pushed him towards her father. “Hello, Mr L/N! Sorry, I’m late, my tire burst.”

Suddenly, Y/N’s mother came running out of the kitchen. “Peter, my dear!” She shouted and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m so sorry to hear about May and your house. You can stay here for as long as you need!” She cried, running her fingers through her hair. He looked at Y/N with her brows furrowed. ‘Go with it’, she mimed. “How about we all go and visit May as soon as we’re finished with dinner?”

“Oh! Please, Mrs L/N. That’s not necessary.” Peter pulled away from his girlfriend’s mother and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Can I have a word with you upstairs?” He asked her, and Y/N allowed herself to be pulled up to her bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut Y/N was wrapped around him. “I missed you,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Missed me so much you told your family that May was in the hospital?”

“And that your house burnt down,” she said quietly, laying her head on his chest. “I know I said I’d cover for you, but I’m not very good at it, Pete.” Her arms snaked around his middle, sitting beneath his blazer.

Peter’s phone suddenly buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned once he looked at it. “Oh god, what is it?” Asked Y/N, looking up at Peter with wide eyes.

“Baby, I love you but, I’ve got to go. I swear this’ll-”

“It’s okay, Peter, I know.”

Peter kissed her. It was slow, yet oh so intense. One of those kisses that makes you gasp. “I have the best girlfriend in the world.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

you can’t put it in

kinktober, day thirty-one

a/n: happy hornyween halloween! to say goodbye to kinktober, I thought it was fitting to end in the same boat as we started in. enjoy sluts ♡ I love you all so so much ♡

warnings: stepbro!peter parker x reader, smut, stepcest, secret relationship, semipublic sex, bathroom sex, halloween party, pussyjob, dirty talk, corruption kink

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

You properly shouldn’t have had those last few drinks. Maybe if you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have ended up in this position, on the bathroom counter at some Halloween party, with your stepbrother slotted between your wide-spread legs, length freed from his costume and teasing your weeping mess with the tip of it. 

“You can’t put it in,” your form needily shivered as he tapped his weight against your puff, “promise me that you won’t put it in.”  

Maybe if your costume hadn’t been so revealing and his hadn’t hugged his frame so perfectly, then you would have been able to stay away from one another, but something inside of you knew that even if you both wore potato sacks and didn’t indulge in a drop of anything, then you would have still ended up in this exact same predicament. 

“Come on, princess,” Peter tugged down the neckline of your skimpy costume and played with your tits, “you didn’t have a problem with me fucking your throat sore.”

“That’s different and you know it,” you pouted, legs rubbing up against his sides as he continued to tease. Realising his grip on your boob with a playful tap, his hand then drifted down to aid his movements, pinching your petals around him as he fucked your folds, the tip rhythmically nudging against your buzzing clit. 

“Just think about how good it will feel letting me stretch this little pussy all the way out.”

“Peter-”

Eyes glued to your cunt, he ignored your plea and smirked, “maybe you just need to learn a lesson about what happens when you run around being such a fucking tease all the time…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lovelettersforthedamned]

ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️

A Little Reminder

--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

--word count: 1.4k

--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!

love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".

You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help. 

As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you. 

Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”

“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue. 

You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter. 

****

“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you. 

As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby. You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped. 

Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face. 

“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.

He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?” 

“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”

This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried. 

You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.

Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers. 

“You need me to answer that right now?”

“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too. 

Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?” 

He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands. 

Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!” 

Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine. 

He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation. 

As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.” 

Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?” 

You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.

“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed. 

Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked. 

--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333

[jamespottersdaisy]

Dulcet

Peter Parker x fem!reader

in which it's a game

part1| part2| part3| part4| part 5| 11.1 k

a/n: let me know if there are mistakes, more notes at the end &lt;3

Shallow breaths echo around the forlorn silence. He keeps a distance. You endure pain.

He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t want to. He brings you water when you ask and carries you from one room to another. He ensures your pillow is high enough while you eat,and your TV show is amusing enough while you lie. But he doesn’t talk.

You can’t speak, either. You don’t dare. Besides the meek requests and whispered gratitude, your lips fail at words. You want to ask him if he is angry with you and if he hates you as he attends to your wounds. You want to know if he counts the minutes until he leaves you to bed and if he’s been sleeping enough because his eyes are red most of the time. But you can’t speak.

Peter’s hands are shaking as he pressures your wound, his vision blurry, his ears ringing. Mark is dead. Soon, you will be, too, if he doesn’t find a way out of this. 

He needs to think. Fast. He needs to stop crying your name and calm down. He has to get it together, he has to stop trembling, and he has to calm down, and he has to–

He can't breathe, so he takes off his mask. He hates the garment on his hands that prevents his touch. They are shaking as he moves your shirt up to see the wound. Curses echo in your ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I told you not to–” he moves around, estimating the safest way to hold you. “Why didn’t you listen? Why don’t you listen?!”

Your mind is foggy, the ability to move your limbs lost on you. You hear Peter’s complaints and pleas, feel his firm grip on your weak body. 

“Peter…”

“Why? Why?! I told you! I told you to- Why don’t you never listen?!” he holds your hands and brings them on his. “Pressure the wound. Don’t move your hand, you hear me? Just, just- just hold them tight–”

So you do. You put all your strength left into your wound, feeling your hand get wet and red, all while Peter gently places his arms around you, careful not to move you too much. He elevates your legs while carrying you. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to do.

He doesn’t know where to take you.

You listen to the faucet running as your nails dig into your palm. It is lamentable how the only sound ringing in your ears is either water splashing or footsteps thudding when he is around. Heavy words have soared akin to a mountain between you two, one that is painful to climb. The high walls of unspoken cries refuse to crack now that neither of you dares to speak. 

He exits your bathroom, head down, hands wet. You know the routine; he’ll dry his hands with his shirt, pad to your kitchen, and make you a sandwich. He’ll ensure you eat it and then leave to come back late at night to attend to your injury again.

He stops midway to the kitchen and turns around. You watch him enter your room and avoid eye contact with you. He frowns and moves his eyes from one corner of the room to another.

“What is it?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“It’s time for the,” he gesticulates carelessly, and then he nods to your desk as if he found what he was looking for. “the thing that you always watch at five.”

He grabs the remote from your desk and places it next to you. You wish he hadn’t moved his hand so fast before you could touch it. “Thank you.”

He glances at you for the first time in that hour and quickly averts his eyes.

You let him walk away. What can you even say?

“Peter, it hurts.”

“I know, I know, I know, just hold on, trouble, come on,” he prattles, all while holding you in his arms. He doesn’t know if he can swing you in this position, but it is the only solution.

Where was the nearest hospital? He swings around the sky all the time; why did he never pay attention? What was he thinking dragging you into this? Why does his heart sting as your whines pierce his mind?

He shakes his head. 

Standing still is no help to you. He needs to move. Thus, he shoots one web after another, flying with you in his arms, searching for a place that will keep you safe. Safe from danger, safe from hurt, safe from him.

You are clinging to him the hardest you can, eyes closed, face in a frown. He wonders if you feel sick or dizzy. If you do, it is his fault. 

All of this is his fault.

You are bleeding on him, and it is his fault. It should have been him. It should have been him staining your shirt red, not the other way around. This is not how it goes. You are not the one crying from agony. You are not the one in need of saving. You are not the one whom he gets worried over; you are the one that does the worrying.

If not, then it’s his fault.

He thinks of the possible replies to doctors' questions.

You would think the female lead would understand that the boyfriend is lying and that the right person for her is her best friend, but for some reason, she keeps ignoring the poor guy’s pure love. You would also think that Peter would have the same opinion as you.

“He is not stupid. He is in love.”

“Which made him stupid,” he murmurs as his eyes trace the bloody scar on your torso. It’s one of the few sentences he has given you that day. “Sit straight.”

“How is wanting to be near the girl you lo–” 

You sit straight after Peter shoots you a harsh look. He places a pillow behind your back, and you let him slowly take care of your wound. 

“As I was saying,” you start again. This is a mere attempt to have him talk to you more than usual, one that is very uncomfortable for you. “He just wants the girl he loves to be happy.”

“He should leave her alone then,” Peter glances at you when you hiss at the burning sensation of the antiseptic. 

“Why?! She loves him, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

He doesn’t reply, and you know no more words will leave his lips until he is done with his work. Thus, you talk no more, letting silence dawn per usual.

If only one of you broached the subject that’s growing heavier day by day, this could have been easier.

He lays you down on your bed, careful not to wake you up. When you whimper as he does, he curses under his nose. Stepping back, he stares at you for a moment.

He thought he was late.

He thought all the flying in the air had made things worse. He thought your wound would not close, your bleeding would not stop. He thought he’d have to–

Peter feels faint. His limbs are weak, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten all day long. He also hasn’t drank any water, which explains the headache. His body is sore, rightfully so. After getting you to the hospital, he has flown back to his house, changed into something he now realises is wrinkled, and ran back to you as Peter instead of Spiderman.

He drinks your water and nibbles on your bread. He falls to his place by the window and stares at the carpet. 

He knew this day would come. He knew he’d have to wait by your bed, count the seconds, and listen to your heavy breaths. He knew he wouldn’t be able to protect you from harm.

Nothing is new.

Moonlight shines and glazes as Peter watches you sleep.

He has no idea what and how to say when you wake up. He doesn’t know how to act. All he knows is that he will take care of you until you are strong enough to slap him when he leaves.

"I can do it myself," you protest.

"The hell you can," Peter grumbles, face in a grumpy scowl as he grabs your arms. You refuse to lean to him, determined to carry yourself around with as much grace as possible.

By around, I mean the toilet.

It is embarrassing enough that Peter helps you shower; you don’t need him to know your bowel movements.

“How am I supposed to heal if you keep coddling me?” you murmur.

Peter stops in his place, snaps his head towards you. He doesn’t say anything, and yet the look in his eyes is enough words to your heart.

You know you strike a chord each time you mention anything regarding your wound, healing, hurt and pain, but he needs to grow up. He needs to handle this without his emotions, ones that he refuses to communicate. 

You seize the opportunity and enter the bathroom yourself. 

“Call if you need help!” you hear Peter yell behind the closed door. 

“Don’t spy, you creep!”

You hear him step away from the door; he must have really pushed his whole body to hear your movements. 

“It’s not spying,” he calls back. “I was just making sure–”

“Peter!”

“Sorry!” he says, steps fading away. 

It takes time, but you manage to leave the bathroom without a call for help. Bittersweet, that is. A few days ago, you would groan and whine with each movement, trying to stifle yourself so that Peter wouldn’t hear you. As of now, you are slowly gaining your strength back, and the only reminder of the unfortunate incident is the occasional sting and Peter’s distant mannerisms.

“I think I want to make my own sandwich today,” Peter’s back greets you when you enter the kitchen; he’s been going through your fridge in the hopes of ingredients.

"I was gonna make you pasta," he turns around, and you suppress the urge to smile.

He wanted to cook for you.

But again, he's been doing that for some time now.

"Are you hungry?"

When he nods, you slowly walk up to your shelves. Another thing you have noticed is that since Peter has been living in your apartment part-time, your fridge and shelves are full of groceries.

"You shouldn't be walking around," he opens the shelf next to yours.

"I'm sick of lying in bed," you shrug, stretching your hand to take the pasta. 

The sting strikes, almost knocking you over; you shouldn’t have pulled your arm that swiftly. 

Peter hisses your name, “Mule,” he utters before taking down the pasta himself as his other hand rests on your bicep. 

You scowl at him while recovering, “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Peter bends over to find your pan. He’s looking at the wrong places.

“I can handle myself, you know.”

“And I’m Spiderman.”

“You are Spiderman,” you hand him the pan, which he takes without glancing at you.

You notice the subtle curl of his lips and the effort he wasted to hide it. You are doing the exact same; bickering with him has always been fun, even if he is distant and you are injured.

“How about you make yourself useful and sit on a chair?” 

“How’s that any useful?”

“It helps the worrying.”

“I see no reason for worrying.”

“That’s because you are slow,” he turns around once he has put the pasta to cook. You feel his arms around your limbs, firm but gentle not to push your body to its limits, and let him lead you to the chair behind the table.

“You look pretty without being a hindrance,” he says when you sit down.

You don’t think you look pretty at the moment at all. “Mind you, you are the one in my apartment.”

“Preparing you a meal,” he nods and starts making the sauce.  

“One that I’m perfectly capable of making.”

Peter scoffs. “Uh-huh. You as in you who whines every time she moves her arm.”

He finds it amusing that you are willing to banter even in a state like this.

“Oh, I wonder why.”

“Probably because you are so intent on hurting.”

“I am just strong enough to handle it,” you shrug playfully, pretending not to feel his burning stare piercing through your forehead.

You know what he is thinking; you can almost hear his thoughts. You haven't forgotten the fights roaming in your room, his harsh looks and raised voice against your aching body and breathless words. 

He doesn’t remember when the silver hues of the moon abandoned their place for the golden light of the sun to take over. His mind has fled from the grasp of time, running amok with the perilous thoughts between its palm. 

Its games have been played. Deceptions toward self, fear and rage dangling from the ropes it clutched have triumphed in gaining  power over his heart. 

The sound of his heart has been drowned, its echoes only blurring the clarity of the past, staining the white flames of apathy. 

He has made up his mind.

A low whine averts his darkened eyes from his bruised knuckles to your frame on the bed. He slowly rises from the floor, staring at you, gaining consciousness back as the sore muscles and agony of your injury kick in.

It takes time for you to fully focus. 

You are confused, in pain, and uncomfortable. 

Memories of red, blue and black flashing like pictures in your mind, sounds echoing around, but none of them makes sense. Not yet.

You can’t move around. Your eyes look for water and find Peter instead. Maybe he can bring you water.

He’s standing a bit far away.

“Peter,” you say, but your voice doesn’t seem to reach him. Or you. 

You clear your throat as he steps forward, hovering over you beside your bed. “Good. You’re awake,” he nods.

His voice is far, or maybe that’s just the ringing in your head.

“What happened?” you manage to ask. “I need water.”

He turns around and leaves, coming back with a glass of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, attempting to rise from bed. He helps you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. 

Now, they all make sense. The cure and your running. Peter and Mark, the excruciating pain in your bones, Peter’s distressed calls. You remember now.

“Hurt. What happened? Did you cure Mark? What about the–”

“Mark is dead.”

You look up to him, your face in a grimace and your breathing shallow. His face has no indication of feeling. His eyes are shrouded. “You couldn’t cure him?”

“I had to kill him.”

It means the same thing; you know it does. But it doesn’t feel the same.

“What happened after,” you look for the right words. “You know, after I–”

“Almost bled to death?”

He is angry. Not the screaming and yelling one. The silent one. 

“Peter, look,” you try to move up, but the pain arises. “I’m sorry, alright? I know what you said, and I know what I did, and I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again–”

“No, it won’t.”

His tone is curt, and so are his eyes.

You put the water glass away. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. 

“Nothing, really,” he shrugs. “It just won't happen again.”

You don't like how that sounds.

“Peter–”

“You should lay down,” he cuts you off. “Don't tire yourself out.”

This is not right. This is not how you left things. You are too weak to play games.

“What the hell is wrong with you? If you're mad at me, just say so–”

“If I'm mad at you,” his eyebrows shoot up as he scoffs. “If I'm mad at you?”

“That's what I said, yes.”

Your eyes watch him pace around, his face changing with every thought his mind produces.

“You could've died,” he says, mostly to himself.

“I–”

“You could've died there. In my arms, from a wound that I caused,” he turns to you. 

You finally see it.

The anger. Fear. Desperation and exhaustion. All have painted his countenance into something unrecognisable to you. Something strange. Distant.

“You didn't cause anything,” you decide to reason.

“Oh, I did. I did, and I won't ever again because this,” he gestures the distance between you two. “Is not happening again.”

Your heart drops. You don't try to hide the feeling. 

“What are you even saying?”

“What I'm saying is after I make sure you are okay, that you can walk and talk without groaning from pain, I'm not seeing you again.”

No. 

You shake your head, albeit it makes you dizzy. You want to reach out to him, but you are not sure you can stretch your arm without hurting.

“That's not fair,” is all you can say between the pain and hurt. “That's not fair, you can't punish me like this–”

“I'm not punishing you, I'm protecting you because clearly, you can't do that yourself when I'm around.”

You abhor the way he composes himself.

“No, you're punishing me, you're punishing me with your absence, you know damn well it was an accident–”

“Accident or not!” he raises his voice this time. “Accident or not, you could’ve died, alright?! I’m not betting on that again.”

“It is not up to you, Peter! I can die walking on the sidewalk, too!” you match your tone to his regardless of how much it’s agonising. “You can’t protect me all the time!”

“I can try.”

He is not thinking properly. This is not right. You need to make him understand that this is not right. 

“Peter, please, listen to me–”

He shakes his head and takes the glass you’ve put aside. “No, don’t. Don’t, okay? You need to rest. Rest and heal, exhausting yourself won’t do any good.”

Maybe it is not so nice for you to start healing. To start not needing Peter as much as you used to do. 

He can see it. He can see that you are getting back on your feet, and it absolutely terrifies you that he will leave.

You don’t think he’s changed his mind. 

Otherwise, he would talk to you. Not talk to you as if you are a civilian he is responsible for taking care of, but as if you are his friend. Yet, he refuses to. 

“How are you feeling?” He enters the room with bags in his hands. The flex of his biceps under the shirt distracts you, and you wonder if he chose the shirt on purpose, as the weather is far from welcoming this kind of attire.

It’s late; you figure he must’ve come back from nightly patrols, which means he’ll leave to sleep in an hour or so.

That makes one visit a day.

You avert your eyes from him to the laptop screen. “Is that pizza?”

You hope it is; you’ve been too lazy to prepare yourself a proper meal.

“Have you eaten today?” 

He knows you haven’t; he knows you too well after caring for you all this time.

“Coffee?”

He nods with an ‘ah’ to your sheepiness. “No wonder you have a headache.”

You do not want to miss this, him worrying over you in a teasing way. You don’t want to miss him.

“And I’m–”

“And you’re cold, yes, I know,” he puts the pizzas next to you. “Plates?”

“Nah, we can eat without.”

“All right, loafer,” he nods but still heads towards the kitchen.

“I’m sure I said no plates.”

“How many glasses of water have you had today?” his voice echoes from the kitchen, and you start to count in your head.

“Two?”

“So, two glasses of water and coffee, am I right?” he returns with a bottle of water, aiming it at you. 

Your eyes widen at the ominous possibility, your hands already in the air to shield yourself. “Yes, but– hey, DON’T THROW IT!”

He does and you fail at catching it.

“Yeah, you’re a hopeless case,” he nods before taking a slice of the pizza. 

“You need to stop throwing things at me,” you take the bottle from the ground, noticing the absence of pain. You are indeed healing.

“Someone has to train those reflexes, you can’t catch a ball to save your life,” you watch him pick the mushrooms on the pizza and eat them separately.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Not always.”

“I don’t understand!” no matter how hard you’ve tried not to raise your tone, there you are, getting irritated by your own voice.

“What is there to not understand? We’ve been over this for a hundred times by now,” he says calmly. 

He is not wrong. 

No other words have been heard in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s bullshit. Leaving me for my own good. If you don’t want to see me anymore–”

“Nope. No, absolutely not,” he abruptly stands up from the chair, shaking his head. “I’m not playing that game.”

“You can’t make a decision on my behalf!”

Your name leaves his lips in a whisper. 

“I’m tired of this, trouble,” he leans to the counter with a disappointed look on his face. “You know why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

You know. You do know, and yet knowing does not make it any less painful.

“You are a selfish jerk, Parker.”

Your heart beats in your ears as you try not to make it obvious that Peter’s every touch sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ll ever feel his touch again after this, ponder what to say, how to behave to not break the already strained thin string between you.

“It’s healed,” he reclines, dropping his hand to his knees.

It takes all the vigour in you to keep your face still, to not let him know how much you are devastated to hear the words. 

“Thanks to you,” is all you can say, and he leaves it unanswered.

Peter doesn’t think he deserves thanks for anything he has ever done. He watches your dismal eyes and knows he doesn’t even deserve a smile anymore. Especially not from you.

He’s been acting distant to the best of his abilities, breaking your heart into a million pieces, readying you for his decision. 

He hates himself for that.

He absolutely abhors himself for being the reason for your gloomy countenance, broken laugh, and moments spent ruminating on the things he renders no control from you. 

They falter him, placing doubts in his mind, pushing his mind against its limits and his heart down its cliffs. He often finds himself contemplating if this is the right choice. If cutting ties with you will indeed save you from future disasters. If speaking how he actually feels towards you will put you in further danger.

Sometimes, the words push against his lips. They threaten to spill over, to relinquish every hold he has over his heart to you, to divulge all his soul’s secrets to yours.

Then, he remembers.

He remembers the red in his hands. He remembers the echo of your whines in his ears. He remembers the unconscious moans haunting him all night long.

“I better get going,” he stands up, dusting himself off, attempting to remove the image from his mind. 

“Where?” you ask, eyes following him around. 

He doesn’t know how to answer. He can lie and tell that he has things to do. He can avoid any reply.

“Home.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches your smile waver, sees your exertions to hold everything together. 

“This soon?”

“Yeah.” he nods, not noticing his tone lower to match yours.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There it is.

There goes the hope you’ve been holding onto, and he is about to strip you off from it. 

Peter whispers your name and the light in your eyes ebbs. The sofa you’ve been sitting on shrinks, suddenly unable to hold you. You rise from your seat, hoping to be close to him as if it would help.

“Peter, come on, you know this is ridiculous,” you try to reason once more. “Don’t toss this away just because you’re afraid.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” he stares into your eyes. “This has put you into danger so many times that I’ve lost count.”

“Peter–”

“Sweetheart,” he takes a big step towards you, holding you by the arms. “Don't make this any harder than it already is.”

Peter feels a lump in his throat as you shake your head and squirm away from his hold. 

“You have no right, no right to do this,” you say, this time firmer than before. “You can’t decorate your own decision as ‘protecting me’, Peter.”

“My decision is to protect you!” He steps forward, hovering his hands close to your body. 

“I don’t want that!”

Peter tries to calm himself. He knows exploding won’t do any good. He reminds himself that this is a lot more agonising for you than it is for him– he is the one making the decision while you are not allowed any control over it.

“It is not about what you want–”

“Peter, do you even hear yourself?!” your tone raises, and he can feel the anger burning in your veins. Anger from being desperate, from failing to change things, from not being able to have a say in this. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?!”

He knows this is his cue to leave. He can not stay any longer. 

“That’s it, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he looks around to find his jacket. He doesn’t see you run a hand through your hair or hear you mutter curses under your nose. 

You don’t try to persuade him any longer. He is not sure if he is grateful or resentful for that, but he knows you won’t lose further dignity to get a boy to stay.

He takes his jacket, throwing it around his shoulders, and striding to the door. The door creaks open, and he, despite all the protests of his mind, spares you one last look. 

“Take care, trouble.”

“You are a coward, Peter Parker,” you shake your head and dash to your own room, shutting its door. 

He knows you are right.

x

You’ve become bitter. Easily irritated and grumpy. Tired most of the time from overthinking.

You brush your teeth and think this is taking too long. You’ve never noticed how much time you've been putting aside for this.

You sit to study and find your thoughts fled to him. You believe your attention span has declined since the last time you studied. Either that or he has become the only thing you can think of.

You walk to campus and expect to run into him. You never do, and yet, you wait for it. 

In the class, you notice you don’t take notes any more. Instead, you doodle so you don’t stare his way. 

You return home with him in your mind, leave the room with him in your mind, and eat and drink with him in your mind.

And when you get in bed, that’s when the real nightmare begins.

That’s when not only your mind but your heart wreaks havoc as well. 

Your feelings stain the sober thoughts, fogging your brain, deeming you unable to probe the facts. 

Most of the time, it’s rage.

It’s the rage of being deprived of a say. It’s the rage of having all the ropes clutched off your palm. It’s the rage of being tossed aside in the name of love. 

It burns in you. 

It consumes you whole, blinds your senses. Its poison reigns in your veins, conquering your heart over his image. You rally no longer, welcoming the safety it provides.

Sometimes, however, it’s the heartbreak simmering under it. 

It’s whys and ifs haunting your nights. The questions you want to ask him meddle in your mind no matter how well you know their answers will make no change.

You detest the sorrow of it– of losing someone you loved. Someone you love.

You struggle to tolerate it. The moment the tears prickle your eyes, you remind yourself of the rage, sheltering under its wings.

You run, and run, and run to escape the heartbreak’s crushing heft. Some days, you prevail. Some nights, the tears do.

You miss him. 

You miss the evenings that dimmed into nights with him by your side. You miss his weight on your bed when you’ve just washed your sheets. You miss the light things around your home being thrown at you because he wants to train your reflexes. You miss the food he makes you eat.

You miss his laugh echoing around your heart.

You hate him for that. 

You want to slap him across the face for keeping your favourite person away from you. You want to kick him in the stomach for marking every inch of your room with his memory. You want to hit him in the chest for rendering your body yearn for his touch.

You want to make him regret your absence, and you want to drive him crazy while doing it.

You simply don’t know how.

It’s midnight, and he’s not swinging in your room any more. He hasn’t been for a week. You shouldn’t wait.

Just close the damn window.

In the end, Peter is not visiting, and your room is cold.

x

Dusks turn into dawns, each hour a torment inflicted upon you. A day becomes one of the many others, yet he doesn’t become one of the others. 

He is still there, alive and well. 

And away.

Stolen glances are each a sharp knife in your heart. Clandestine yearning pulls you down, drowning you in his memory. 

Nothing happens, but your heart beats as if it intends to abandon your ribcage.

You don’t talk, you don’t banter, you don’t even acknowledge each other.

He passes through you like the wind when you encounter. You don’t look him in the eye when you have a professor putting you two through a painful exercise together. He hides his wounds from you, and you don’t ask about them when you catch a glimpse of the bruises.

People pick on quickly. 

They feel the loss of dynamic between you two in the class. Whispers arise behind your back, as well as the questions before your face. All of them get left without a reply.

“Please drop it, Ash,” you shake your head, sighing in annoyance. Not only in annoyance, but you can’t dwell on the other feelings in public. “Or ask him, not me. I’m tired today.”

“Okay, sorry, honey,” the redhead smiles, helping you with your drinks as you carry the meal to your table. “It’s just he also acts a bit off, you know?”

“He does?” you can’t help but ask as you two sit. 

“Yep, it’s as if he’s not there. It’s not really productive for the project.”

“He must have a lot on his mind,” you say, playing with your food. You should eat it before it gets cold, as the weather is not forgiving these days. Or you simply shouldn't have chosen to sit outside. “Anyways, how’s the project going? We’re struggling a bit.”

“We can do better if Parker gets his shit together,” Ashley frowns, taking a bite from his burger. “Other than that, just the same old–”

A scream soars in the distance. Not a long time passes before it gets accompanied by the gunshot, wicked echoes of instructions. You see the silhouette of the people running around in the hopes of hiding.

You definitely shouldn’t have chosen to sit outside.

You don’t think; holding hands with Ashley, the first thing you do is to leave the table and flee to the inside, and if you are lucky, hide inside the bathroom.

Inside of the building is crowded to its limits, but there’s no turning back. You have to hide; that’s the only thing your mind instructs you to do.

“Ash, quick,” you drag her to the left, running the length of the corridor. If you remember correctly, which hopefully you do, there needs to be stairs.

Your heart beats in your ear, silencing every scream and yell echoing around the building. You don’t feel the push and pull of each person bumping into you, all of them rushing into some other place their mind decided. 

Apparently, most of them indeed trust the building’s bathrooms enough to run there, blocking the stairs. 

“Holy shit!” 

“It’s okay, we can–” You look around to find something and fail to see anything. 

“What about the classrooms?” Ashley asks, and you shake your head frantically.

“Too out in the open.”

“We are out in the open here too!” 

You feel your body shaking in terror, mind operating too swiftly to regulate your breathing. “The other stairs! If we can circle the building–”

“You go,” she lets go of your hand. When you see what she’s doing, you find her boyfriend stretching out his hand towards her. It turns out he has a place for one next to him. “You go and, and, and text me when you get to safety, alright?”

When she leaves, you feel the sheer panic run down your spine. You waver between the two decisions. You wouldn’t think of leaving if only…

If only you weren’t the last person in the crowd pushing each other at the stairs. If they make it to this point, you’ll be the first one to get hurt.

Maybe it’s better if you run and circle the building. You turn around to take off, charge to the other side. 

Instead, a taller figure crashes onto you, holding you by the arms as firmly as possible.

“Stay here! Don’t you dare move!” Peter orders with a stern expression. “You hear me? Stay here!”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance before taking off. Next thing you know, while you try to make your place between the frenzied crowd, a loud crash before the building hurts your ears.

You see Spiderman swinging around, and that is the only thing you see.

He blocked the main entrance by wrecking the billboard against the door.

Which gained you enough time to hide.

Your mind reflects his image only while your body runs for safety. If you look back to those moments, you wouldn’t remember a thing–how you pushed through the crowd in enough time to hide, how the shooting blarings got only closer and closer, how Spiderman’s fight only echoed in the place as descriptions from the girl close to the door.

You hoped he wouldn’t get injured in the process. You wondered if he’d visit in case of an injury or if he already had someone to ask for help. You scolded yourself for creating jealousy in your head in vain when he can be in pain out there.

You don’t know how the time passed.

All you remember is the shake in your legs as you followed the crowd outside after the announcement, according to whom criminals have been disarmed and neutralised. Only then you notice your phone being gone, left forgotten on the table you were dining at an hour ago.

You need your phone back.

If the announcement is true, there shouldn’t be any problem with you going back to the yard.

Checking your surroundings, you decide to make a turn and head in the opposite direction once you’re sure no one has their eyes on you.

You hope no one has touched your purse. Not only your phone but also your wallet and ID card are in there. It would be a big headache if you were to lose them all at once for a bunch of criminals–

“Where you going? Everyone is going that way.”

Your heart skips a beat at first, thinking one of the professors caught you, and then takes the pace after recognising the voice.

You don’t turn back.

“My purse is out there, I’m not letting it get stolen,” you continue walking, hearing Peter’s footsteps following you. “That is if it’s not already stolen.”

His hand grabs your arm and turns you around. “I’ll go get it, you get back to the others.”

“I can get my own purse, Parker, it’s not like there are any other bad guys running around–”

“There is one I haven’t caught yet, they just didn’t mention it in the announcement. Now, will you please get back to the others?”

You frown, forgetting the history with the guy before you. 

“Then why the hell would they want us to expose ourselves? Are they crazy?”

Peter scoffs, letting you go. “They didn’t expose you, they asked for you to gather in the Hall, did you even listen?”

“I must’ve missed that part,” you murmur. “Anyhow, I need my purse. Take care, Parker.”

“No, absolutely not,” he grabs you by the arm once more when you turn around. “You go to the Hall, I’ll find it and bring it to you.”

“Such a gentleman,” you pull your arm from his hold, and walk to catch up to the crowd. 

As you enter the Hall, your eyes look for Ashley or her boyfriend, and it doesn’t take much as there are only a handful of redheads around.

“I thought I told you to text!” she hugs you for a short moment, and you smile at her.

“You had the chance to take your phone?”

“Oh, honey, my phone is always with me.”

Looking around, you focus on people’s faces–distraught, confused, worried, and angry ones. For some, it still doesn’t feel real, for others it was shaking to the core. You still don’t know how you feel; you’ve been through worse. 

Still, it doesn’t mean the worse doesn’t show up in your dreams. It does. It wakes you up in a cold sweat and obliges you to turn the lights on for a few moments. It gets better with time, but again, you’d wish there was nothing to get better in time.

“There you go,” Peter interrupts your thoughts, your belongings in his hand. “Nothing was stolen.”

You take them from him, relief washing over you. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes wandering around your body, checking for an injury. You miss the feeling of his hands on you. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I’m fine.”

He averts his eyes up to yours, and at last, the feeling hits you in the gut. 

Who would’ve thought a pair of brown eyes could drown you to your death? You would laugh at yourself once if I told you your heart would cripple under his brown eyes, your breath would hitch, and your core burns in yearning for him.

And yet, now, there you stand.

Ready to ignite under his touch.

“Right,” he drops his hands. “Nice.”

He nods, like he always does, biting his lips. “Just follow the crowd, alright? Don’t- don’t change the route or something.”

With that, he turns around to leave. 

The feeling sinks back.

He finally acknowledged you when he thought you were in danger. This was the first time after that day that he actually held a conversation with you. 

Suddenly, a lamp lights in your brain. 

You know how to drive him crazy.

x

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to decipher your intention. This is the third time this week– not to mention it’s been ten days he’s been babysitting you from the air– yet you are determined to die.

At least, that’s how it looks from the roof of a skyscraper.

Yes, he is following you. No, he is not stalking you. 

In his defence, you are proving to be more of a challenge than any other criminal he has ever fought; he needs to keep an eye on you.

It was rather confusing at first; how all the bad luck seemed to greet you only. However, later on, the realisation has hit him like  lightning, shedding light on your clandestine intentions.

In the beginning, it started with small clumsiness.

Peter felt the ache hammer his temples as if thorns were prickling against his eyes. He needed to sleep. Three hours were simply not enough for every day of the week.

He would sleep if only the haughty professor giving the lecture would stop scrutinising him the moment his head hit the desk. Thus, there he is, attempting at his best to force his eyes open. 

He stares at the board. Takes in the numbers and denoted letters, notices how none of them mean anything to him. He must’ve stopped listening a long while ago.

He glares at the lecturer. Notes how he glares back and that the green of his eye is extremely vibrant. Wonders if he is indeed human.

He focuses on the lecturer’s lips. Thinks the professor might not be the cleanest person on earth because of the beards surrounding his lips. Decides he is too sleep-deprived for this. 

He looks around. Doesn’t understand how and why his eyes land on you. You look bored as well. And dismal. He’d know; he has looked at you more than anyone else. 

He wonders if you are upset because of him or if something happened in your life that he is not allowed to know any longer. He’d hate to drag you back into the same hell of a place as he did before everything went south. To have your sleep poisoned, your smile broken, and your heart shattered.

He wishes he never agreed to your help; it ended the same way regardless– him without you on his side.

He wonders whether your hair still smells like heaven, whether your phone screen is still cracked, and whether you bought a new kettle for your home. 

He doesn't see the yearning in the brown of his eyes, but he can feel it in his heart. The crave to reach out and touch you. Feel your skin aflame under his touch. He has always, always, felt it, felt you melting under him. It filled his heart with something greater than he was willing to admit.

Losing it– losing you– was the hardest decision he has ever had to make.

He averts his eyes before yours can find them. 

He closes them for a moment– just for a moment– and lays his head on his arms. He will raise it back in a few minutes. He will.

When he does, he realises the lecture has ended, everyone has left, and his spider senses are tingling. 

Almost everyone except you. 

You are on your tiptoes, reaching for a globe almost your own size, dragging it by your fingertips. The black plastic base makes a low screeching sound, and Peter grimaces.

“Stop that, what are you doing?” he asks, standing up and shoving his backpack to his shoulders. 

“I need that,” is all you murmur as you drag the base closer, not minding the fact that the heavier part of the globe is facing you. 

“Let me,” he says as he advances, but before he can approach you, you shoot a nasty glare in his way. 

“I can do it myself,” you say and drag the base swiftly.

The globe falls with your force, aiming at your pretty head, threatening to break it in two. You are too late to protect your skull from it. Peter is not.

A silver web of Spiderman sticks to the sphere and pulls it away from you, right beside your feet. 

You flinch at the sound of the impact, and Peter frowns. “Where’s your head at? Did you really think you could carry that around?”

“I hoped. Is it broken?”

Peter scoffs, almost laughing genuinely, but stops. “Would be surprised if it wasn’t.”

He doesn’t wait for any reply, moving past you to the door. 

Peter didn’t denote any meaning to it. It was an unlucky accident and a lucky coincidence that he was there. He had to admit, he did panic when he saw your frightened face, trying to cover yourself from the blow, but that is how he always felt when something happened to you.

Thus, by the next day, he had forgotten about it. That is until he took notice of the bandage around your dominant hand.

His eyes were narrowed, trying to figure out how you’d managed to harm yourself. There was no way for it to be broken, and yet it was a mystery to him how you managed a gash that deep to be bandaged. 

It was none of his business.

Yes, of course. None of his business. He shouldn’t wonder, as there is absolutely no reason for him to worry. He shouldn’t give in to the urge to walk up to you and question you. Or get mad at you for not being careful like he used to do.

He put distance between you for a reason. 

Albeit you are indeed with an injury, it could have been worse with him around. Or he could have prevented it. You could have been captured, or tormented, or gotten into another accident trying to save him, and even though your hand must have bled again, you are better off, right? You could’ve been—

“What happened to your hand?”

You look up, eyes nonchalant grey and countenance indifferent towards him. He glances at the papers before you, deducing that he must have intervened with your studies. You shouldn’t have studied in the canteen anyway.

“Nothing serious,” you wave off your bandaged hand, which only makes Peter more uneasy. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you injured– no matter how small and insignificant it is.

“You cut it?” his brown eyes never leave yours, and he feels heartburn inside his chest at the sight of you. This might not be the best idea. 

“Yeah.”

You are cold. Distant and indifferent. Unlike the first days, when he’d drown in your sorrow, cursing himself for your every shed tear, and burn to ashes at the sight of you, you now have a nonchalance painting your visage shadowed with a confidence he is not sure where you’re getting from.

“Knife?” he nods. 

Your eyebrows raise, and Peter feels strange in his own skin. What is he doing? He has no right to this.

“Worried much, Parker?”

“Just want to make sure it’s nothing–”

“Nothing serious, that was the first thing I said,” you cut him off. 

Peter feels himself falter. “Alright, that’s-that’s good.”

You nod, lowering your gaze back to the letters and numbers before you.  Peter takes the cue and turns around to leave.

He looks back and sees you smile to yourself.

Going back, all of many things made sense, except that one. He didn’t think you’d be crazy enough to inflict pain upon yourself. 

Peter shakes his head, jumping to another roof to have you in his vision. You are walking out of a coffee shop with a boiling hot one in your hand. He wonders if you’ll somehow manage to spill it and burn yourself again. 

He watches your hair get wet in the rain and knows you deliberately didn’t take an umbrella with you. It is absolutely frustrating.

You are absolutely frustrating.

The birds that are chirping at this time of the year must be a simulation, Peter thinks. Or robots. He remembers the game that had android birds. Although he never understood their purpose, he supposed it was one of the ways to signal the player that twenty years later, androids will–

“Parker!”

Ashley’s call startles him and he turns around. Oh, she has dyed her hair purple. And you are there with her.

“Hey, Ash, what’s up?” he cracks a subtle smile after failing to catch your gaze. You are staring at the hot coffee before you. He thinks it is hot– who would want an iced coffee in winter? Maybe you, he’s not sure.

“Wanna sit with us?”

No, he doesn’t. Not with Ashley around. “Uh, actually, I was just about to leave.”

He wasn’t. He was going to think of the game and its complicated flowchart. Maybe guess how other choices may lead to totally different endings.

“Didn’t you just come?” She raises a brow.

Five minutes doesn’t count as just. “Yeah, for a change of air.”

Peter smiles and gets up from his seat to approach yours. “You ladies need me to bring you something?”

You don’t cast him a glance, toying with your coffee cup. He’d tell you to stop doing that unless you want to burn yourself, but he bites his tongue. It’s not his business.

“You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“No, I won’t. Thanks for the warning, though, Parker,” you continue to do it nonetheless.

Ashley is talking, and yet Peter can’t hear; his eyes are on the cup and the steam that hovers over it. Another blow that is a bit stronger than the one before, you’ll spill it and burn yourself–

Peter sees you hit the cup harder, and in a swift moment, he pushes the cup towards himself in the hope of not burning you. The dark liquid spills over, its steams soaring slowly.

“You alright?” his eyes check for anything wrong like they always do and rest on you when they don’t find any.

“Did you just spill her drink?” Ashley laughs. 

“No–”

“He totally did,” you nod, determinant in your movements.

Peter scowls in confusion, staring into your eyes. You tilt your head in response. You still are so pretty, he realises. He thinks it is not the right time to miss the taste of your lips against his. He never got to kiss you the second time, did he? If the first one even counted as a kiss.

“You owe me a cup of coffee, Parker.”

He watches you leave in perplexity.

As he follows you from the air, the irritating regret fills him for not kissing you the second time, but he shuns the thoughts away. He doesn’t know what this game will result in, how hard the limits will get pushed into the verge of the break, and he certainly doesn't want any new ideas to get to his head now that he sees you frequently.

What goes through your head with your each escapade is still a mystery that he has yet to solve. How you dare to face the most ridiculous circumstances without even a tremble in your hands is a wonder to him. 

How much more any of you is willing to go…that’s another story that Peter can complain about for hours.

His shoulders sulk with his idle steps. Gray stains the weather and his heart. He thinks of Mark. How he had to kill him. How the rage had blinded him, numbing his senses. What worries him sometimes is the fact that he does not regret Mark’s death, unlike all the other criminals who had to die in the battle against him. 

All he could think was you when he was face to face with that man.

He wonders if that makes him a bad one as well. 

He only wants to get back home and sleep. 

He looks around the campus, finding the best route out of all the busy chatterbox students and couples who are about to have sex out in public. 

He recognises your frame a few steps ahead from your backpack. He notices your limping state, frowns, and, without a second, thought approaches you. 

“Why are you limping?”

“I sprained my ankle,” you don’t seem surprised to see him as the reply flows smoothly from your lips. 

“Where?”

“The stairs.”

Peter’s heart stings with every one of your winces as you step on your feet. “Don’t you have a ride home?”

“I sprained my ankle after I turned down the ride.”

He checks his surroundings. “Let me take you to a doctor.”

You shake your head while Peter practically drags your backpack from your shoulders and carries it on his own. “It’s just a sprain.”

“Maybe, but you are walking on it, at least let me swing you home,” he keeps his tone as reserved as possible, not wanting to give away how this situation annoys him.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

How would he know? He is not a doctor. “I don’t know, but I do know it’s not good to walk on it. Don’t insist, come on–”

“Peter,” this is the first time you’re calling him by his first name after everything. “If you weren’t around, I would still walk on my sprained ankle.”

“Yeah, but now that I’m around, let me help you,” his tone changes to irritation, and surprisingly, he knows you enjoy it.

“Oh, no,” you frantically shake your head before wincing again. And yet, a smile climbs up to your lips. Not a happy or a genuine one. One that resembles a smirk. “See, you being around has a big possibility that I’ll end up hurt.”

Peter’s frown deepens as his heart skips a beat. His mind runs amok with many interpretations of your words. “Is this what this is about?”

When you don’t answer, time fills in the gaps. He finally makes sense of every little bad luck. Pieces merge together like a puzzle. 

You’ve been putting yourself in trouble on purpose. 

He doesn’t plan to confront you about it yet. He has some thinking to do. 

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“Don’t torture yourself, let me carry you home,” he ignores the question altogether. 

“I said no.”

He could not change your mind that day, just like you could not change his once. Yet, he did not have the heart to leave you alone unattended. 

Thus, he followed you home from a distance.

From that day on, he's made sure to keep an eye on you. 

Of course, there was no way of always being around you, and yet when he was, he’d have to prevent a disaster, whether from happening or from hurting you.

It was flattering, truly. To know you have placed enough trust in him to put yourself in ridiculous situations. It even drives him to actually not help you once, but his heart just won’t let him.

His night was mostly done; all he needed and wanted to do was idly check around the neighbourhood and make sure everyone was safe. He had a nice night– no big fights, just a few pickpockets and drunk potential dangers. 

On his way home, he decides to pass through your street for the last time just to make sure you are indeed safe.

To his luck, you are not.

At first, he struggles to recognize you from the tiny silhouette and almost passes through you swinging in the air. Something, however, stops him in mid-air. 

His eyes squint under the white cloth of the mask, and he jumps to the ground.

“It’s three in the morning, trouble,” his tone is indifferent, but what he feels is far from indifferent. 

“Didn’t ask for time, Spider,” you don’t cast him a glance, shrinking to your coat instead. He turns around, walking backwards. 

“Only homeless people and criminals wander around alone at this time. Which are you?” 

“Just a girl,” you disregard. “You should leave me alone.”

“It’s not safe,” he shakes his head. “You gotta stop this, sweetheart.”

He can feel the shift in the air around you. Your confident walk wavers only for a second, and yet he notices. 

“Stop what?” you ask, pretending that the name had no effect on you.

“Whatever game it is that you are playing,” Peter stops in his tracks; so do you. “Cut it out. It’s not safe.”

You look at him and shrug. “I can’t take you seriously with that mask.”

He takes it off with a quick movement, tousling his hair in the process. He would pay a heavy sum to know what you were feeling in the moment. He catches the change in your gaze and the quick glimpse at his lips. 

He murmurs your name, “I know why you are doing this.”

“Pray tell.”

“You are trying to prove that you can get hurt without having a Spiderman in your life–”

“You said it, not me.”

“By jumping at every damned opportunity to get hurt,” he finishes the sentence ignoring your interruption. 

When you don’t say anything more, Peter feels the frustration slowly climb up his core. He is tired from worrying about you every day. For a few days, he exhausted his own mind for a glimpse at yours to understand the logic behind all this. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

“How long do you plan on keeping this up?”

To his surprise, you finally look him in the eye. His heart skips a beat. He forces himself not to dwell on how much he misses you. 

“Until you stop the ‘for your own good’ bullshit.”

“Trouble, it was for your own good,” his tone has changed, growing tender now that your eyes rest on him. 

They remind him of the glow he's been admiring for the past months. The laughter echoing in his heart, the light shining in his soul. The heat and desire and lust burning to ashes in his veins.

Maybe it is late. Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Parker,” you stride forward, and Peter hurries after you. He can’t leave this conversation like this.

He has to show you how insane it is to hurt yourself deliberately for his attention.

“Are you seriously that mad? That crazy enough to cut your own hand?” he demands when he catches up to you. 

“When the hell did I cut my own hand?”

You sound truly confused, and he is only a step left to madness. 

“The bandage!”

“Oh, no, it had nothing under it. But it did work, didn’t it?” you laugh, and Peter’s body ignites in so many colours. “Did you really think I would hurt myself for someone?”

“You burned yourself and dropped a globe!”

“No, I didn’t,” you laugh again, and not only Peter feels the desperation mingle with anger, but he also feels the self control slowly slipping between his palms. Ah, that laugh.

“You did–”

“You prevented any of that happening, remember?”

“And you bet on that chance?!”

When you giggle again, Peter’s eyes fall to your lips. He drowns the urge. It is neither the time nor the place. 

“Yeah, I did. You should try the same thing sometimes instead of running like a coward.”

He has no idea what you said. The only thing he can hear is the dulcet tone and the lips singing the tune. Would you slap him if he slammed his lips to yours?

You’d have a right to.

“Trouble–”

“Stop calling me that, Parker,” you beckon with your hand. “And goodnight.”

Peter does not think he is a coward. Not when it comes to being the hero. When it comes to his heart, however, he is not so sure.

All he knows is that the obligation to keep you safe is growing heavy on him. 

Its stress is straining his nerves thin, his feelings elevating the unease further. He can’t handle this any longer, and yet here he is, wanting to make sure you cross the road safely.

Watching you from afar proves to be more difficult than he had guessed initially. 

To have you in sight all the time and yet not be able to hear you, talk to you, or touch you is pushing him to the verge of madness. Your memories start to haunt him, your smile before his eyes, your touch on his skin, and, oh sweet Lord, your lips hovering over his lips.

He curses every interruption ever hindering your lips away. 

The feelings he has buried deep dig their way up to the surface with every strand of your hair wavering in the wind. Every laugh that is not presented to his ears taunts him. Every touch lingers on a skin that isn’t his burdens his chest. 

He feels like he’s going crazy.

Lost in thought, he misses how you don’t check the road before walking. How the cars won’t stop for your sake.

He was afraid that you’d spill your hot coffee and burn yourself. No, you’re going to kill yourself in a car crash.

His heartbeat picks up as he stands up in a second, sticking a web to the roof after jumping off it. The cold breeze would not usually hurt him; thus, he is sure it is the adrenaline that spills cold water down his spine. 

When you enter his vision, so close to a car that’s speeding as if it’s going to fly, he opens his arms and grabs you by the waist.

Your coffee spills on him, burning his skin, yet he clenches his jaw at the pain. 

Swinging over the cars, his ears sting from your screech. He carries himself up by the web and lands on the rooftop.

Leaving your waist empty, he takes off his mask in rage.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he yells. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Your nose is red from the bone-shattering weather, but your smile radiates sunlight enough to warm hearts. “Oh, hey, Parker.”

“No! Don’t ‘hey, Parker’ me, you hear me?! Just-just stop this madness!”

Peter is frantic, which amuses you more. His face is red, and you are certain it is not from the weather. The vein in his neck bulges, but it does nothing to scare you.

“What madness?”

“Stop trying to kill yourself to prove a point, trouble, or you’ll actually die one of these days!”

Your smile widens. Your plan worked. It took a terrifying amount of fear to implement it and much more trust in him to act on it, but in the end, it worked, and you are so close to what you want now.

“I can die any time of any day.”

“Yes, but no,– fuck!” Peter curses roughly. 

You know you just have to push him a little bit more. Make him face his fears. Just a little bit more, and he’ll break. 

“I can jump from this roof, you know, you are practically encouraging me.”

He lets out a frustrated groan. "Alright! Alright! Fine, fine! Stop this! You win," he screams, hands in the air, eyes wide with fear and defeat. "Hell, you're gonna be the death of me!"

“I win?” you ask, eyebrows raised. "So, you’ll stop the 'for your own good' bullshit?"

Peter stays silent for a moment, the only indicator of his distress being his swiftly heaving chest.

Your shoulders sulk at his hesitation. 

If you’ve gone through all the trouble and still failed to change his mind, then maybe it is not worth it. Maybe it was easier for him to endure your absence than it was for you to endure his. Maybe he has already accepted the situation, unlike you, who was simply tolerating it for a change to betide.

Defeat and desperation grow heavy on your shoulders. It carries to your eyes as well. 

You shake your head and turn to leave.

Peter’s hand grabs your wrist before pulling you into his chest. His thumb raises your chin, and before you can react, his lips crash with yours.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. The last breath leaves your lungs as Peter’s hand travels to your waist and lower. This time, you don’t hesitate; you don’t let the shock confuse you.

You kiss him back. 

You welcome his lips over yours, letting your hand touch his soft skin. 

God, you’ve missed it.

It is soft and tender. The reminder of the affection you once had, of the tension you never lost.

It is not enough, and yet, nothing ever made you feel this at peace. 

You draw a sharp breath when he slowly breaks the kiss.

"You owed me one,” he whispers against your lips. You flutter your eyes open, gazing at the brown you’ve missed. 

He parts his lips to talk, "And yes, I will... stop the- the thi–”

You don’t let him. You know what he’s going to say anyway.

You don’t want to hear it. Why would you wish to hear it when you can feel it, taste it?

This time, the kiss is sloppy, hungry, filled with a yearn radiating from your lips to your hearts. It is rough and firm, just like his hands around your waist. You didn’t know there was any distance left between you two, and yet he managed to pull you closer by his hand on your lower back. 

His other hand climbs up your neck, cupping your cheek. 

It was cold outside, and now you are sweating under your coat.

You play with the hair behind his neck and let his tongue between your lips. The deepening kiss feels wrong out in the air, but his body against yours numbs any morals.

You forget frost, the traffic, the spilled coffee.

He forgets the mask, the roof, rain falling onto you.

There is nothing and everything, and both of them are you.

x

“How about you tidy up your place from time to time?”

You step on Peter’s shirt on your way to his bed. 

“This is the tidied-up version,” he lays next to you, a cookie plate in his bed.

“You sure you’re okay with the crumbs?” you involuntarily smile and take one, but instead of biting it, you divide it in half.

“Yeah, it’s seen worse,” Peter watches the crumbs fall to his bed and averts his eye back to you. You look disgusted.

Instead of denying it, he smirks.

“Ew, Peter!”

“Ew yourself, missy. My bed is cleaner than your room.”

“There is a sock,” you point to the corner of his bed. 

“Does it smell?”

“No, but it has a gap,” you laugh and don’t notice Peter staring at your lips. “Can you wear it?”

“Later,” he murmurs before moving you by the chin to face him. You smile against his lips as he kisses you.

Your days have turned into soft touches with him by your side and your nights into lustful kisses with you on his bed. 

You don’t complain. He still drives you mad, pushes your limits with every study you two ever have to do, but he also encourages you, loves you, and on nights like this where it is only you, the serene darkness and him, kisses you like it’s the first time every time.

A slow, almost non-existent moan escapes from you, and he smiles his mocking smile. You let him guide you to your back as he props himself up by his elbow over you. His hand roams your body and reaches the hem of your shirt to travel under it–

“You guys want anything else?” the door cracks open.

“Oh, come on, May!”

okay, this is the final! i'm so so so sorry that it took almost three months, and thank you to every one of you who patiently waited for me &lt;33

i loved writing dulcet, and i hope you loved reading it with me, please let me know what you think of the series and the final.

if you want, buy me a coffee

tags✿ : @starsval @taylorann2013 @miwagila @just-henny @pepsicolacoochie @teddtheweeb @1ts-izzy @simp-sentral @naok-iyuu @hearttjason @itsfloorcry @olivezgalore @wildestestdreams @patis643 @lovelyweepingrebel @thedavax @qwintlimon7 @delwrites @daddyjackfrost @eddieslooneymoonie @msstillinskimorgan @lilmaymayy @tarzinnia @warrenposts @thehappygrungelife @peridotermine @ihearttities @hitoshislut @sassyrizznerd @aheadfullofsteverogers @booksandfairytales-mainblog @marmie-noir @thelonerlover @ttulipwritezz @unicornforscale @gorillaglue23 @inkthgoat @dinovickydzillarex @simp-sentral @miwagila @adiaz-25 @void21 @pingpongfingfong @just-levyy @mommymortuary @kindlover @turningtoclown @xreaderbooksreads @anuncalledbridge @ezzynf @birdsinmywalls @somethingsmart123 @dreamsarecloserwithyou @sincericida @hollandweather

[readerthatreadsss]

Requesting more dom!peter 😮‍💨🥵

𝗔/N: Your request is my command! (especially since I've been searching for more dom!Peter fics myself and have been failing so I might as well do it my damn self!) Also, yeah, it's been a damn long time lmao. I planned to finish up and release this like 4 months ago. Then a whole bunch of bad shit happened and I kinda gave up on writing for a little bit (outside of school cause I need that damn Bachelor's degree) BUT I've slowly started reading again and that bled into me opening up my drafts and finding this and spending some time with it. If you couldn't tell I had a shit ton of fun with this one...so feel free to check my newly updated Masterlist and request guidelines and send me more requests! The more I get, the more I'm gonna force myself to actually write them. (If you already sent one just know I’m working on it I promise)

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗧𝗮𝘀𝗺!𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

(heavily inspired by the song with the same title by Adele.) It came up in my shuffle and when I started listening to the lyrics it was just too perfect.

he's so fucking pretty aghhhh (gif not mine)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tasm!Peter Parker x Vigilante!Fem reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.6k+ (This is my big comeback so I might as well feed yall)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You and Peter have been broken up for about 3 years, but when an impromptu visit to your apartment takes a turn...that may no longer be the case...

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 (𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗡𝗜): SMUT!, lil bit of angst at the end (ex to lovers so ofc), minimal use of y/n, P*rn-with-plot, Reader and Peter are FERAL for each other because of their powers (enhanced senses and all that), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), a lil possessive Peter, oral (r receiving), fingering, praise kink, Peter using his webs to restrain reader (pre-consented ofc), dom!Peter, sub!Reader (bratty at first tho), pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, angel), choking, rough sex, brief spanking, other positions, creampie, etc...

The remaining sunlight of the evening bled through your wide studio apartment windows as you finished folding what was left of your newly washed laundry. The plan for the rest of the evening was simple;

Drink two bottles of wine (knowing that your enhanced metabolism would sober the effects), catch up on a few missing assignments to keep your NYU professors off your ass, then jump into your suit and go patrolling.

It was a familiar routine.

Or at least, it had been...since he left.

Your relationship with him ended during your first year of college. To say it hurt like hell would be an immense understatement.

What hurt the most was the fact that you both gave everything you had to make it work...but long distance can be a bitch.

On that warm Saturday night in May, your ex-boyfriend received a call informing him that he had been accepted into a very prestigious engineering program (with a full-ride scholarship attached) all the way in California.

You applied for the very same program, so you knew just how big of an opportunity it would be. And, in good faith, you pushed him to take the offer.

You both insisted, "we'll make it work," and "we'll video chat and text every day. It'll be fine!"

What a load of horseshit.

It took 6 months for you to both arrive at the conclusion that you couldn't juggle your individual academic loads, your nighttime hero personas, AND a long-distance relationship all at the same time. A three-hour time difference didn't help matters either.

It took a while, but you eventually moved on. You kept your grades up, went on a few dates here and there, and even managed to convince yourself that you were doing fine without him.

Until...

*knock knock knock*

Your head peeked out from the fridge to look where you heard the strong yet hesitant knocks on your front door.

Only a handful of people knew where you lived and you weren't expecting to see any of them today.

Assuming it would be a postal worker or someone along those lines, you swung open the door with a polite smile.

"Hi-"

You felt your voice die in your throat as you locked eyes with the deep brown ones you hadn't seen in three years.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips, barely audible.

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with that awkward grin you knew all too well.

His hair was shorter than the last time you saw him, but from the tight fit of his jacket, you could see that was about the only thing about him that shrunk.

You wanted to actually hit yourself in the head for actually imagining yourself doing many things to his large...meaty...biceps- NO, no, no, no get a grip! a voice of logic sounded in your mind.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there silently sizing him up until he spoke again. "Can I...uh...come in, maybe?"

"Umm...sure," you nervously answered, finally taking note of the small cardboard box he was holding.

As you stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment, his familiar scent invaded your sensitive senses.

"Oh God," you muttered under your breath, knowing that he heard you, yet unaware that your scent had basically the same effect on him as well.

"You alright?" he turned and asked you in concern trying to hide the tightening of his jeans with the box he brought.

You nodded way too fast, promptly putting some distance between yourself and him. He hadn't been there for longer than 5 seconds and he was already having an effect on you.

"How've you been?" he questioned you, scratching his neck and actively avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently repeating every physics law he could remember in his mind to try to quell his growing erection.

It wasn't working very well.

"I've been fine. You?" you quickly spoke, slightly out of breath.

"I-uh-I'm alright," he shook his head with a tight-lipped smile.

He soon found himself just looking at you. It wasn't a blank stare, no, it was the sort of intense look you unintentionally gave someone when trying to commit every single feature to memory as if you weren't certain when you'd get another chance to.

It was a habit of his you noticed a lot when you were dating. And just as it did back then, it sent chills running rampant down your spine. Not to mention your nipples growing obviously hard behind your large shirt with no bra to hide it.

Peter noticed it immediately and fought back a smile, which you glimpsed.

"Why are you here, Peter?" you decided to get down to business before your body betrays you any further.

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before actually coming up with an answer. "I wanted to drop these off," he placed the small box on your kitchen counter.

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "You could have mailed it. Or you could've just dropped it at the door and then left. So why are you really here Peter?" you would have felt worse about your tone if you weren't so bothered.

Why the hell did he feel the need to suddenly show up and make you start feeling things you swore you wouldn't feel for him again?

Peter took a deep breath. "Aunt May called me last week. She's not doing too good. So, I came back to help take care of her."

You felt your stomach sink at his words. While you both dated, May grew to be like a second mother to you. You had no idea she was sick.

"Oh shit Peter-I'm so sorry," you crossed the room to engulf him in a hug, despite your initial reaction to his visit.

Peter immediately accepted your hug and found the anxiety in his body dissipating soon after. Your hugs tended to have that effect on him.

He couldn't stop himself from deeply inhaling and drawing in your hair's familiar scent when he wrapped his hands around your clothed waist.

A few seconds passed before you released each other, with you also savoring the feel of his body against you and the way how your skin lit up with goosebumps though there was a thin layer of clothing separating his hands from you.

"I was just cleaning up my old room at May's and I found some of your stuff so I figured I'd drop by and..."

You nodded in understanding and walked over to where he placed the box.

It was mostly filled with old t-shirts, tools, and gadgets from days when you would sleep over at Peter's or stop by to help each other with school projects.

"Thanks," you sent him a smile as you closed the box.

Your smile warmed Peter's heart. It was actually his second favorite thing about you, after your hugs of course. "Yeah, you're welcome," he smiled back, running his hand through his hair. It was a mess by now, but you still wanted to run your hands through it…or maybe even pull on it-

"Sorting through some of this stuff made me realize how much I...missed you," he said, his tone growing more assured.

Thankfully, you were still facing away from him, not giving him the chance to catch the pained expression that briefly crossed your face.

But you could feel him slowly approaching your frozen figure and found your body silently reacting in ways it shouldn't be, yet again. "Do you miss me?" he asked, his voice heavy.

You held back the urge to scream "Yes!" because admitting that out loud would be taking 3 steps backward.

Admitting that you missed him would be undoing all the work and tears you put into moving on from him and the hopes and dreams you had for a life with him.

Admitting that you missed him would mean giving in to the part of you that thought back to your most intimate moments with him when you touched yourself.

And admitting that you missed him would mean letting him back into the four-cornered box you had locked yourself in for the past 3 years.

But, with every step closer that he took, your resolve disappeared that much faster.

"You okay?" he called for your attention.

Your sharp intake of oxygen brought a tense silence over the room when you turned to face him and realized that he stood close enough for your lips to nearly brush his.

"Peter, I-" you tried to form words, but then you saw his lust-filled brown eyes lower to your lips.

And that was all it took for the last of your self-control to disappear.

"Damn it," you mumbled once you realized what was about to happen.

Before Peter could question your outburst, you found yourself latching onto his jacket lapels and pulling him down to meet your lips.

It took mere milliseconds for Peter to react. After all, he had been thinking about doing this since you swung open the door and looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

His large calloused hands took hold of the sides of your face as you clashed in a heap of teeth and tongue. It was desperate and feverish but it was perfect.

It was a language only you and Peter seemed to master, even now after three years apart.

Your lips moved swiftly against his, eager to taste more and more of him with each passing second. You felt him press his growing bulge flush against you, causing a pathetic whine to involuntarily tumble from your lips and a smirk to find its way onto his.

"I did miss you," you softly spoke, "but we can't do this Peter," the logical part of your brain made an appearance, though you kept peppering his lips with kisses.

As his lips moved to your neck, Peter's hands slid down to your ass where he effortlessly lifted your legs off the ground and up around his waist. The feeling of his hands against the bare skin of your thighs garnered yet another moan from you.

"You don't sound so sure angel," you felt him smirk against your heated skin.

You hadn’t heard that nickname in years yet it sent small chills down your spine for the second time that night.

A mumbled curse slipped your lips when he nipped a particular spot below your ear. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

You soon gathered the strength to pull Peter's hungry lips away from your body, swinging your arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

"We can’t go back from this, you know that right?" you spoke, the both of you panting from the effects of the last minute.

"I don't wanna go back," Peter shook his head, "I wanna fuck you, right here, right now," his lips immediately found yours before his words could fully resonate.

This caught you by surprise which allowed Peter to slip his tongue between your lips.

As his taste continued to flood your senses, you felt yourself grow alarmingly wet.

Peter knew it too because he slowly pulled back and smirked down at you. "I could smell you from the moment I walked in here. Glad to see three years hasn't changed the way your body reacts to me, angel," he accompanied his words with a quick slap to your ass.

His slap and the familiar pet name left you a moaning mess. Just like he knew it would.

A lovely laugh left Peter's mouth before his lips met yours again.

He walked your entangled bodies over to the kitchen counter without breaking the sloppy kiss.

Peter used one hand to blindly clear the counter and place you on it, which sent your box of things flying toward the floor.

Not that either of you cared.

"Too much clothes," you were barely able to say in between kisses.

You followed up by shoving Peter's jacket off his shoulders which fell to your hardwood floors with a thud. He immediately got the message and got rid of his t-shirt as well.

A shameless whimper left your lips at the sight of his very toned muscles. You easily maneuvered Peter's body closer to you and began kissing and sucking his neck and every other available inch of skin just as you had pictured earlier, making sure to leave a few purple bruises in your wake.

“You’re killing me here baby,” Peter harshly swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as you continued to have your way with his chest.

"Wouldn't be a terrible way to die though, right?" you mumbled between lovebites and licks. You felt like an animal in heat but you just couldn't get enough of him, the occasional flex of his muscles with each slither of your tongue and his deep groans only egging you on more.

The taste of his skin alone could've made you cum easily.

But the same could be said for Peter as the feel of your tongue slithering all along his chest had him practically creaming his pants then and there.

Fucking enhanced senses, he cursed inwardly.

“Alright, ease up pretty girl,” he reluctantly grabbed your head, detaching your swollen lips from his body.

“Your turn,” he tugged at the hem of your top.

You quickly pulled off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare top half to him.

He spared no time in cupping your breasts with his eager hands. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbled.

"Me, or my boobs?" you jokingly raised a brow at him.

"Definitely both," he grinned, bringing his mouth down to your tits.

As his tongue made contact with the soft mounds, you loudly moaned and wrapped your fingers in his unruly tangle of hair.

He switched between nipping and sucking on your nipples, in the way he knew you liked, while his free hand pinched and squeezed the other.

"Just like that Peter fuck-" hearing his name fall from your lips drove Peter insane.

His tongue flicked your sensitive nipples harder, and his eager sucking pleased you to no end.

Peter eventually pried himself away from your supple breasts, remembering the other parts of you he wanted to worship, and brought his hands to rest on the sides of your head. Your lips connected once more in a delicate kiss.

Though you knew what lay ahead for the evening, you were both perfectly content with each other's lips at the moment, just enjoying the constant waves of pleasure from the intimate contact.

But it wasn't long before the kiss grew heated and you tried to take control. Peter, however, wasn't giving you a chance.

"I leave for three years and you think you're hot shit, huh," he smirked.

"Why don't you ask the guy I fucked on this counter last week," you retorted, knowingly riling him up.

"Don't say shit like that, it's not funny," he nearly growled as his grip on your ass grew more forceful.

You secured your grip on his hair before pressing a small kiss on the side of his lips. "Gimme a reason to shut up then," you challenged him.

“Trust me, I will,” Peter grabbed your hands from his hair and forced them to your sides. His movements were swift as he laid you flat on your counter and ripped your thong off your body.

There he is, you smiled to yourself. This is the Peter you wanted to fucking ruin you.

You felt his face ghost your drenched opening as he deeply inhaled your scent. "You smell fucking delicious baby," he praised you, his mouth actually watering at the thought of tasting you.

A genuine smile found its way onto your face but morphed into a gasp when Peter teasingly ran his tongue up your sensitive slit.

"You taste even better," he added, using his strong arms to bring your thighs closer to his head. He wanted to tease you but it was getting harder to resist the urge to dive right into your heat like a man starved.

"Holy shit," you all but screamed as he briefly nipped at your swollen clit before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

His grip on your thighs combined with the ministrations of his tongue was pure bliss.

You attempted to slip your hands in his hair once more, but found that they were suddenly held in place against your counter by two of his webs.

Your eyes briefly widened at the feel of the rough, sticky material against your wrists, not having felt it in a few years. Back then, you expressed to Peter your desire to engage in some bondage, but being the daughter of a super soldier, it was clear that no rope or wire would be able to hold you. Peter's webs became the next best choice.

"That's not fair," you pouted, though it melded into a moan as Peter continued to suck and lick between your glistening folds.

The sounds of Peter devouring you resounded through the small apartment.

"I'm close Pete," you whined, your chest heaving in arousal.

Peter decided to focus his tongue on your eager bundle of nerves while he slowly inserted two fingers into your pussy. He instantly curled the digits causing you to briefly squirm at the sudden pressure against your G-spot.

"More," you begged, and Peter delivered, adding another finger inside of you. He immediately sped up his motion inside of you, making sure his fingers gauged that spongy spot to drive you over the edge with each thrust inside of you.

“That feels so fucking good, Peter, oh my God," you loudly moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, calling forth an orgasm with no warning.

You repeatedly bucked against Peter's face as you came, white-hot pleasure filling your veins. Peter locked onto your stare, still skillfully working his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you constantly clenched around his fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ," your legs jerked when Peter dove in and drank every ounce of slick you had to give while still fucking you with his fingers.

With his face now damp of your juices, Peter looked up to meet your blissed-out eyes. "Gimme one more, angel," he placed a soft kiss on your thighs, "I know you can do it for me."

You would do anything to keep Peter's mouth between your legs.

So, you eagerly nodded in response before taking a deep breath in preparation for another onslaught.

You didn't have to wait long.

Peter’s tongue went to work on your glistening hole while his fingers fiddled with your overstimulated clit. And, within minutes, your thighs were trapping Peter's head as an even bigger orgasm rocked you again, the borderline pornographic sounds leaving your lips shooting straight to his hardened cock.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with staying between your legs all night, but you had other plans.

"Pete, I need you inside me," you begged, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes.

He rose from beneath you and climbed up to free your hands from his webs. "I know, baby, I know," he softly replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and using his hands to soothe your reddened wrists. Your own taste on his tongue flooded your senses which made you even more desperate.

Peter obliged, slipping out of his sweatpants and sliding his girth between your folds. He used one hand to hold himself up above you on the counter, and the other to slowly guide his dick into you.

You both shared a long moan as he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, your wetness making it way too easy.

He held still for a few seconds, waiting for you to adjust and give the all clear for him to move.

Eagerness guided your words. “Fuck me, please.”

Peter set a brutal pace, knowing you were more than capable of handling it. Satisfied cries left your chest as you dragged your nails along Peter’s back, hard enough to leave trails.

“You can take it, pretty girl, I know you can,” he groaned as he continued to pound into you, trying desperately not to blow his load with the way you were constantly clenching around him and marking his back.

You tried to reply, but all that you could form were sloppy moans and broken syllables.

“Oh look at you, drunk on my cock already?” he teased with a particularly hard slam that prodded your cervix, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Pleasure-filled cries mingled with words continued to fall from your lips as Peter gently moved a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear with a hand. "-feels so fucking perfect," you muttered, your lips curved into a drunken smile.

Peter reached down and pinched one of your nipples, gaining a loud whimper from you. “I love hearing you make those pretty sounds for me baby,” his strokes grew harder and deeper.

“All for you, Pete, all for you,” you panted as he fucked into you, the delicious smell and sound of sex lingering in the air.

Peter used a hand to wrap around your throat before using the other to reach down and fiddle with your aching clit.

The combination of Peter’s dick hitting that perfect spot, his fingers massaging your clit, and the lack of air from his hand around your neck was making you dizzy and overstimulated.

You fucking loved it.

“God, I missed you,” you spoke breathlessly.

He moved closer to kiss you briefly and tenderly. “I missed you too, baby.”

No amount of time could take away his knowledge on how to please you, how to get you like this with ease, not when you were all he thought about for years on end.

Peter pressed a quick kiss to your forehead then continued to fuck you on your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna cum again baby, right fucking there," you moaned out.

Peter's grip on your neck grew tighter. "Not yet, don't you cum until I tell you to sweetheart," he commanded you, removing his fingers from your clit.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you forced yourself to sustain your orgasm.

"Don't pout," he smirked.

And before you could realize it, Peter had pulled out of you and effortlessly flipped you onto your stomach.

A hand soon gripped your hair, yanking you up against his chest and eliciting a pitiful whine from you.

"Tell me what you want,” Peter commanded, using his free hand to strike your ass. Hard.

You whimpered again at the sting of his slap. “I need you inside me. Please,” you pleaded.

He seized your hair harsher and leaned forward for his lips to graze against your ears. “Beg.”

A small whine left your lips at his words. You were so desperate you didn’t even care how embarrassing this would be in retrospect. “I need to cum, Peter. Please baby you're the only one who can make me cum.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your neck, nearly causing you to lose your footing. And he soon complied by ramming himself back into you.

“Oh my Fuck-“ you cried before biting your lip, suddenly aware that you had neighbors.

But Peter pulled his cock from your heat, with just the tip remaining, before roughly slamming into you, his hips slamming against your ass with the motion. “Come on, lemme hear you angel.”

He repeated the action, knocking the air out of your chest, “Peter!” your hands gripped the sides of your counter with such force you were sure you felt it crack under your grasp.

Peter caught wind of this and freed your hair before using his hands to pull your hands behind your back. "You're so perfect baby," he mumbled in your ear, continuing to brutally fuck you from behind, "So fucking beautiful with my cock inside you."

"I can't hold it anymore," you cried, "I need to cum, Peter, please."

With that whiny tone and those overstimulated tears to top it off, Peter couldn't deny you any longer. "Let it all out for me sweetheart. Cum for me," he littered your shoulders with kisses.

Your eyes slammed shut as your walls contracted around his cock, pleasure shooting through you and rocking you on a seemingly cellular level. Your mouth opened in a silent moan, unable to form a sound from the satisfied tremors attacking your nerves. The intensity of your finish is one only brought on when Peter fucked you and it was damn near cosmic.

"Shit," you groaned in relief, your long-awaited climax passing.

Peter slowed his movements inside of you and released your hands. "You did so good for me angel," he pushed your hair aside and kissed your neck, trying to stave off his own orgasm for a little while longer.

Aftershocks rocked your body while Peter continued sporadically moving inside of you, yet you couldn't get enough. Your body was more than ready to keep taking whatever he dished out.

Peter didn't need to read your mind to see that, but he needed to make sure. His lips kept up their onslaught on your neck as he softly spoke, "You wanna keep going?"

"Hell yes," you panted with a grin that he couldn't fully see, "You still haven't cum yet, and my bed is still fully made."

Happy with your response, Peter gave your ass a sharp smack. "That's my girl."

He pulled out of you and turned your body to face him, smiling at the sight of your fucked out face. "Three orgasms and a handful of tears later and you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," he held you by the sides of your face.

His words left you reeling, causing a slight blush to dust your cheeks and butterflies to swirl within your stomach.

Before you could form a response, Peter leaned down to kiss you. He soon hoisted up your legs around his waist, preparing to escort you to your bed as per your own demands.

As he looked around for the bed's location, you took advantage of his momentary distraction and latched your lips onto his neck, reapplying the bruises you left there that were slowly fading already.

Peter was the happiest man on earth as he walked over to your bed, his cock prodding your soaked entrance, and your lips ravaging his neck.

He carefully sat on the edge of your bed, with you now on his lap and your legs still around him. You expected him to ease his length back into you but he slowly brought your head down to meet his intense stare.

You carefully wrapped your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself up, the silence in the room growing deafening.

You could tell from his eyes that he desperately wanted to say something, and you wondered if it was the same thing you had been considering as well.

But you were both aware of what saying those words would mean for your broken relationship and simply settled for smiles instead.

Peter brought a hand up to lay your forehead against his, allowing your breathing to momentarily sync.

"You ready for me?" he questioned you with a hand at the nape of your neck to hold your head against his.

You immediately nodded in response causing his own head to shake in time with yours. A small laugh was shared between you both as your nose continued to brush his own.

"You're adorable," you said before you could stop yourself.

That stupid full-toothed grin that you hadn't seen in a while soon spread across his beautiful face at your words, gaining another laugh from you.

"Last round?” you eventually pleaded with a smile.

"Anything for you," Peter replied, meaning it in every way. Adoration littered his stare as he slowly lowered you onto his length.

A satisfied mewl slipped your lips at the familiar feel of him.

The slow drag of his cock in and out of you, while he rocked your hips back and forth to grind on him, had your bottom lip sucked between your teeth with eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure.

But Peter wanted to see it all. He wrapped a hand around your neck and forced you to meet his dilated eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

His soft yet stern tone caused you to swallow back a moan as you continued to move on his girth.

He then slapped your ass with his free hand, silently urging you to move faster.

You leaned down and quickly kissed his lips before happily obliging, now beginning to bounce in his lap, chasing your next climax.

“There you go angel, just like that,” Peter’s stare never wavered.

Peter furiously fucked up into you, your moans and the constant smack of skin on skin filling the apartment.

His other hand which never left your throat now squeezed it harder. “Fuck!” You were barely able to moan out as your breasts bounced with your every move.

“Shit, you’re gripping me like a vice,” Peter groaned, his crude pace never faltering though his orgasm was closer than ever.

Your bed creaked under the onslaught of your bodies, but neither of you payed it any attention only having one goal in mind.

“One more time,” Peter planted his feet on the ground to get a better angle, "Need you to cum on my cock one more time."

But from the broken pacing of his hips to the strong furrow of his brow, you could tell he was close too. “Together?” You breathlessly suggested, grasping the nape of his neck with your hands.

Peter nodded in agreement before engulfing your chest and back with his arms, pulling you closer to his body.

Your breaths mingled, eyes focused on nothing except each other as his grip on your upper body allowed him to help you ride him even faster.

"Yes, Pete, oh my God-" pleas, curses, and moans tumbled from your lips as your skin buzzed at your incoming release.

"There you go, cum for me," Peter's voice grew strangled as his hips stuttered below you.

"Fuck," you wailed, your finish hitting you like a freight train and your pussy leaking into Peter's length.

The intense clench of your walls around him was all it took for Peter to explode with a groan, his pace faltering with that final pump.

"Holy shit baby," he panted, his cum painting your walls in spurts.

His firm hold on your body brought you collapsing on your bed together, satisfied and smiling.

And, for what felt like hours, you lay there in his arms. But of course, your thoughts began to run rampant.

Peter could damn near hear your thoughts spiraling.

"I don't regret this," he suddenly broke the silence you had elapsed into, "Do you?"

"Peter I-...I don't know," you freed yourself from his hold and sat up to look at him.

His brows furrowed at your response, hurt briefly flashing across his features.

"I loved you," you spoke, "I loved you more than anything."

"I know. I loved you too," Peter nodded with a small smile.

"And I will never blame you for leaving. Ever," you slipped a hand in his own and squeezed briefly.

"But?"

Your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall. "What happened to us, it damn near destroyed me, Peter. And it took so so long to put myself back together."

Peter swallowed harshly at your words.

"And then here you come, waltzing in here, fucking my brains out and making me feel things," you lowered your head, looking away from him.

You heard Peter move closer to you before feeling him lift your chin to face him again. His expression wasn't as disappointed as you'd expected, just confused. "Spit it out. I know you're holding something back."

"Why'd you come back here and-and do all this? Reminding me of what we had when you know you're gonna be gone again in the next few weeks?" you felt your voice shrink to a broken whisper.

Peter used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that fell from your eye, his previously puzzled look now morphing into a smirk. There was obviously something he wasn't telling you.

You sniffled and lightly hit Peter's shoulder. "Well, now it's your turn bug face, spit out whatever you're hiding!"

You received no answer other than Peter leaning forward and pressing a deep kiss against your lips. You eagerly accepted and returned the spontaneous action but were left even more confused when he pulled away.

"That wasn't an answer," you arched a brow at Peter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm moving back to New York, or already moved, technically," he began to explain.

Your mouth opened and closed in shock as your brain fumbled for a response and came up inconclusive.

"I'm gonna finish out the school year online and stay here to take care of Aunt May. I mean it, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he grinned, watching tears of joy fall from your eyes.

"This better not be some sick fucking joke Peter, I swear to God," you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Can you shut up and just come here?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you obliged and grabbed Peter's neck before pulling him in for another kiss, your face still wet from tears and a smile almost permanently etched onto your face.

You pulled away but sank into his open arms. You relished how securely he held you. "I'm so happy," you said aloud, truly meaning it for the first time in a long time, though it was only meant to be an inner thought.

Peter kissed your forehead and looked down to meet your eyes, "I'll never stop making you happy, Y/N."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

[reysdriver]

Bondage | P.P.

Day 2 of Kinktober: Bondage — peter x fem!reader smut

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI - smut, inappropriate use of Spider-Man webs, fingering, oral (female receiving), mentions of hair pulling

words: 0.6k

“Is that too tight?” Peter asked you from across the room, from where he had just webbed your hands to the top of your bed frame. 

“No.” You responded honestly. “It’s perfect.”

He started making his way over to the bed, then paused once he sat next to you. “So you’re sure?”

You sighed. “Of course.”

“And you remember what to do if you want me to stop?”

“Yes, Peter.” You sounded exasperated, because you were. Peter’s always been too nice for his own good, it was why he became Spider-Man. But now, his big heart was getting in the way of your sexual experimentation and it was tiring. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, I just worry a lot. I love you.” 

“I know you do, that’s why I want to do this with you.”

You both smiled at each other, and he dove in to kiss you. He did it slowly and sweetly, which you knew was because he didn’t want to be too rough with you. That would change with enough convincing, but you just kissed him back the same for now. 

As you two kept making out, Peter’s hands moved farther and farther down your sundress. Even though you had been planning this for a few nights, you were just in normal clothes because despite Peter being a genius at most things, you didn’t quite trust him to figure out lingerie with your hands tied up. 

As his fingers reached the hem of your dress, he hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear. Then, he pulled his lips off of yours and looked up at you. 

“Still ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “I mean, I don’t know how I’ll fare without being able to pull on your hair, but…”

“Well, you could replace the hair pulling with something else. Maybe you could be as loud as you want now that I don’t live with Aunt May anymore.”

You smirked as he pulled your panties off of you. “I think I will try that.”

He slowly slid his middle finger over your slit. “You’re already wet.” He commented.

“For you? Always.”

He smiled, then leaned down again to press a little kiss to your clit. It started out short and sweet, then he kept going, heated and sloppy. You let out a moan, which encouraged him to keep going. His mouth movements kept getting more intense, and your breaths got heavier. 

With enough reaction from you, Peter made the moment ever spicier by fitting a slender finger inside of you. 

You made another sound, the lewdness of which rivalled only by the sound Peter’s finger made when pumping his finger inside of you. He added another, and it just felt even better. 

“You’re still doing okay, babe?” He asked to confirm. 

“So good, Pete.” You replied breathily. “I’m almost there.” 

He smiled, then brought his mouth back to your heat to guide you to your climax. He kept going in the way he knew was your favourite, and even though you couldn’t tug on his brown hair like you usually did, you motivated him by moaning as loudly as you could without your neighbours hearing. 

And there it was, you felt yourself release around his fingers. You let out a string of whimpers as Peter kept softly kissing your core. 

“Did you like that?” He asked quietly, moving his face out from between your legs. 

“Yeah. Did you?”

“I still like when you pull on my hair when we do that.”

[psithurista]

approach shift - epilogue

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 2.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: PIV (protected), sneaky little non-descriptive pegging reference, disGUSting fluff

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: I'll keep it quick: I'm so sorry this took so long, but I just wasn't quite ready to finish it off haha. It's been two years almost to the day since I started writing this (and they've been fucking crazy years) so it feels very strange saying goodbye to these adorable losers. I once again can't even start to express how happy it's made me seeing your reactions to this fic, and I'm endlessly grateful to everyone who took the time to leave a comment or reach out to say hi. I hope you like this last sweet little snippet! x

series masterlist

SIX MONTHS LATER

“We need to get up,” you say, making no move to do so.

He turns his face from where it’s smushed into the pillow to speak, his eyes still closed. “You first.”

You groan. 

You have no idea what time it is, and your phone is out of reach, but the light through the curtains is blinding like near-noon and Bear’s supposed to be here at 10 to pick you up, so you’re almost definitely cutting it fine.

“Peter.” Your legs are tangled with his, his thigh between yours. He huffs morning breath sleepily into your face in response, reaching a hand out to pat your cheek. 

“Shh.” He shifts, pressing his thigh harder between your legs, skin sticky on skin. You know he’s doing it on purpose; he knows exactly where he’s pressing you. You make a quiet, satisfied noise, then pull away regretfully. 

“Bear’s gonna be here soon and you need to be dressed. She’ll freak if she has to see your ass again.” 

“Mmm. Yeah. I’m up.”

You sit up, and the slow weight of his arm slides off your waist. The bedroom door is open to the living room where you can see the debris left over from your at-home date the night before: the bowl still on the couch with a handful of unpopped kernels still rattling in the bottom, the fairy lights web-stuck across the ceiling still glowing gently and the blown-out candles stuck in pastel wax puddles to the coffee table you’d rescued from the curb a few weeks after moving in together. It’d been unbearably funny watching Peter’s elaborate performance of pretending to struggle under the weight of it on the way back home.

He drags himself out of bed, and you hear the coffee machine gurgling while you start pulling out clothes.

It’s hot and stuffy; the air’s stopped working again sometime in the night, so you screech the window open and prop the broom handle under the frame to keep it there. It’s a precarious solution—more than once, the window’s fallen shut while you’ve been at work, forcing Peter to awkwardly perform a frantic outfit change behind the dumpster in the alley so he doesn’t run the risk of running into one of your neighbours in the elevator. But the rent’s affordable for a pair of research scientists with a dash of supplementary freelance photography cash on the side, and the occasional bags of free food from a grateful shop owner after a thwarted hold-up.

“Should we call about the air?” you wonder out loud through the open door.

 “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be quicker if I just get up on the roof and fix it again myself,” Peter says, his voice stretching out into a yawn halfway through. He appears in the bathroom doorway, still naked, two mugs in his hands. 

You gasp in appreciation as he passes one to you. “God, I love you,” you murmur, taking a sip.

He grins dazedly at you in the mirror, his cheeks flushed. “Is that all it takes, huh? A crappy cup of coffee?”

You turn and slide the mug onto the counter so you can wrap your arms around his waist. “No. You’re cute, too. That helps.”

He kisses you, his thumb and index finger framing your chin. “M’not cute,” he says against your lips, leaning his too-warm body along yours. “M’intimidating as hell. Ask anybody.”

You’d only gotten as far as underwear before he’d interrupted you dressing, and it already feels like there’s far too much in the way between you. “You’re gonna make me late,” you say, reaching down to dig your fingers into the taut swell of his ass. “Gotta get ready.”

“Okay, so keep getting ready,” he says, mouthing at your neck. “You’re the one groping me.”

He’s right; now you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. You press your hands to the small of his back, drawing him closer. You can feel his cock beginning to harden where his body is pressed against yours, and his tongue comes out to touch at your pulse. He makes a tiny noise in his throat as you slip one hand down between your bodies to wrap loosely around his rapidly-growing erection.

You stroke him once, gently, and he huffs. “I don’t see how this is helping,” he says. 

You hum your response, your resolve melting away as he strokes the back of his knuckles down your spine, making you shiver. “Maybe…” you say.

He ducks his head to kiss first one breast, then the other, your nipples standing hard and sensitive. “Maybe?” he prompts. His fingers brush your hip, coming around to rest just below your navel.

“Maybe, if we’re quick…” you say, biting your lip, pushing your hips upward to try to encourage his hand lower.


“Babe, I can be so quick,” he says, half-groan, half-laughter. He thumbs your labia, spreading you open just a little, so he can touch your clit. “Too quick, even, if you want. Some would say it’s a talent.”

You grin at him, letting go of his cock. “Bed. Now.”

He swings you up into his arms so fast your head spins, practically flinging you onto the bed. 

You sprawl out in front of him, your arms thrown back as he peels your underwear off. “Holy shit,” he says, running his hands down your sides, staring at the expanse of your body. His jaw is slack with longing, and the sight of his adoration never fails to make fresh heat flood your face, even after seeing him staring at you like this so many times.

He kneels down over you, sucking two fingers into his mouth as he does. You hitch your knees up to give him a better angle, and he gently presses a firm thigh between your legs. “How do you wanna…?”

“Condom,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair, making his eyes roll closed with pleasure. “No mess.”

He holds your lower lip gently between his teeth, and slowly pushes his two slick fingers inside you. You shift your hips up, and he withdraws them both again, using the slip of your arousal to work against your clit. He kneels up a little, so he can palm your breast with his other hand as he bends down to lick the inside of your thighs.

“Oh,” you breathe. His fingers stop circling to push back inside you, just as his tongue works a hot, messy kiss over your clit. You grab handfuls of his hair to try to keep up with the pace he’s setting, but the feeling of your fingers against his scalp only makes him work faster, a weak groan vibrating down through his tongue.

He bends his head lower, so he can lick around where your wetness has started to gather on his knuckles as he keeps pumping leisurely, in and out. It’s so wet you can both hear it, and he works faster, angling his fingers higher, until you’re writhing.

“Peter…come on, please,” you beg, yanking hard at his hair. 

It works to break his concentration, and he scrambles up, leaning down sideways so he can dig around in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. It’s filled with an assorted mix of toys and, stashed further back, Peter’s wrist canisters. The logic had been that anybody who broke into your apartment would be too freaked out by the toys to keep looking in the drawer, but it also meant Peter had to dig through a dizzying array of plugs and lube every time he went out.

You turn your head to the side and see the wistful way he glances at your strap-on, and you click your tongue. “We’re in a hurry, remember? Later.”

“Mmm. I’ll hold you to that,” he says, kissing you again as he rolls the condom smoothly over his cock.

He leans back, propping a pillow under your hips to give himself more leverage. As he sinks inside you, you hold your breath, letting it out slowly.

He groans above you, easing just a millimeter out and then back in, like he can’t help himself. It feels devastatingly good; he’s thick and beautifully hard right against where you need him, and thanks to his mouth, you’re wet enough that you’re ready for him to start moving immediately.  

You hook your ankles together behind his back to pull him in deeper, and he sinks home, fully seated balls-deep inside. You clench your muscles, just to feel as much of him as you can, and he grinds his hips against yours. 

You can feel the tension in his limbs as he draws back and starts to move. You’ll never, ever get sick of how he feels inside you, you think, your mouth open. He’s fucking you so good; his strokes long and firm and perfect.

He cups your ass with his hand to lift your hips even further, shifting the angle once again, and your breath stutters sharply in your throat as the head of his cock catches your g-spot.

“That’s it, right?” he murmurs, his voice wrecked. “Right there? That’s it, babe, c’mon, show me, I wanna see…”

You can’t even respond, your fingers gripping his biceps like his body is your only lifeline. It’s so good, and you’re getting so close, you just need…

“Fuck,” you gasp, high-pitched and panicked as you come, hard and blinding. 

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, chasing down his own release as you clench and melt around him. It only takes a few more moments before his cock jerks inside you and he curses, collapsing the hot weight of his body on yours.

You pant together, sweaty and spent. His cheek is crushed to yours, and he turns his face just enough to kiss any part of you he can reach—the top of your shoulder, your forehead, the tip of your ear.

When you manage to drag your eyes open, you find his huge doe-brown eyes already looking at you. “Good?” he whispers, kissing your shoulder again.

You smile at him, feeling drunk and dizzy. “So good,” you tell him.

You’re still wrapped up in each other like idiots when he jolts hard as though startled. You’re confused for about half a second, before the buzzer from downstairs goes off. 

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, scrambling out of bed.

“You get ready,” Peter says, somehow already dragging on a pair of sweatpants. The speed and dexterity with which he’s able to dress never ceases to amaze you. “I’ll stall.”

You’re stepping out of the fastest shower of your life when you hear the squeaky door to your apartment opening.

“Hey, Bear,” Peter’s voice says.

“Hey, Parker. Your shirt’s inside-out,” she says. 

You lean the naked top half of your body around the bathroom door to wave at her. “Hey, sorry, I just got out of the shower. I need like, three minutes to get dressed.”

She clicks her tongue, but doesn’t look overly annoyed as she flops onto the couch. “It’s hot as shit in here,” she says cheerfully, swinging her feet up onto your coffee table. 

You can hear her and Peter chatting as you hurriedly get ready; he asks her about Krista, she asks him about his aunt. Unsurprisingly, Bear and May had hit it off in a huge way at your birthday after May had excitedly demanded to know everything about the play Bear was auditioning for.

You give yourself a quick once-over to make sure you look presentable before you duck out into the living room. Peter and Bear have moved onto once again arguing about music; Peter’s on Blur’s side, Bear’s on Oasis’. 

You give them both a sideways look. “I’m not getting involved in this,” you say, checking to make sure your keys are in your bag. “But I’m just saying, in a real fight, Liam Gallagher would kick Damon Albarn’s ass any day of the week.” Peter grins at you from behind the counter, where he’s attempting to clean the disaster left in the kitchen from dinner last night.

“Oh, my God,” Bear says, looking you up and down. “Why do you look so worked up? Were you guys just fucking? Like right now?”

 Peter can’t turn away fast enough to conceal his snort, and you make a face at her. “It’s called caffeine. Come on, we’ll be late.”

Peter waves at her. “Say hi to Krista.”

“You should come with us, next time you get a night off work,” Bear says, helping herself to a stick of gum from the packet on the bench.

“Bye,” you say, leaning in to wrap your arms around Peter’s waist. “Be careful,” you add quietly, leaning up to kiss him.

He grins. “Always am.” He kisses you back, slow and gentle, before letting you go.

Bear shakes her head. “You guys are so gross. Later, Parker.”

Peter trails you to the door so he can close it behind you. Bear’s a few feet ahead of you, and you don’t mean to linger, but you can’t help but look back one last time as you go.

Peter’s leaning in the door, a dish rag over his shoulder. His hair’s chaotic from where you’d run your fingers through it, and his cheeks are still a little pink with warmth. 

As you watch, his eyes crease at the corners. “Love you,” he mouths, too quiet for Bear to hear. He still has the cutlery in his hands he’d been drying before you walked out; two knives, two forks. 

You can feel your face splitting into a smile you’re sure must be even goofier than his. You hold his gaze, and as Bear drags you away, you’re missing him already.

[parkerpeter24]

We need the date with pool instructor!Peter Parker

since you asked in bold-

pairing ➳ swim instructor!peter parker x reader

warnings ➳ slightly nsfw towards the end. making out and regular date stuff.

masterlist

“what have you got there?” you pointed behind his back but it was clearly evident that he was hiding a bouquet of flowers.

he finally brought it in between the two of you, standing at your doorstep, “i didn’t know which ones you like, so i got some of the most popular ones.” he chuckled nervously, handing you the mosaic of flowers.

you admired the roses, lilies, orchids and tulips, smiling wide as you took the bouquet from his hands, “i love them.”

you and peter had hung around the pool earlier in the morning but he told you that he wanted to take you out on a proper first date. so he suggested dinner and the boy was not even a second late.

as soon as the clock struck 7, he was there at your door, knocking and handing you these flowers.

the two of you made your way to the place he’d chosen for dinner, telling you about how it was his favorite place and the reason behind it.

“this was my uncle’s favorite place too.” you could tell by the way he smiled, so reminiscent, that it was a distant memory of his.

“it sounds great already.” you smiled, linking your arm with his as you walked, the place being just two blocks away from your place and all, “do you have a favorite?”

“oh, the chocolate truffle there is to die for!” you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his remark.

“so do you suggest we have that for dinner?”

“um, duh.”

dinner couldn’t have gone better. in fact, at one point you concluded it was the best dinner of your life. you got to know peter so much better. he was so much more than just the hot swimmer you knew from community pool who had once held onto your waist to teach you kicking. he was so much different from than any man you’ve ever met. so much better.

he told you about his school life and even though he didn’t highlight much, you could tell he was very good at everything he did. you got to know about his passion for science and that he was an assistant teacher of chemistry at esu just a year ago.

“how did i even score a date with you.” you wondered out loud, making him laugh.

he shrugged, “i’m honestly wondering the same thing.” you caught a hue of pink over his cheeks as he leaned forward, “it feels like i’ve been the only one talking all this time.”

“i don’t mind.” you flashed him a smile.

“no! you should tell me more about you.” he insisted.

and so you did. you told him about your likes and dislikes, about your favorite music and foods, about your only best friend who was there for you through thick and thin, about the good birthdays and the bad ones, about small things that you recalled from the past. and peter listened throughout, making you laugh with his reactions every once in a while.

“you were right. those were some good truffles.” you sighed.

the two of you found yourselves walking back to your place as the night wind drifted past you, making your hair flow with it. peter’s hand was in yours now as you leaned more towards him.

“told you.” he smirked, “i can never go wrong with a good dessert. that’s my superpower.” he chuckled.

“you seem to have a lot of them.” you smirked right back at him, watching as his face suddenly morphed into confusion.

“n-no. just the one, actually... that’s all i got.” you thought you were getting better at reading the brunette but his nervous laugh confused you a little.

“i meant to say that you’re really good in swimming, and you’re kind of smart at an inhumane level from what i heard, so...” you trailed off, letting out a chuckle to ease the situation a little more.

“oh.” he let out a breath of air, “right.”

in less than a minute, the two of you were climbing the strairs of your apartment building. your apartment was just on the second floor, thus, you opted for them.

after leaving you to your door, peter stood with his arms behind his back, right where he had been about two hours ago. the night seemed to have ended way too soon but you didn’t know if it was okay to invite him in.

“can you-”

“could i-”

both of you decided to speak at the same time, making the other one stop suddenly.

“you go.” peter chuckled softly.

“would you... would you like to stay? for a while, you know.” you gave him a small shrug, “we could watch a movie or...”

there was a slight pause as his eyes trailed over your lips as they moved. he responded with a nod of his head.

and in the blink of an eye you were pushing open your door, just to drag him along you inside the place by the collar of his flannel. his lips were on yours and hands placed on either side of your waist– this time for a better purpose. you just hoped your place wasn’t as big of a mess but your thoughts blurred as his frame pushed you against the wooden door, it making a sound as it locked in place.

peter’s hands were doing all the good things, setting your skin on fire as they trailed down to your hips, pulling your legs to wrap around his slim waist. your arms snaked around his shoulders as you tilted your head, only deepening the kiss that you started.

his teeth bit onto your lower lip and his tongue followed to soothe the blissful ache. you parted your lips further, tangling your tongue with his. a battle of tongues, only for peter to back off and let you take control. you both knew he was way too stronger than you.

your hand ran down the length of his arm, feeling the taut muscles of his biceps before. a slight squeeze from your hand as you wrapped it around his wrist and peter knew what to do.

he pulled you along with him, gracefully carrying you with him as he tried to find his way to your bedroom.

you pointed at the room in one of the corner and peter followed suit as your lips attached to the skin of his jaw. you trailed small kisses along his jawline, until they weren’t small anymore. you bit onto his skin, soothing the bite with your tongue just like peter had done earlier.

peter was quick to wrap his right arm around you, supporting you up as his left hand got busy with opening your bedroom door, walking inside before he kicked the door shut.

it was more than safe to say that the truffle wasn’t the best thing you were having tonight.

[writingdumpster]

patience

pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, p in v, voyeurism (male), orgasm denial, bondage (webs), daddy! kink, fingering, praise, dacryphilia

summary: pure porn. went off with the dialogue i think. Peter ties you up and leaves you to watch while he takes care of himself.

word count: 2.1k

“Please, Peter.” 

Peter had you webbed to the bed like a starfish. Your ankles were bound to the posts at the foot of the bed and your wrists to the headboard. You had a few pillows behind you so you were able to watch as Peter continued to move his fingers against your clit.

“Are you about to come?” Peter asked. You moaned incoherently. Peter slapped your thigh. “I said, are you about to come?” 

“Yes! Please, Peter! Please, please, please, please,” you repeated desperately. He had already stolen your orgasm from you twice. You would have said anything to keep his hands on you. Peter didn’t care. He pulled his hands away. You wailed in agony, back arching away from the mattress as you tried to chase after Peter’s touch. “No, no! Please, no,” you whined.

“Patience, baby.” Peter stepped back and looked down at you from the foot of the bed. You cried out in disapproval and stared up at him longingly. 

“Peter,” you whimpered. Your body convulsed, in shock from the denial. 

“Get comfortable, kitten. I think I’m going to take care of myself for a little bit,” Peter said. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Your pussy was clenching wildly around nothing. 

“Peter, please, I need to come!” You cried. 

“You’re going to wait, sweetheart.” Peter’s voice was steady and warm. Peter took his boxers off. He grabbed the chair at your vanity and pulled it to the foot of your bed. He sat down on the chair with his legs spread open lazily. His eyes were raking up and down your body. 

“Peter,” you whimpered. “What are you doing?” You asked. Peter took his cock in his hand. You watched as he spread the precum leaking out around the red tip of his cock. 

“I’m taking care of myself,” Peter said. 

“Peter, I need you!” You shouted, tears falling from your eyes. Your body was still convulsing, feeling the aftershocks of all the edging. Peter began slowly stroking up and down his long, thick cock. 

“Need me? You’ve had me, baby. For almost an hour.” His voice was sweet. He was trying to seem innocent despite the cruelty he was showing you. 

“But I need to come, Peter,” You whined. Your eyes were puffy from your tears. You had a pout decorating your lips as you continued to cry. Your body was burning with need. You were pulling at the webs around your wrists, wanting to touch yourself if Peter wouldn’t. 

“Even if I touch you I’m not going to let you come yet, sweetheart,” he said. He pulled his hand off his cock and spit on it. He made a few more strokes, but stopped. 

“Peter, it hurts!” You cried. 

“Where’s the lube?” Peter asked, standing and going through his bedside drawer. You let out a childish whine when Peter ignored your complaints. Peter went over to your drawer, searching it for the lube as well. 

“Please touch me,” you whimpered desperately. Peter walked over to the dresser and looked around. “I need you so bad, Pete.”

“I can’t find it,” Peter said, continuing to ignore your pleas. 

“Peter,” you sniffled helplessly. “Please.” Peter looked over at you and smirked. He walked back towards you. You tried to straighten yourself up, hoping that he was going to touch you again. He leaned over the foot of the bed and reached towards your cunt. He ran his fingers through your opening, collecting your wetness on his hand. You moaned wildly. 

“Thank you,” you gushed. Peter let out a dry laugh. He leaned away and started to sit back down on the chair. “Peter, what are you doing?” You asked in a panic. Peter rubbed your cum from his hand onto his cock. 

“Couldn’t find the lube,” he said. He started stroking himself again. You whined in protest. 

“Please,” you cried. “Please, I need more.”  Your eyes were locked on Peter. He was a beautiful sight. His hair was fluffy in a way that made him cute. You would’ve been tempted to call it adorable but as your eyes kept moving down to see his naked body ‘adorable’ didn’t seem like the right word anymore. He looked like he was cut from marble, his toned abs tensing as he stroked himself. His cock was hard in his hand and it made your mouth water. 

“You need more? You’ve had so much, and I’ve just been waiting, baby. Does that seem fair?” Peter asked as he continued to stroke himself. You shook your head. 

“No,” you whimpered. “But you could fuck me,” you said. Peter chuckled. 

“We’ll get to that, baby,” he said.

“Please,” you begged again. “I need you so bad.” 

“I can see that pretty little pussy throbbing from here, kitten,” Peter called to you. You let out a little whimper. You knew he was right. You could feel your pulse between your legs. 

“She needs you, Peter,” you said. 

“Of course she does, she’s mine,” he said. Peter started stroking himself faster. He moaned quietly and threw his head back in pleasure. 

“You don’t want to leave your pussy waiting anymore then do you, Petey?” You asked sweetly. Peter tilted his head in thought as he continued to stroke himself. 

“Tell me what she wants,” he demanded. 

“She wants you to make her come,” you told him. 

“And how does she want me to do that?” He asked. 

“With your cock, Peter. She wants you to fuck her,” you said. Peter smirked as he saw your cunt throbbing faster. You were writhing against the bed. He moved his hand to the tip of his cock, squeezing at the head as he stroked.

“How does she want me to fuck her?” He asked. 

“Deep, Peter. She wants you to fill her all the way up, over and over again,” you told him. You continued pulling at the webs restraining you. Peter groaned as his hand slid around his thick cock. “She wants your cum,” you said. You felt like a whore, telling Peter about your pussy so graphically, but somehow you loved it. 

“She does, huh?” Peter asked with a smirk. You nodded. 

“Uh-huh,” you hummed at him. “She needs it so bad. She needs you to mark her up. Claim her as yours.” Peter stood at once and kicked the chair away. 

“You’re filthy,” Peter spat. He climbed onto the bed and settled between your legs. He planted a hand beside your head to steady himself. He took his cock in his other hand and lined it up with your slit. 

“Please,” you whimpered quietly, burning with anticipation. Peter slid into you in one stroke. You were wetter than you’d ever been before and your cunt made the most lewd squelching sound you had ever heard. 

“Fuuck, baby,” Peter groaned as he felt your warmth envelop him. You moaned loudly, ecstatic that you were being given attention again. 

“Thank you, Peter,” you gushed. 

“This is where you belong, kitten. Wrapped around my cock,” Peter cooed down at you. 

“Yeah, Pete. I was made to be yours,” you moaned. Peter started deep and slow at first, the same way he always did. That’s not what you wanted though. You started to thrust your hips up against Peter to try and get a faster rhythm. Peter grabbed your hip with one hand and pushed you down against the mattress, pinning you down firmly. He kept himself buried in you, but stilled his hips. 

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He asked. His voice was soft and sweet, but you felt embarrassed to answer. 

“Trying to go faster,” you admitted shyly. 

“Why didn’t you ask me, baby?” He nudged his nose against yours so you had to meet his eye. 

“I thought you would say ‘no,’ daddy,” you told him. Peter chuckled darkly. He knew what you were doing. He loved when you called him daddy, and you knew it. You used it as your weapon against him when he was teasing you. 

“Well, why don’t you ask me?” He pushed. You smiled hopefully. 

“Will you please fuck me faster, daddy?” You begged.

“Not yet, kitten. Not yet.” He kept his hand on your hips but started to slowly move his hips again, rolling them as he moved. The tip of his cock rubbed against the special spot inside you that only Peter had ever been able to find. 

“Ooooooh, Peterrr!” You screamed. You thrust your hips upwards, but Peter was plenty strong enough to keep you in place. 

“Right there? Is that the spot?” Peter taunted. 

“Yes, Peter! Please! Harder! Faster! Anything!” You pleaded helplessly. Tears were streaming down your face as you cried out for him. Peter seemed to sense that you were nearing the end of your rope. He moved his hand from your hip to your cheek, pushing the sweaty hairs away from your face and cupping your cheek in his hand. 

“Shh. Shh,” Peter hushed you. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he cooed. Your chest was heaving. 

“Please,” you whimpered quietly. 

“I heard you, baby,” Peter cooed. “I’ll give you whatever you want now. I’ve had my fun.” You hummed happily. 

“Kiss?” You requested sweetly. Peter smirked.

“You’re precious, y’know that?” He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You mewled as he kissed you, basking in the soft affection he was giving you. You sighed in satisfaction as he leaned away. 

“What do you want next, baby?” He asked.

“To come,” you whimpered. Peter smiled. He ran his finger down your cheek. 

“Do you care how, sweetheart?” You shook your head.

“Uh-uh. Just want you to make me come,” you pleaded. Peter nodded. He started moving his hips again, finding the spot that made you fall apart with ease. Peter sped up his movements, pushing you further towards your orgasm. You were clenching uncontrollably around Peter’s cock. He let out a broken gasp when you tightened down on him during a particularly deep thrust. 

“Fuck, y/n,” Peter groaned. You whined at the sound of your name on his lips. He reached down between your bodies to push his thumb over your clit. He started rubbing it back and forth furiously while hammering into you. He was losing his composure, on the brink of his own orgasm when you screamed out in pleasure. 

“Oh my god, Peter!” You wailed. As soon as Peter knew you were coming he let himself go as well. 

“Unngh, shit, kitten,” Peter groaned as he emptied himself into you. His cum filled you up. You felt the warmth filling your womb and you moaned blissfully. He grunted as he caught his breath. 

“Thank you, Peter,” you whispered. Peter laughed softly. 

“You’re so sweet.” He leaned down and kissed you. He gently pulled out of you, pulling a tiny whimper from you at the emptiness. He carefully climbed off the bed, going to remove the webs from your wrists and ankles. He disposed of them quickly and then scooped you up, cradling you in his arms on your bed. You rubbed your cheek against his chest like a kitten seeking attention–the habit that had earned you your nickname. 

“You alright, love?” Peter whispered against your hair. He kissed the crown of your head. Peter’s hand was gently rubbing up and down your thigh, your legs thrown across his lap. 

“I’m okay,” you said.

“Not too much, kitten?” He asked. 

“No, Pete. It was good,” you said.

“You did really good for me, baby. You’re always such a good girl,” he told you. You smiled. 

“I like being good for you, Peter,” you gushed. “Always want to be your good girl.”

“You are, sweetheart. Always good,” Peter said. You cuddled into his chest, your arms snaking around his neck. You yawned and closed your eyes. Peter had tired you out. He laid down, pulling you against his body. 

“I love you, Peter,” you whispered as you drifted off to sleep. Peter smiled to himself. He kissed your forehead. 

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered. Peter stayed awake, reveling in the feeling of you against his body. He adored you in every way. He would take any moment he had with you to focus solely on you. Even when you weren’t with him his mind was on you. You were unavoidable for him. Whether in his mind or in his arms, he always wanted you there. When he did finally drift off to sleep you were in his dreams too.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Hi. I was wondering if you could do something where Peter and reader are secretly dating and one day they're in the readers room and they're making out and vision phases through the wall and vision tells Wanda and Wanda tells Nat and Nat tells everyone, it takes place in avengers compound. Thanks

a/n: oh my god YES

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“You know, I had a dream about you last night,” you purred between pecks as you rolled your hips needily down against Peter’s lap.

“Oh yeah?” he began to nip his way down the column of your neck, “what was I doing?”

“Well,” your eyes fluttered shut as his sloppy efforts surely bloomed a few lavender marks along your throat, “I was there… and you were there… and you did this thing with your webs–, oh! That feels so good,” you whimpered before a different voice entirely suddenly emanated within the room.

“Your presence is required downstairs for a meeting in ten minutes–”

“Oh my god, Vision!” you shrieked before curling in and hiding in the crook of Peter’s neck, “get out!”

“You’re to be there as well, Y/n.”

“Alright, great,” Peter breathed tensely, “can you leave now?”

To which Vision complied, phasing back through the wall just as you hastily added, “and please don’t tell anyone what you just saw!” though when the shape of him vanished completely and the room was filled with your shared heavy exhales, your gaze met Peter’s as you uttered, “he’s gonna tell everyone, isn’t he?”

“Hm,” he leaned back in and stole a quick peck, “probably.”

“So much for trying to keep our relationship on the down low...”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lovelettersforthedamned]

peter with glasses is so fineeeee like I wanna ride the everliving shit out of him and suck him dry till he can’t function 😍- 🎀

did you just inspire me to write this???

yes, yes you did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

So, So Mean

✮ tasm!peter parker x f!reader

✮ word count: 0.9k

✮ warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, kissing, cum eating, unprotected p in v (be safe or else), oral (m receiving), edging, overstimulation, fluff, sub!peter, reader is kinda mean SORRY, peter is vocal:).

not my gif

The air surrounding you and Peter was uncomfortably thick, but you two didn’t care. As Peter is sprawled out on the bed, while you’re bouncing on his cock on top of him, the stuffiness of the room is the last thing on both of your minds. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been riding him, but your legs started feeling like jello as you kept your rhythm. Looking down at your boyfriend underneath you, he’s entranced by you. He can’t help but place his hands on your hips, firmly squeezing and pulling the flesh there. His eyes give him away. Peter’s gaze stuck on your tits as they moved along with the tempo of your movements. 

Behind his eyes is nothing but love for you. He’s utterly obsessed with you, and you know it. 

“Does this feel good baby,” you lean down to meet his lips in a deep kiss before pulling away, remaining just inches away from his face, “do I make you feel good?” 

Peter takes a moment before responding, trying to catch his breath and knocking out of his trance before opening his mouth, “Y–Yes, baby.” 

Your movements pause at his response, his cock half in you as you sit back up on your knees, a smug look on your face. Planting your hands on his bare chest, you lift yourself off of his cock, eliciting a deliciously pathetic whine to escape from Peter’s lips. 

You don’t say anything as you sit on your knees in between his legs. You could tell he was so close as you pulled off of him. A vein on the underside of his shaft was extremely prominent, and his tip a deep red. You almost felt bad for him, almost. 

Situating yourself, you press a delicate kiss to the slit of his head, a shiver running through his spine as you did. “Oh, Peter,” you place kisses down to the base of his cock before sticking your tongue out to retrace your path back up to his tip, “ I know you can do better than that.” You bring a hand to his cock, holding it right below his tip as you run your thumb along his slit, “So, I’ll ask again. Do I make you feel good, baby?”

Peter takes another deep breath as you continue to tease his slit, a bead of precum leaking out, “Yes, baby. You make me feel so–so good.”

This brings a smile onto your face, “There we go! That wasn’t so hard, was it Petey?” You don’t let him respond as you take his entire cock into your mouth. His thighs tense at the sudden stimulation. You take your time with him. You never want to rush this, especially when he looks this good under you. 

His eyes are closed, one hand holding the side of your face, and the other gripping the sheets. He’s not going to last much longer, but still, you don’t let up. You continue to work your tongue along the underside of him, while your hand pumps the rest of his length. 

Peter’s moans start to grow louder as he reaches his high. His voice echoes off the walls, sending a wave of heat to your core. You hollow out your cheeks, and this sends him over the edge. Peter’s stomach tenses as ropes of his cum spill into your mouth, his eyes screwed shut. Polling all of it on your tongue, you spit it back onto his cock. The sensation made him open his eyes, his glasses lopsided on his nose. “Bug, what are you doin–,” he’s cut off by you placing your mouth around him again. 

He’s so sensitive, his body trying to squirm out of your touch. You know that if Peter really was too overstimulated, he could easily push you off, but he doesn’t. He ultimately relaxes under you as you keep sucking his cock. You don’t stop until you pull another orgasm out of him, this time you swallow his cum. 

Releasing him with a pop, you crawl over his exhausted frame. He's removed his glasses, placing them somewhere on the bed. One hand draped over his eyes, as he pants, trying to catch his breath. As soon as your face meets his, you peel his arm away from his face. Opening his eyes, he met yours. “God, sweetheart…You have no idea what you do to me,” he grins.

Lowering your face, you plant a sloppy kiss on his lips, making sure he can taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth. You try to pull away, but he holds your face, keeping you within his grasp. 

Peter finally lets you go, only for him to pull you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around your bare back. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. “We should probably get up soon. We need to get to Harry’s housewarming, and we definitely need to shower,” you lift your head to find Peter half asleep. 

You try to pry yourself away from his tight grasp, but he doesn’t let you move an inch. “Can we just–stay here for a minute? I’m tired,” he mumbles. You roll your eyes playfully as you give in, melting back into his chest. 

You swore it was just a few minutes, but after waking yourself up, you realize that maybe you could miss Harry’s party.  And as you look over to the clock on your bedside table, you would buy him something as an apology for missing it entirely.

[morwap]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑—𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟏𝟎

fwb!dom!Peter, villain!sub!reader, f!fingering

your arms were webbed together behind you, webs were all over your back and shoulders and went up to the ceiling, webs were on the back of your knees and they went up to the ceiling as well.

you could barely move and were stuck with your legs spread and your body above the ground but this was what you wanted, what you came here for. Your suit was tight on your skin and the way the webs tied you up made it even tighter, your hands tried to pull at the sticky webbing that tied your arms together as you waited for peter to come out of the darkness.

You heard the soft footsteps coming closer, peter finally coming into the light.

“Well look at you, caught in my web huh?” peter quipped, getting closer to you and tilting his head.

“Whoops” you sighed, your cunt starting to throb as you wished he would just touch you and skip all the banter but peter liked banter so you would have to endure it for now.

“Starting to think you’re doing all these bad things just to get my attention,” Peter said, placing his hands on his hips and tsk’d. You were, which maybe you playfully roll your eyes.

“Maybe i am” you whispered and peter got closer and between your legs.

“You know maybe if you stopped being bad and stopped doing this we could get dinner sometime,” he said, his hand coming to the inside of your thigh. You laughed now.

“What would people do without the news of you saving the day every time i do something bad?” you teased. fake pouting and giving him some major puppy dog eyes.

He laughed and nodded slightly. “I think i know what you want” he whispered.

“Im pretty sure you’re correct too,” you said. Peters's hands when to the seam in your suit that was along your cunt, ripping apart the fabric which you could worry about later. His finger rubbed up and down your slit over your panties.

Your breathing hitched as he touched you, from his rubbing and your wetness there formed a visible wet spot.

“Are the webs too tight?” peter asked, his tone serious and he didn't even look up at you.

“No” you panted. This time he looked up at you.

“You sure? promise?” he asked. He was rubbing on your clit in cute little circles.

“Promise,” you said. He moved your panties to the side, the cool air hitting you made you clench and it made peter laugh. His middle finger stopped at your entrance, pushing in with ease. He rubbed your clit with his thumb.

tag: @bunnyweasley23 @b-aobao

[readerthatreadsss]

Flipping The Script~(TASM! Peter Parker)

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker X Fem! reader

Summary: You’ve been in a relationship with Peter for a while, and throughout that time, you’ve always been the more dominant one in the bedroom. But, one night, Peter comes up with a few interesting ideas. And with that sloppy grin on his face, you couldn’t help but give in and hand over the reigns for a night.

Warning: 18+ FILTHY SMUT, unprotected sex (remember to wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), rough sex, swearing, basically porn with a splash of plot, light spanking, hair pulling, choking (barely), throat fucking, oral (m and r recieving), face fucking, face riding, dom!Peter (kinda), sub!reader (kinda), creampie, praise kink, Pet names (only pretty girl, pretty boy, sweetheart, and baby), small bit of fluff at the end.

Word count: 3k+

A/N: Hello! This is my first official post, just to give you guys an idea of what my writing’s like since im not really used to the writing style on here cause I’ve been writing on Wattpad for the past few years. So please let me know how I did. Hope you enjoy it cause it honestly turned out better than I expected it to. I will also be taking requests from now on! (Check my pinned post to see which characters i take requests for)

DO NOT COPY MY WORK! AND MINORS DNI!

It was a normal Saturday night. Peter had just finished patrolling and you just got home from work.

After showering and changing into more comfortable clothes, you and Peter were cuddled up in bed, light kisses passing between you occasionally...until Peter briefly zoned out.

Spotting the dazed look in his brown eyes, you lightly tapped his cheeks with your hands. “Pete?” you called out, effectively snapping him out of his daze.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, turning his head down to look at you.

“You kinda left for a minute there. What’s on your mind?” you cooed as your fingers continued to caress his clean shaven cheeks.

“Nothing...I, uh, I kinda had an idea?” he answered.

You raised a brow in intrigue as a small smile crossed your features. “An idea? What kind of an idea?” you questioned as you allowed one of your hands to slowly trail down his neck and naked chest.

“I think you- ahem- know what kind of idea,” Peter said, his ears growing red from the way your fingers were touching his abdomen.

Being spiderman meant that Peter’s senses were on high alert 24/7, which meant that every brush of your fingertips drove him crazy. It’s one of the reasons why you love touching him so much. And possibly why he always let you.

“Hmm, sounds interesting,” you chirped.

His lips slipped into a smile as he shuffled closer to you and wrapped both his hands around your waist. “Pick a number between 1 and 40,″ he said.

Your brows furrowed in confusion from the unusual demand. “That doesn't sound very sexy if I’m being quite honest, Pete,” you giggled.

He rolled his eyes as his fingers slipped under your t-shirt and crawled up your sides, leaving a burning trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Please? For me?” he pleaded as he presented that charming full teeth grin of his, knowing that it would soften you up.

You sighed dramatically, staring into his beautifully brown eyes. “Fine,” you gave in, “Ummm...how about...39?”

You watched as Peter pursed his lips briefly in thought.

Before you could utter another syllable, you felt Peter tighten his grip on your sides before flipping you onto your stomach, gaining a surprised yelp from your lips. As you tried to get used to the abrupt change in position, you felt Peter grip a heap of your hair before pulling on it roughly. You panted as he held your back tightly against his chest, still maintaining his grip on your hair.

You couldn't stop the moan that befell your lips as he used one hand to rip your shirt from your chest, leaving your breasts available to him.

You were never the submissive type, but Peter’s sudden change in attitude already had your panties soaking, which you were sure he could smell.

“You okay, pretty girl?” he whispered, his cool breath fanning against your ears.

Chills ran down your spine from the nickname. You nodded confidently regardless of the foreign blush that had found its way onto your cheeks. “I am so much fucking better than okay,” you spoke, slowly grinding your lower half against the growing bulge in Peter’s sweatpants.

He caught onto your movements and abruptly put a stop to it by gripping your waist with his free hand. “You’re gonna count for me,” he began, temporarily releasing your hair to most likely undress himself.

“Count what?” you cluelessly asked.

The harsh ripping sound of your pajama shorts and panties was the next sound you heard before feeling Peter harshly thrust into you, his thick cock sending a wave of pleasure and delicious pain through you at the same time.

“Holy fuck!” you moaned at the sudden intrusion, feeling your boyfriend bottom out inside of you.

His hands came to wrap around your neck as he roughly pulled you up against his bare chest. “What did I say? I want you to use those pretty fucking lips and count for me,” he demanded before shoving your head down into the mattress.

Peter fully pulled out of you before shoving his dick back inside of your dripping pussy.

“One,” you choked out, swallowing back a scream.

He pulled out of you and slammed back in, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in your shared bedroom.

“Two,” you moaned.

Seeing that you were getting the idea of his game, Peter decided to pick up the pace.

He quickly found an angle that worked for him and repeatedly slammed into you, pressing your head into your sheets. “Three, four, five, si- FUCK!” you eventually gave up counting when Peter hit a specific spot in your cervix. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

But your words soon stopped short when Peter fully pulled his cock out of you. Before you could turn and ask what the hell he was doing, you felt a stinging on your ass as a loud slap resounded in the air.

Peter Parker, the same man that has called you mommy on numerous occasions, spanked you...and you fucking loved it.

He grabbed each of your ankles and flipped you onto your back, his advanced strength coming in very handy. “I didn’t say you could stop counting,” he huskily whispered as he hovered over you, his very erect cock prodding your stomach.

Peter soon lined up his cock with your entrance and thrust himself into your tight cunt again, not yet moving inside your warmth. “You will count every thrust and if you stop counting or cum before we get to 39, then I will punish you,” while he spoke, Peter looked into your eyes and searched for any hint of apprehension. He only found lust, excitement, and love, telling him that you were more than okay with what he was doing.

Your eyes sparkled at the mention of punishment. “What are you gonna do to me?” you smirked, “Spank me?”

Peter grabbed each of your wrists and pressed them against the headboard of your bed. “No, I'm gonna hold you against this headboard and fuck those pretty lips with my cock until you’re a drooling, slobbering mess.”

Your thighs involuntarily clenched at his words. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby,” you cooed as you leaned up and pressed a sloppy kiss against his lips.

You could tell from his pursed swollen lips and his dilated eyes that your stolen kiss had him nearly ready to submit to you again, but he quickly grabbed a hold of himself and focused back on the task at hand.

Peter slowly removed his cock from your pussy, erupting a whine from your chest, only to flip you back onto your stomach with Peter taking up his previous position inside of you.

“Peter!” you loudly moaned, not caring who heard.

One of his large hands pulled you up to your knees, while the other came around your chest and squeezed one of your breasts. “Lemme hear you count, baby.”

“FUCK- seven!” you moaned in a strangled tone, your walls clenching around Peter’s familiar length.

Within seconds, his hands had found their way back to your hair again and he grabbed as much as he could in his large fists. Peter continued to roughly thrust in and out of you, and you continued to count, slurring your words more and more with each thrust. The feel of Peter pounding inside of you and the sting of his grip on your hair was nearly becoming overwhelming. There was no way you were gonna last much longer.

You were now at 21 and you could feel the need for release rising in your stomach. “Twenty tw-Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you yelled, tears springing from the corners of your eyes from the force Peter was using to fuck you.

He then reached around one hand and pressed it against your soaking clit, gaining a scream of pleasure from you in the middle of your counting. “You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he lowly groaned in your ears.

Peter picked up his pace, as you struggled to keep up your counting while keeping a hold on your impending orgasm.

“Keep taking my fucking cock, pretty girl, you’re doing so good,” he praised you, slowly rubbing his fingers against your aching clit. 

The sounds of his hips slapping against your ass grew louder than you thought was possible, and every single movement inside of you, lit your nerves on fire.

“Fuck, Peter, I’m gonna-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he grunted, still maintaining a cadence inside of you.

But his warning came too late, as you were soon overwhelmed by the combination of Peter’s large cock pressing against the most sensitive areas of your cunt and his fingers expertly prodding your clit. You cried out as the tight cord inside of your stomach snapped and you felt your juices leaking all over Peter’s cock.

“Fucking hell,” you moaned, shaking from your orgasm as Peter pulled out of you.

You had no time to recover before feeling yourself be spun onto your back. Your chest heaved as you remembered what Peter had promised you in return for your disobedience.

God, you had never been more excited.

You slowly backed up against the headboard, smirking as Peter crawled further onto the bed. You crossed your wrists against the wooden board as Peter positioned one knee on each side of your head. You gulped in anticipation as his hard cock stood at attention before your throbbing lips.

“You did this to yourself,” he smirked grimly.

“We’ll see about that,” you challenged him.

Having enough of your mouthing off, Peter used one hand to grip your hair in his fist while using the other to secure your hands against the headboard. “Let’s put that big mouth of yours to good use.”

You stuck out your tongue, awaiting his cock. Peter used his leverage on the back of your head to bring it forward and meet his achingly hard dick. You hummed in satisfaction as the taste of your own juices flooded your taste buds. Your lips soon fully wrapped around the first few inches of Peter’s cock.

And that was all he needed to take things further.

Peter thrusted his large dick further into your mouth, using his grip on your hair to hold you in place. “There you go, baby,” he cooed, sighing in pleasure as his cock invaded your throat.

At that moment you were very thankful for your lack of a gag reflex, as you forced your throat to make room for Peter’s angry thrusts.

He grunted as he felt the head of his dick hit the farthest part of your throat, and held his position for a few seconds. “So this is what peace and quiet sounds like?” he joked.

You groaned around his cock and narrowed your teary eyes up at him, wordlessly objecting to his ill-timed joke.

He looked down and laughed at your face before slowly pulling back and fucking your mouth at a torturous pace, yet again.

You could feel drool leaking from the sides of your mouth as you relaxed your throat and continued to take Peter’s length in your mouth. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, Y/N,” he moaned, his thrusts growing more forceful as you skillfully teased his tip with your tongue.

“Oh fuck yes, baby, just like that,” he urged you as he continued moving your head up and down on his dick. Sweat lined your brow as you could feel the drool from your aching lips falling onto your breasts.

Peter’s thrusts eventually grew sloppy and he reluctantly withdrew his throbbing cock from your hungry lips. He wasn’t ready to cum yet and he definitely wasn’t gonna do it in your mouth when your pussy was ready and waiting.

“What did we learn?” he moved his hand from your hair down to grip your neck.

Your pussy throbbed at the force with which he squeezed your neck. “We learned that this game is fucking incredible,” you spoke, dazed from the ordeal that Peter did on your throat.

“Hmmm,” he momentarily paused in thought, “since you sucked my cock so beautifully, I’m gonna give you a reward,” he smiled, using the hand that previously held down your wrists to wipe the slobber from your cheeks.

You licked your lips clean as you looked up into his brown eyes expectantly.

“You’re gonna ride my face, and then, when I’ve had enough of your delicious pussy, I’m gonna flip you over and fuck my cum into your guts. Deal?” he proposed.

Your jaw slackened at his statement and you eagerly nodded in agreement.

Peter grinned before sliding off you and allowing you to shift in position for him. Your legs shook in anticipation as you began carefully lowering yourself onto Peter’s hungry lips.

His impatience soon rose to the surface as he wrapped each of his arms around your thighs and harshly pulled your soaking cunt down onto his tongue.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you moaned, your eyes sliding closed as euphoria washed over you at the feeling of Peter’s tongue sliding between your wet folds.

You reached down and ran your fingers through his messy brown hair, slowly grinding your pussy against his eager mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that, Peter,” you moaned.

Peter continued devouring your sopping core before using one of his hands to smack your ass. To add fuel to the fire, the brown-eyed young man began moaning his satisfaction into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you closer to release.

“Shit, Pete, I’m gonna cum again,” you shakily told him as you ground yourself against his damp face even harder. Peter soon snaked his arms up and squeezed each of your hardened nipples in between his fingers as his tongue fiddled with your clit.

Your breathing grew ragged as his focus on your sensitive bundle of nerves had you nearing your orgasm for the second time that night. “Fuck yes, Peter, right fucking there baby,” you shouted as you continued running your fingers through his hair in encouragement.

He continued his groaning beneath you, using the vibrations of his voice to drive you crazier and crazier as he gripped your thigh harshly enough to leave bruises. It wasn’t long before-

“Oh my- Fuck! Peter I’m cumming!”

You moaned loudly as your orgasm left you shaking above Peter’s still-active mouth. The young man continued lapping at your cunt, prolonging your orgasm as he soaked up every drop of you that he could.

He eventually ceased his slaughter on your pussy. “Damn, Pete,” you sighed in satisfaction.

As you slid off of your boyfriend’s face, you looked down to see him grinning widely, his face glistening with your slick.

“I think there was one more thing you promised to do to me, sweetheart,” you smirked while sliding off the bed and walking away, “But I think you should come and get me first. Consider it payback.”

You didn't make it past the door of your room before feeling Peter’s hand wrap around your neck from behind. You yelped as he slammed your body against the nearest wall and brutally pressed his lips against yours. You groaned as your senses were flushed with the pleasant taste of yourself again.

Peter reached both his arms underneath your ass and used his strength to hoist your legs around his own waist. You swung your arms around his neck to keep your balance.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart,” he huskily whispered before shoving his throbbing cock inside of your sensitive pussy.

You screamed at the feel of him inside of you, the remnants of your orgasm still affecting your body.

Peter used one hand to hold you against the wall while using the other to wipe away the few tears that had managed to leak free from your pleasure-filled eyes. “Look at you, crying over my cock. I thought you were tougher than that Y/L/N,” he taunted as he began cruelly fucking you against your shared room wall.

“I am. Now shut up and fuck me harder, Parker,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

Peter smirked down at you before picking up his pace, now fucking you at a speed that could have broken a world record.

You moaned loudly as your pussy began clenching around Peter’s dick, gaining a groan from him.

It wasn't long before his thrusts grew sloppy and his groans grew louder. You placed each of your palms on his reddened face, immediately gaining his attention. You smirked up at him as you could see in his eyes that he was growing closer. “Cum inside of my pussy, pretty boy.”

And that was all it took to push the hero over the edge. 

He roughly slammed one of his hands against the wall beside your head as he emptied himself in your cunt. You moaned happily as his liquids flooded your insides.

You couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face as he groaned in release. “You did such a good job, baby.” At your words, Peter smiled and leaned forward to press a small kiss onto your lips.

As you both came down from your respective highs, Peter withdrew his softening cock from your entrance and helped you to stand on your two feet.

“Let’s go clean up,” you grabbed one of his arms and led him to the bathroom connected to your room.

“Yes ma’am,” he smirked behind you, shamelessly staring at your ass as you walked.

“I hope this isn’t the last I get to see of Dominant Peter,” you smiled as you both stepped into your shower.

You leaned forward to turn on the water before feeling a familiar pair of arms snake around your bare waist. “Definitely not,” Peter grinned as he kissed your neck from behind, “Thanks for trusting me.”

“You’re welcome baby. Thanks for sharing that part of yourself with me,” you smiled while turning to face him.

The shower water soon began cascading over both your heads as you leaned up on your toes and lovingly kissed your boyfriend. “I love you, Peter Parker.”

“I love you more, Y/N, Y/L/N.”

You grinned up at the man who you were sure you would spend the rest of your life with. “Not possible.” 

~~~~~~

[wannabemurdock]

Tasm!Peter parker + fingering :>

Kinktober Day 28

kinktober masterlist

18+ only

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Peter Parker + fingering

“Just gorgeous, aren’t you?” His fingers trace through the slick between your thighs. His other hand rests on your thigh, stopping it from closing on his hand as his movements become more daring. Focusing on you clit, soft moans flow freely from you, his confidence growing with every swipe. His fingers move to you entrance, dipping in and curling so perfectly. You knees go weak as his fingers continue to press against that spot so deep within you and his thumb circles your clit. Not able to keep quiet any more, you chant his name as you fall over the edge.

“Peter!”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

a/n: I’m just using whatever’s in my inbox whether it’s from kinktober or not

[iridescentmauve]

NEEDINESS. Peter Parker.

summary: you and peter are just having your annual show night, watching one of your favorite shows but you can't push down the unbearable lust and need you feel for him.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!black!reader.

word count: 933 | requests: OPEN.

a/n: no, this is not proofread, none of my works are proofread. istg if i see one comment correcting my grammar i will rage 🙁

YOU AND PETER had just been laying on the couch, cuddling with each other; his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

Clueless played on the television in the background, and even though it was possibly your favorite show in the whole entire world, you couldn't help but be less than focused on it.

Your face was pressed into the crook of his neck, thigh thrown over his, so you were basically now sitting on the muscular skin, and every now and then you could just feel how his thigh clenched, pressing deliciously at your core.

What you had figured out after the two of you had begun dating is that Peter Parker is a huge tease, so you couldn't tell whether his actions were accidental or not.

Probably not.

As his thigh rocked up to meet your clothed, sopping cunt, you couldn't help but let out the filthiest whimper into his skin.

It was so quiet that an average man probably wouldn't have been able to hear it; but Peter could.

Due to his enhanced senses, he could tell when you needed him most, he could always feel how wet you were, tell how aroused you were, know how much you wanted him. But, he always waited. Waited until you came to him yourself.

This time was no different.

"Pete .."

"Mm? What is it bug?"

God, his voice. Just the tone of his voice sent a blast of heat down to your core, and you squirmed uncomfortably in your shorts.

Another whine would leave you, dipping your head further into his neck, whispering into his skin, "Pete, 'need you so bad.. Please.."

You could've sworn you heard him chuckle, but maybe it was his ears playing tricks on you. "You gotta speak up, 'can't hear you baby."

A pout etches across your face, leaning away from him slowly. "Said I need you, please Pete.."

Peter smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head, "Could've just said that lovely." One of his hands reaches down, gently tugging down your shorts and you help him by kicking them off.

He shifts a little bit, sitting up and pressing his back against the couch's armrest, helping you to straddle his leg.

The show in the background was now long forgotten as you stared into his gorgeous, brown eyes. God you loved those eyes.

"You gotta tell me what you want from me, okay?" His voice was soft, making you shiver.

He could feel how soaked you were, your thin layer of panties not doing you much justice really. "Want to ride your thigh .. please?" You managed to squeak out, cheeks heating up.

Peter moved his free hand to rest on your cheek, caressing the flesh gently. "Wanna get yourself off on my thigh pretty girl? Hm? Well go ahead, use me for your pleasure bug."

God, the words just seemed so natural, but yet it left you all the more hot and bothered.

Though, you didn't need to be told twice, moving your hands up to rest on his shoulders, slowly rocking your hips back and forth.

You'd moan out, taking in a deep breath as you set a steady pace. He'd place his hand on your hip, squeezing it gently, slightly moving your hips with his hand, guiding you.

"Come on sweet girl, you can do it." He'd mumble in your ear, kissing your earlobe.

You'd whimper, moving your hips at a bit of a faster pace now, clit getting perkier by the second. With each rub of the cloth of your panties rubbing against it each time you move your hips, you let out a slight gasp of his name.

Squeezing your eyes shut you'd lean in, clumsily pressing your lips to his.

Immediately he dove right in, kissing you back with passion, nose bumping against his every now and then. Peter licked into your mouth, tongue exploring every inch of your cavern.

The kiss was slightly sloppy, but you couldn't care less, all you needed was to feel him.

You pulled away, snapping your hips back and forth even faster. You were sure that you were already soaking up his pants, and you hadn't even come yet.

You were sure your inner thighs were dripping with your own arousal, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Ah- Pete, 'm close-" You gasp out, causing him to grin, moving your hips faster.

He'd duck down, capturing your earlobe in between his teeth, biting gently as you gasp out. "Gonna make a mess all over my pants like the dirty girl you are, yeah? Go on, go ahead baby."

Peter's words made you moan, hips stuttering against his thigh. You could feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperately trying to find something to wrap around.

As you grind your hips faster and faster, a strangled moan mixed with a whimper leaves your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder.

"Fuck Peter- 'm coming."

He'd snake a hand down in between your bodies, slipping his hand into your panties, rubbing fast circles on your clit. "Come on baby, come for me come on.."

One last breathy moan would slip past your pretty, pretty lips, before you came undone on his thigh, soaking both your panties and your boyfriend's sweats.

And god, to him it was so hot.

Your little pants were swallowed up by his lips pressing gingerly against yours, still rubbing slow, little circles onto your clit, causing you to shine about sensitivity.

"You seriously thought we were done? You may be, but I'm not."

🪷 tags: @jackierose902109 @kidavalentine @playgurlxoxo

add yourself to my marvel taglist!