Hello There

So the first emotion you feel when Spider-Man (of all people, Spider-Man) comes crashing through your window, sending shards of glass everywhere and wrecking your evening plans was not a particularly pleasant one.

“Oh shit, are you alright?” You shriek, jumping up from where you were lazing on the couch. You can feel your heart trying to worm its way out of your chest, and the sticky feeling of champagne dripping down your legs from where you dropped your glass at the loud noise of oh yes, Spider-Man crashing through your window.  

The only response you got to your concern was a series of groans and grunts (which sent blood rushing straight to your cheeks, the filthy pervert that you are), so you made your way over to the red and blue cladded figure lying on the ground. 

Your bare feet thuds as you rush to his side, feeling the panic melt away and the controlled focus that came with being a nurse take its place. 

Help first, freak out later.

“Spidey? Can you hear me?” You gently tap his cheek, assessing his level of awareness. His eyes flutter slightly and he slightly leans into your touch, but he doesn't speak or try to push you away. His body is warm and solid beneath the suit, and you feel sparks across your hands as you assess him for any life threatening injuries.

Focus. Now is not the time to let your silly crush on New York's favorite hero stop you from being professional.

Satisfied with your initial assessment, you rush to your bathroom where you stock your emergency kit. 

You always have it fully stocked, with bandages, disinfectant, gauze, even a needle and thread. You could run a mini clinic with all the supplies you have. Strange, for someone who rarely gets injured, but some part of you always felt that it was necessary, that it was absolutely vital because you use it frequently, someone you love gets hurt quite often, someone you love someone…

You stop with the kit in hand, head suddenly pounding. What were you thinking about? Probably doesn't matter. Focus on the task at hand.

You kneel next to Spider-Man, putting on your gloves, pulling out the medical scissors and gently cutting away at his suit. You leave his mask alone. The guy deserves his privacy, since he works so damn hard to keep it.

You work gently and methodically, cleaning, wiping, stitching, occasionally pausing when Spider-man lets out a groan. You slow down around his hips. He's always been particularly ticklish around that area, the ol’ softie.

He doesn't wake, and you assume that whatever he was up against tonight did a number on him.

With the last scrape cleaned and disinfected, you remove your gloves and pack up the kit, moving everything to the kitchen counter. Spidey looks fast asleep. You debate moving him to the couch for a moment before snorting at yourself. Not happening. A blanket and a pillow under his head should suffice.

You work fast, cleaning the glass around him, placing your softest pillow under his head and a fluffy warm blanket over him, since the breeze from the broken window is coming in strong.

You place it around his waist. He doesn't like having the blanket all the way up– it makes him feel stuffy. You take one final look at him before sitting down at the kitchen counter, hand clutching the warm cup of tea you made yourself.

Right. You thought you were handling this new development remarkably well, all things considered, but now the questions were coming at lighting speed.

Why was he here? Was he swinging home and crash landed in your apartment by coincidence, or did he come to you specifically? What the hell was happening? 

Sure, given the fact that you have lived in Queens your whole life and there seems to be a world-ending threat every other Tuesday, Spider-man has saved your life before. More than a few times, actually. 

But that was in high school, years ago, and you haven’t interacted with him since, your crush on him aside. And Spider-man saves loads of people– you aren’t exactly special. So why you? Why now?

You glance down at yourself and let out a massive sigh. Motherfucker. There's blood all over your fluffy white robe.

★*☆♪.。o○>゜))))彡

Mmm. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. You are warm and content, with strong arms wrapped around you as you lay face down next to him and bask in the summer air. 

The comforting tone of his voice rises and falls above you, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your back. He was telling you about some sort of project he was working on, but you were too sleepy to properly take his words in.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” He teases, his hand gently tapping your lower back.

 “Of course I am. You were talking about some very important stuff. Circuits, voltage, which wire goes where…” You trail off, giggling as you turn to face him and tease him some more when you jerk back in shock. 

Oh God his face where was his face? Where there should be lips and eyes and a mouth and hair there was nothing, who is this man and why cant you remember him who is this man its someone you love someone you love- and was that? was someone calling your name who was calling your name?

You gasp awake, startling up and out of the chair you fell asleep in after changing into your pyjamas. Wide-eyed, you glance around until you notice a figure looking at you, holding a placating hand outward.

“Easy, easy. You’re good. You were having a nightmare and I–”, he hesitates, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders, “I didn’t like seeing you so scared. I’ll leave now, sorry for disturbing you, ma’am. And the window. Sorry about the window.” He chuckles awkwardly, before dropping the blanket and turning around to leave.

"Wait,” you blurt out, feeling frazzled after your dream, but regaining enough of your senses to know him leaving now wasn’t a good idea. “Wait a second. Are you planning on leaving in your underwear with nothing but your mask on? Give everyone in the city a real show?”

He stops and looks down at himself, seemingly just realising he was almost bare, before turning around and snatching the blanket back up. “Heh, didn’t think of that,” he mumbles, tucking the blanket around him. 

Well. Now that the adrenaline has faded, that’s all you could think about. When you were patching him up you were too focused to admire him, but now you can’t stop thinking about his strongly defined stomach, his veiny arms holding the blanket up, hell, even his mask contrasting with the rest of his toned body creating a picture that you won't be forgetting anytime soon.

“Just stay here a sec, I have some sweatpants that I think will fit you,” you mutter, pushing past him to go to your bedroom. You grab a pair of sweatpants and toss it at him. 

He mutters a quick thanks and puts them on. Fuck. The sweatpants + mask + no shirt combo is making you all hot and bothered.

But there’s something else bothering you. Something that made you snap your head towards Spider-Man and narrow your eyes at him where he finished tying the drawstring.

“How do you know my name?”

He goes still, his body suddenly tense. The white lenses of his mask turn towards you. 

“What?”

“My name,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I heard you saying it when you woke me up. How do you know my name?”

He stares at you, hands tightening in balls at his side. Your mind is going a mile a minute, and you start connecting dots you're not sure you should be connecting.

“Why are you even in my apartment? Did you know that I'm a nurse?” You march up to him, getting up close and personal. You want answers. And you want them now.

“Why– why does it feel like I know you?” You say, feeling frustration itself seep into your bones. “I know how you prefer your blankets. I know where you're ticklish. I know you take your sandwiches with pickles squashed down real flat. How do I know all of this?”

He's standing very still. The only movement you see is his chest rising and falling before he carefully, so very carefully, reaches up and removes his mask. He glances up to you, with big brown eyes, his curls framing his face and a look of desperate hope. It's the most beautiful face you've seen in your life.

“You're not…you're not supposed to remember any of that,” he says, voice low. Like if he talks any louder he might break the strange spell that has fallen over the two of you. “You're not supposed to remember…me.”

You give a shaky exhale and before you can stop yourself you place a hand on his bare chest. 

“I think I see you in my dreams," you tell him quietly. “There's this hole in my life. These last few years…something's missing. I think it's you. I think it's always been you.”

His mouth slackens, as if your words pierced his heart. Before you can blink, he grabs the hand on your chest and pulls you closer until his lips are on yours and suddenly you can't think of anything else but him, his slightly chapped lips and the way he smells and the coppery taste from his cut lip flooding your mouth and the way he holds you. 

Like you're something precious. Like you're the air he's been craving; like he can't fathom ever letting go. It makes something in your belly tighten and your toes curl.

He pulls away, panting against your open mouth. His hands are fiddling with your shirt. “I've missed you. That's why I came to your apartment tonight. I was hurting and tired and I couldn't keep myself away anymore. Not after tonight. I'm weak," he admits, ashamed. Yet his hands are travelling up your shirt, greedily feeling every exposed inch of skin. 

You aren’t wearing a bra. It crosses your mind a second before you feel his hands on your breasts, cupping and caressing. You gasp, but the sound is covered up by his groan. As if he's the happiest man alive at that exact moment.

You decide to take initiative and lead him over to your bedroom. He follows, tugging your shirt up and over your head. You've barely laid down on the bed before he hovers over you. Within seconds his mouth is on you, taking a nipple in his mouth. You moan at the warm wet feeling, raking your nails across his back. 

Fuck. Things are moving along fast. Somewhere in the haze of lust you think you ought to be talking right now. What did he mean you shouldn't remember him? Why is he the faceless man from your dreams? But thinking feels exceptionally hard. Grinding up against him you can feel that isn't the only thing that's hard right now. 

“You feel so good,” he whimpers, kissing a trail down your tummy. He shimmies down your pants until you are left in nothing but your panties. You slightly regret putting on your comfy granny panties instead of a sexy lacy pair, but it doesn't look like Spider-Man particularly minds. If anything, his eyes darken at the sight of you. He takes both corners of your panties and slowly pulls down.

He stops and stares at you. Long enough that you start to feel uncomfortable and move your hands to try and cover yourself but he swiftly grabs both your wrists with one hand, pulling them above your head.

“Beautiful. You're absolutely beautiful,” he whispers. He glances up at you, smirking slightly. “Keep your hands there.”

You nod shakily, your heart beating out of your chest. You're so turned on right now you think you would jump off a building if he asked nicely. He starts at your breasts again, kissing, licking and sucking. The action shoots heat straight down your core, and you buck your hips up in search of friction. Blearily you realise he's still wearing his sweatpants. 

“You're a bit overdressed right now,” you mumble, continuing to grind up against him. He stops his ministrations and glances down, smiling.

“I guess I am,” he murmurs, kissing down in between your breasts. He stops just above your navel, before glancing up toward you. 

“Give me a second. I just want to take care of something first,” he says, giving you a smirk that spells trouble. 

And then his mouth is between your legs. You cry out, twisting your hips up, but he brings a strong arm down on your hips, locking you in place. You don't think you've ever felt this good in your life. His tongue is circling your clit, dipping down and around in just the right way to drive you crazy. It's like he knows your body better than you do.

“Shit, don't stop,” you whine, grabbing his curly locks and pulling slightly. He groans, and the vibrations make the peak inside you that's been steadily building rise higher and higher. The wet sound of him eating you like his last meal is driving you crazy, and your moans are getting louder and louder. Your poor neighbors.

He takes his tongue in broad stripes up and down and nudges his nose against your clit just so and suddenly you're gone, the high washes over you and you come with a shout, hands gripping his hair and legs locking him in place. He continues licking through it, trying to drive your orgasm longer. It's only when you try to push him away, legs trembling from the aftershocks that he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh.

“Still tastes so good. I dream about you too. Dream about this,” he murmurs, pulling off his pants. You blink up at him, shamelessly staring at him now that he is naked. He's beautiful. Every inch of him, and you can't bear another second without him inside you. This feels familiar. Like a song and dance both of you have completed hundreds of times. 

He gently tilts your chin up and kisses you, the taste of yourself bitter-sweet on your tongue. You moan into his mouth, hands trailing down his body.

He breaks off the kiss and looks deep into your eyes. So much love is reflected in his pupils that it makes you glance away for a second, overwhelmed. You feel warm and satiated, like here, with him, is where you were always meant to be.

You feel him line himself up with your entrance before pausing. 

“You ready, baby?”

You nod, whining slightly and arching your back, the petname making you feel some type of way. He chuckles, mouthing at that spot behind your ear that always drives you crazy before pushing forward.

Holy shit. It's been a while since you've gone to fourth base, but even then, none of your casual one night stands held a candle to this. 

He's hitting that spot inside you, the one that makes your face heat up with pleasure and your body tingle with every nerve lighting up.

You hear a keening sound and realise it's you, unable to control yourself with the pleasure you're experiencing.

He's driving into you with deep, slow thrusts. And all the while he's talking, whispering right into your ear.

“Fuck, so good baby. You're so good to me. I've missed you, missed this. Better than my dreams,” he groans, speeding up. He's close, and so are you.

“That's it, sweet girl. Let go for me. I got you,” he croons, reaching a hand down to thumb small tight circles on your clit. 

And that's it. You're gone. The band that was building inside you snaps, sending you up into the sky, waves of pleasure rolling over you. Distantly, as if through a filter, you hear him grunt and you feel a warm sensation spread inside you as he finds his release. 

He collapses on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off you. You run a shaky hand through his hair, down his back and up again. You feel a smile tug at your lips. You haven’t felt this happy in ages.

The silence between the two of you is comfortable. It could have been minutes or hours, but it feels so deeply right you don't dare to break it. 

There's something niggling at the back of your mind. You frown as you feel a headache coming, turning your nose into his hair. This is important, you think. You need to remember something important. 

His hands are caressing your sides, lazily tracing circles against your hips when it hits you, all of a sudden you can't believe you didn't know, how could you not know that this is–

“Peter.”

His head snaps up, hands frozen on your hips.

“What did you say?” He asks, looking at you with that same desperate hope from before. You laugh, tears building at the corner of your eyes. 

“Peter. Your name is Peter.” You say, clutching him closer, and all of a sudden he's laughing with you, kissing your cheek, your forehead, your hair. Peter murmurs something, too softly for you to catch but it sounds like a good thing. 

You kiss him back, drinking Peter in. In a moment, you'll have to pull back and tell him you don't remember much else. His name came to you in a flash, and there are some things returning to you, but it's distant, as if you're wading through muddy water. 

It makes your head hurt to try and remember more, but it's a start. You remember him in all the ways that matter, you remember Peter. It can only go up from here.

You grin, and he grins back.