#dqrkhold

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : After Doctor Strange’s spell erased Peter Parker from the world’s memory, the one person he loved most forgot him too. Trying to move forward, you begin a new life at ESU, carrying an unshakable feeling that something is missing. When a chance encounter at a college party introduces you to a shy student named Peter Parker, the connection between you is immediate—even if neither of you can explain why. 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.3k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Post-Spider-Man: No Way Home, Memory Loss, Second Chance Romance, Friends to Lovers (Again), Relearning Each Other, Slow Burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Kiss (Again), Lots of Yearning, Soft Peter Parker, Domestic Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

Peter had spent weeks telling himself he could live with this.

He’d done it once already—watched the world forget him, watched MJ look through him without recognition, watched Ned smile politely like they were strangers. He’d survived that.

Then there was you.

The first time he’d spotted you crossing ESU’s campus, the world had seemed to stop around him.

You were weaving through the crowd with your backpack hanging off one shoulder, your head tilted back as you laughed at something another student had said. The sound carried across the courtyard, familiar enough to make his chest tighten.

He stopped walking so abruptly someone collided with his shoulder.

Peter barely registered the annoyed voice. “Sorry,” he muttered automatically, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the sea of students.

You were okay, You were alive. You just… didn’t remember him.

For days, Peter settled for watching from a distance.

He’d catch glimpses of you between classes, sitting outside the student union with a coffee, laughing with classmates he’d never met. Every time he thought about walking over, his feet locked in place.

What if seeing him only confused you?

What if…

The questions chased each other in circles until he convinced himself the safest thing—for both of you—was to stay away.

Then someone invited him to a party.

Peter almost didn’t go.

__

Music rattled the walls of the off-campus house, bass vibrating through the floorboards as students squeezed shoulder to shoulder through every room.

Peter lingered near the doorway with a red plastic cup in his hand, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

His eyes wandered around the room.

Then they found you.

You were standing exactly where he’d expected.

Just leaning against the wall with a drink resting loosely in your hand, quietly watching everyone else enjoy themselves. Every so often you’d smile to yourself at something happening across the room before your gaze drifted somewhere else.

Peter couldn’t help smiling.

Some things never change.

He remembered another party—months ago, before the spell—where he’d found you hiding in almost the exact same way. Back then he’d teased you for people-watching instead of dancing.

The memory made his chest ache.

He should leave, He’d already seen enough. 

He turned toward the front door. His feet refused to move.

“…Seriously,” Peter muttered under his breath, shaking his head at himself. A quiet laugh escaped him as he looked back in your direction. “You’re gonna make me do this?”

As if answering for him, his legs carried him across the room before his brain had a chance to object.

By the time he realized what he was doing, he was standing beside you.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Peter lifted his cup, taking a quick sip more to give himself something to do with his hands than because he was thirsty.

“Nice party?” The words came out a little too quickly. He coughed softly, lowering the cup as an awkward smile crept onto his face.

You glanced over at him before looking back toward the crowd. A small laugh escaped you.

“Yeah.” You nodded toward a group attempting to dance on the coffee table. “Depends on your definition of ‘nice,’ I guess.”

Peter followed your gaze, smiling despite himself.

“…That’s fair.”

Another quiet silence settled between you.

You studied him from the corner of your eye, your brow knitting together slightly.

“…Do I know you?” The question left your mouth carefully, almost apologetically, as though you were worried it might come across the wrong way. You shifted your cup between your hands and offered a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I just… you look really familiar.”

Peter had been taking another sip.

He immediately choked.

“What?” He coughed into his fist, eyes widening as he looked at you. A few drops splashed onto the floor, and he quickly wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh my God.” You winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No—” Peter laughed between coughs, waving his free hand dismissively as he caught his breath. “No, you’re okay.”

“I just…” You looked at him again, this time a little longer. There was something oddly comforting about his face, something you couldn’t quite place. “I really feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Peter’s heart squeezed painfully inside his chest.

You have.

More times than either of you could ever count.

“We have a class together,” he said after a moment, forcing a smile that he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the ache growing behind his ribs. “Biochemistry.”

Your eyes lit up with recognition.

“…Do we?”

Peter couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I usually sit in the back.”

“Huh.” You laughed quietly to yourself before taking another sip of your drink. “Guess I need to pay more attention.”

The two of you stood there for another moment before Peter shifted his cup into his other hand and extended the now-free one toward you.

“I’m Peter.” His fingers twitched with nervous energy as he waited, hoping you couldn’t see how much the moment meant to him.

You looked down at his hand before taking it without hesitation.

You introduced yourself with an easy smile, your grip warm against his.

The second your hand settled into his, Peter felt his breath catch.

It was only a handshake to you.

To Peter…

It was something else entirely

__

A week later, class ended nearly fifteen minutes early.

The professor dismissed everyone with a reminder about next week’s quiz before the lecture hall erupted into movement. Chairs scraped across the floor, conversations overlapped, and backpacks were slung over shoulders as students poured into the hallway.

You had barely zipped your bag shut before Peter appeared beside you.

“Hey.” Peter fell into step next to you, adjusting the strap of his backpack as though he’d timed his exit perfectly. A small smile tugged at his lips when you looked over.

“Hey.” You returned the smile, nudging the lecture hall door open with your shoulder before stepping into the crowded hallway. “You heading to your next class?”

“You heading to literature?” Peter asked instead, glancing over as students squeezed around the two of you. He shifted closer to avoid getting separated in the crowd.

“Yeah.” You nodded, weaving around a group of freshmen gathered in the middle of the hallway. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Peter said it so naturally it almost sounded like he wasn’t asking at all. He tucked both hands into the pocket of his hoodie as he matched your pace.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye before letting out a quiet laugh.

“You usually do.” A grin spread across your face as you stepped outside, the cool autumn air replacing the stuffiness of the lecture hall.

Peter’s smile widened.

“…I do.” He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before letting his hand fall again. “Guess I’ve gotten predictable.”

The conversation settled into a comfortable rhythm as the two of you crossed campus together. Fallen leaves drifted across the sidewalks while students scattered in every direction, some hurrying toward class while others lingered on the grass enjoying the afternoon.

Peter stole another glance at you.

You were talking about your literature professor, complaining about an essay due at the end of the week.

He wasn’t listening.

Instead, he found himself watching the way your hands moved when you spoke, the little smile that appeared whenever you joked.

Just ask.

His heart immediately disagreed.

What if he say’s no?

He won’t.

Halfway across the quad, Peter slowed to a stop.

“…Actually.”

The single word came out quieter than he’d intended.

You noticed immediately.

Turning around, you stopped a few steps ahead of him.

“What?” You adjusted your backpack higher onto your shoulder before taking a step back toward him. “Everything okay?”

Peter stood there for a second with both hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie. His thumbs rubbed anxiously against the fabric inside as he searched for the words he’d rehearsed a dozen different ways.

“Can we…” He exhaled through his nose before trying again. “…Uh…”

You tilted your head, waiting patiently.

“Pete?” A small smile crept onto your face as you watched him struggle.

“If this is about studying…” You let out a laugh, folding your arms loosely across your chest. “…I think we’ve studied enough for the semester.”

Peter couldn’t help laughing too.

The nervous sound escaped him before he could stop it, his shoulders relaxing just enough to make him shake his head.

“No.” He looked down at the sidewalk with an embarrassed smile, nudging a loose leaf with the toe of his sneaker. 

“No?” You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“No.” Peter looked back up, meeting your eyes for only a second before glancing away again. “I wanted to know…” He swallowed. “…if you had anything planned later.”

“Later?” You shifted your weight onto one leg, your curiosity replacing the teasing look on your face.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded quickly. “Like… tonight.”

You thought about it for a second.

“I’m actually free.” You shrugged lightly. “Why?”

Peter visibly relaxed. “Oh.” His shoulders dropped, and the breath he’d apparently been holding left him in one quiet exhale.

“‘Oh?’” You smiled, taking a small step closer. “What was that for?”

“I just…” Peter rubbed the back of his neck again, laughing awkwardly at himself. “…I thought you might already have plans.”

“What’d you want to do?” You asked, watching his face with growing amusement. 

He looked at you. For just a moment, the sounds of campus seemed to fade into the background.

“Did you…” His voice caught, forcing him to clear his throat before trying again. “…Did you want to get something to eat later?”

The question hung between you.

“Sure.”

Peter stared. “…Really?”

“Really.” You laughed at how genuinely surprised he sounded. “Were you expecting me to say no?”

“I…” Peter blinked again before letting out a breathless laugh. “…Honestly? I hadn’t thought that far.”

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then your smile turned just a little more playful.

“So…” You rocked back on your heels, watching Peter carefully. “…Is this like… a date, or…?”

Peter’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“I mean—it can be—if you want—I wasn’t trying to—I mean I was—but if you don’t think—I just thought maybe we could—and—”

His hands came flying out of his hoodie pocket as he talked, gesturing helplessly while every sentence collided with the next.

You laughed, the sound bright enough to make Peter smile without even realizing it.

“I’ll see you later, Pete.” You gave him a small wave before turning toward the humanities building. 

Peter remained exactly where he was, watching the door swing shut behind you.

A slow smile spread across his face.

He stood there for another few seconds before quietly pumping his fist in celebration.

“Yes.”

An older professor walking past gave him a strange look.

Peter immediately cleared his throat, straightened his backpack, and started walking in the opposite direction as if absolutely nothing had happened.

__

The diner Peter picked wasn’t anything special.

A little place tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore just off campus, its neon OPEN sign flickering against the evening sky. Through the windows you could see a handful of students crowded into booths, the smell of fresh fries and coffee drifting out every time someone opened the door.

Peter held it open for you. “After you.” He stepped aside with a small smile, gesturing toward the entrance. You walked in, looking around the cozy diner before glancing back at him.

“I thought we were going somewhere fancy.” You teased him as the hostess grabbed two menus from behind the counter.

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I considered it.” He followed the hostess toward a booth near the window. “Then I remembered I’m a broke college student.”

You let out a laugh as you slid into the booth across from him.

The waitress appeared a moment later, taking your drink orders before disappearing toward the kitchen.

For a second, neither of you reached for the menus.

“So…” Peter leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms with an exaggerated look of confidence. “…You’re popular.”

“I’m friendly,” you leaned back as well, matching Peter. “There’s a difference.”

By the time your food arrived, the conversation had wandered from professors to childhood pets, terrible roommates, favorite movies, and the questionable quality of dorm coffee.

Peter found himself smiling more than speaking.

Not because he had nothing to say.

Because he kept catching little pieces of the person he’d fallen in love with.

The way you absentmindedly stole one of his fries without asking.

“…Hey.”

You looked up innocently, a fry halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

Peter stared at you for a moment before laughing.

“You always do that.”

You paused.

“…Always?”

His smile faltered for the briefest second.

“I mean…” Peter cleared his throat, reaching for his soda. “…People do that.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“I’m usually better at this.”

Peter groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“I don’t know…” You stole another fry from his plate with a grin. “…Seems pretty on brand.”

Peter looked down at the missing fry before shaking his head.

The rest of dinner slipped by almost unnoticed. The waitress refilled your drinks twice.

Neither of you realized how much time had passed until she walked over holding the check.

“You guys know we’ve been closed for…” She glanced toward the clock hanging above the register before smiling. “…Almost twenty minutes?”

Both of you looked around. The diner was empty. The chairs had been stacked on every table except yours.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“I’m so sorry.” You immediately reached for your wallet. “We didn’t even notice.”

The waitress laughed, waving the apology away. “Happens more often than you’d think.” She set the check on the table. “You two looked like you were having a good time. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

Peter and you exchanged an awkward glance before both smiling.

“…Yeah,” Peter admitted quietly.

__

Outside, the evening air had turned cooler.

The campus glowed beneath rows of streetlights as the two of you started the walk back toward the dorms.

Neither of you hurried.

Every few minutes one of you would think of something else to talk about, stretching the walk a little longer.

Peter realized something halfway back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much.

Not since…

Before Stephens spell.

Before losing the people he loved.

He looked over at you as you animatedly complained about the professor who somehow managed to turn every lecture into a three-hour story.

You caught him staring. “What?”

Peter smiled to himself. “…Nothing.” He shook his head.

Because now, he was earning it all over again.

“I’m just…” He looked ahead again, the smile never leaving his face. “…I’m really glad you said yes.”

You smiled back without even thinking.

__

The rest of the walk passed comfortably, filled with easy conversation and the occasional joke that left both of you smiling.

Before long, your dorm building came into view. Neither of you said anything about it.

Instead, your pace unconsciously slowed until you found yourselves standing beneath the glow of the entrance lights.

“…So.” Peter shifted his weight onto one foot, slipping both hands into the pocket of his hoodie as though he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.

“So.” You mirrored his smile, rocking back slightly on your heels instead of reaching for the door behind you.

Another silence settled between you.

It wasn’t awkward.

If anything, it felt like both of you were silently hoping the other would think of one more reason to stay.

“I had a really good time.” Peter looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. The corners of his mouth lifted into an earnest smile that reached his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

“I had a good time too.” You smiled back without hesitation. “Better than I expected.”

Peter laughed. “wow.”

You smiled at each other again. Then your expression grew more thoughtful.“…Can I ask you something?”

Peter’s smile faded a little bit. “Of course.” He gave a small nod, watching you carefully.

You hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“Have we… met before college?” Your brow furrowed slightly as you searched his face. “Not here. Somewhere else.”

Peter’s heart lurched. His fingers curled tighter inside the pocket of his hoodie.

“What makes you ask?” His voice remained steady, though he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

“I don’t know.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, glancing toward the ground. “This is going to sound weird.”

“It won’t.”

You looked back up. “Sometimes…” You paused, trying to explain something you barely understood yourself. “Sometimes you’ll say something, and before you even finish, I already know what you’re going to say.”

Peter didn’t move.

“And when you smile at me…” Your voice softened almost to a whisper. “It feels… familiar.”

The word hung between you.

“I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does.” Peter answered quietly, the response leaving his mouth before he could stop it. His eyes never left yours, filled with a sadness you couldn’t quite place.

Your head tilted slightly. “It does?”

He swallowed. “I think…” He smiled, though there was something bittersweet behind it. “Sometimes you meet someone who just feels like they’ve always been part of your life.”

You searched his face for a long moment.

“…Yeah.”

Neither of you looked away. The distance between you suddenly felt much smaller.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe Peter leaned in, maybe you did. Maybe it happened so naturally there wasn’t a first move at all.

Your foreheads brushed together for the briefest moment before your lips met.

The kiss was slow and careful. Neither of you rushed it, as if both of you were quietly asking permission with every passing second.

The world seemed to fall away. The traffic beyond campus, the distant laughter, the wind.

Everything disappeared.

The moment your lips touched, something inside you stirred.

A strange sense of coming home.

When you finally pulled away, you stayed close enough that your noses almost brushed.

Peter’s eyes remained closed for another heartbeat, a small smile spreading across his face before he realized he was smiling at all.

“…Just like the first time.” The words escaped in a whisper, so quiet he almost didn’t hear himself say them.

You blinked.

Your brows pulled together. “The first time?” You blinked at him, confusion replacing the smile on your face as you searched his expression.

Peter’s eyes flew open. Panic flashed across his features.

Peter’s eyes widened. “I—” He let out a nervous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I mean… first dates. That’s how they always end in movies, right?” The excuse sounded weak even to his own ears, and the embarrassed grin spreading across his face only made it more obvious.

You narrowed your eyes, clearly unconvinced.

Peter groaned, dropping his head. A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Peter joined in a second later, the tension easing between you.

“I’ll let it slide.” You smiled, taking a slow step backward toward the dorm entrance. “This time.”

“I appreciate that.” Peter smiled warmly, watching you reach for the door.

“Goodnight, Pete.” You slipped inside, offering one last smile before the door closed behind you.

Peter remained where he was, staring at the entrance long after you disappeared.

His fingers drifted unconsciously to his lips. The kiss had been different. New, yet somehow exactly the same.

For the first time in months, the ache in his chest felt a little lighter. Peter allowed himself one impossible hope. Somewhere beneath the spell… Your heart was finding its way back to him.

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : You’ve known Peter’s secret for months now—patching him up, keeping him grounded, loving him through thick and thin. But sometimes… he doesn’t want stitches or rest. | Word Count : 1.2k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Peter, Fluff, Sub!M!Reader, Moaning, Praising, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Riding, M!Reader (giving), Swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Blood mention

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You'd been dating Peter for months now, long enough to know his secrets—including the whole Spider-Man gig, which you'd pieced together one brutal night when he'd stumbled in half-dead and you'd stitched him back together. You'd just stepped out of the bathroom, steam still curling around your bare shoulders, a white towel slung low around your hips. A thud from the window pulled your attention. Peter swung in awkwardly, landing with a pained grunt, as Peter Parker hauled himself inside. He moved like every step was a battle, his Spider-Man suit clinging to his battered frame, smeared with grime and what looked like fresh bloodstains.“Evening, handsome,” you called out, as you moved toward the living room. Peter's place was a perpetual disaster zone of web fluid vials, crumpled notes on quantum physics, and laundry piles that could bury a man. The place was spotless—your doing, of course; Peter's chaos of gadgets and half-eaten pizzas didn't stand a chance against your cleaning spree.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw him leaning against the wall, mask still on, barely shifting his weight. He tried to play it cool, forcing a weak wave, but his body betrayed him—shoulders hunched, one hand pressed to his ribs. "Hey... yeah, just... getting home. Long night." You paused, towel shifting slightly as you eyed him. He wasn't moving, rooted in place like the pain had glued his feet to the floor. A soft laugh escaped you as you crossed your arms. "You gonna get outta that thing?" Peter's masked head tilted, and you could imagine the sheepish grin underneath. "...Yeah, just taking in the room," he muttered, his voice strained. It was a lame dodge; the place looked better than it had in weeks thanks to your efforts. You stepped closer, concern mixing with amusement. "Do you need help out of your suit, Peter?" you asked bluntly, already reaching for the edge of his mask. "Yes please," he admitted, wincing as he tried to straighten up. A sharp hiss escaped him, and he froze again.

Your fingers hooked under the mask's seal, peeling it off slowly. Peter's face emerged—sweaty brown curls plastered to his forehead, a split lip, and bruises blooming purple along his jawline. His hazel eyes met yours, tired but warm, that spark of affection cutting through the exhaustion. You set the mask aside on the cluttered nightstand and moved behind him, finding the hidden zipper at the nape of his neck. "Easy now," you murmured, tugging it down inch by inch. The suit parted like a second skin, revealing the lean muscles of his back, marred by fresh welts and darkening contusions. As you peeled the fabric away from his shoulders, Peter let out a low moan, his body twitching involuntarily."Shit... that hurts," he groaned, his voice rough, but there was a hint of relief in it too. You worked the suit lower, sliding it over his shoulder blades, careful around a nasty scrape near his spine. He shifted slightly, another groan rumbling from his chest as the tight material dragged against inflamed skin. "Fuck," he breathed, fists clenching at his sides.

By the time you circled back in front of him, the suit hung loose around his waist, exposing his toned chest—rippling abs interrupted by finger-shaped bruises from some villain's grip, ribs shadowed with swelling. Peter's gaze raked over you, lingering on the towel barely containing your hips, the water-slicked trail of hair leading downward. That familiar hunger flickered in his eyes, dark and insistent despite the pain etching lines around his mouth."You're all bruised up," you said, your voice softening as you traced a gentle finger along a welt on his collarbone. You knew that look—he wanted you, needed the distraction, the connection to ground him after whatever hellish patrol he'd endured. He shook his head, a stubborn glint in his eye. "I don't care." Before you could protest, his hands—strong even now—gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly despite his grimace. You yelped in surprise as he carried you the few steps to the bed, the towel slipping precariously."Peter—wait, you're hurt—"

"Shh, I need this. Need you," he cut in, voice husky, lowering you onto the rumpled sheets. He kicked off the rest of the suit, shoving it aside, his cock already half-hard and twitching against his thigh as he climbed over you. The bruises on his torso stood out starkly under the bedside lamp, but he ignored them, leaning down to capture your mouth in a fierce kiss. His lips were split and tasting faintly of blood, but you kissed back hungrily, hands roaming his back—careful of the tender spots. Peter's tongue slid against yours, a low moan vibrating into your mouth as he ground his hips down, his erection pressing hot and insistent against your thigh through the towel. "God, you look so fucking good," he whispered against your lips, nipping at your jaw. His hands yanked the towel free, exposing your hardening cock, and he wrapped a palm around it, stroking slowly. You arched into his touch, a gasp escaping as his thumb circled the head, smearing the bead of pre-cum.

"Pete... let me take care of you first," you panted, but he was already shifting, guiding you to straddle his hips. His cock stood fully erect now, thick and veined, curving slightly toward his abs. You positioned yourself above him, gripping the base as you sank down slowly, the stretch burning deliciously as his girth filled your ass. Peter's head fell back against the pillow, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. "Fuck... yeah, just like that." His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in—not too hard, mindful of his own bruises—as you bottomed out, your balls resting against his. The fullness made you shudder, walls clenching around him. You started to move, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, riding him with deliberate thrusts. Peter's eyes locked on where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into you with each downward slide. "So tight... feels amazing," he rasped, one hand sliding up to tweak your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you moaned.

The bed creaked under you, your hands braced on his chest—avoiding the worst bruises—as you picked up pace, bouncing harder. Sweat beaded on Peter's forehead, mixing with the remnants of patrol grime, but his face was alight with pleasure, pain forgotten in the heat of it. "Harder—fuck, ride me harder," he urged, bucking up to meet you, the slap of skin echoing in the small room. You obliged, grinding down deep, your own cock leaking pre-cum onto his stomach. Dialogue spilled between gasps: "You feel so good inside me, Pete... so thick." He laughed breathlessly, one hand stroking your cock in time with your movements. “Gonna make you feel it all night. Shit—keep going.” The room filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your moans blending with his grunts. Peter's control frayed, thrusts growing erratic. “Can't hold... fuck, cumming.“ You ground down hard, and he shattered, cock pulsing as ropes of cum shot into you, warm and flooding. “Take it— all of me,” he gasped, body arching. Panting, you eased off, his seed dripping down your thighs. Peter looked wrecked, eyelids drooping. “Hang on, I'll get the ice,” you said, kissing his temple before slipping away to the freezer. You returned with packs wrapped in a shirt, pressing them to his swollen knuckles and thigh. He mumbled a thanks, already fading, arm pulling you close as sleep claimed him. You nestled in, content in the quiet aftermath.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 (サンジ) 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Late at night, unable to sleep, you wander into the kitchen and find Sanji already there, quietly cooking. When you admit you’re hungry, he reacts instantly—dropping everything to focus on making you something fresh, insisting that anything he cooks for you has to be perfect. | Word Count : 800+

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : fluff, late night, cooking as a love language, heavy flirting (mostly sanji), sanji being down bad, acts of service, gentle touches, brief physical contact, (hand on waist), sanji spoiling you, (feeding you) slow burn.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

You hadn’t meant to wander down to the kitchen, Sleep just… wasn’t happening. And there you were. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, half-awake, rubbing your eyes. “…Sanji?” He stands at the counter with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, moving with effortless precision as something sizzles gently in the pan. He glances over his shoulder—and the second he sees you? He lights up. “Well, well…” he murmurs, turning just enough to face you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I was hoping I wasn’t the only one still awake.” You lean lightly against the doorway, arms relaxed at your sides. “Couldn’t sleep,” you admit after a moment. “I ended up wandering.” Sanji hums quietly, studying you for a second longer than necessary. There’s a subtle smile on his lips, the kind that feels intentional. “I’m glad you wandered here,” he replies, turning back to the stove only long enough to adjust the heat. “It would’ve been a shame to miss you.” Sanji spoke again His voice softening, “Couldn’t sleep… or did you come looking for me?” You lean against the doorframe, voice quiet. “I was just… hungry.” Sanji straightens, his attention snapping fully back to you as if the rest of the world just stopped existing. “Hungry?” he repeats, almost incredulous. Then his expression sharpens with purpose. “You should have said something sooner.”

“I just did,” you point out, but he’s already moving. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling ingredients out—fresh vegetables, herbs, something already marinating like he knew this would happen.“I’ll make you something perfect,” he says, already chopping, already moving. “Something worthy of you.” You huff a quiet laugh. “Sanji, I said I was hungry, not that I needed a five-star meal.” He shoots you a look over his shoulder—half offended, half playful. “Everything I make for you is five-star.” The kitchen fills with warmth fast. The sound of the pan, the smell of garlic and butter, the rhythm of his knife against the board. It’s… calming. Easy.

You wander closer without thinking.“Careful, I’d hate to see you get hurt.” he murmurs as you step beside him, not even looking—but his hand slides to your waist anyway, steadying you away from the heat. “You’ll survive,” you reply, picking up the knife. He shifts just enough to give you space, though not much. The proximity feels intentional. “Let me help.” Sanji considers you for a moment, then slides a second knife in your direction with a faint, amused smile. He shifts just enough to give you space, though not much. The proximity feels intentional. For a while, neither of you says much. The sound of chopping vegetables blends with the soft sizzle from the stove, creating something calm and steady. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm, easier than you expected. Sanji, however, keeps glancing at you. Eventually, you glance sideways. “You’re staring again.”

“I’m appreciating,” he corrects smoothly. “Oh” You let out a quiet laugh. “It’s honest,” he says, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, adjusting your grip on the knife with gentle precision. “You look good like this.”Your breath catches slightly at the contact.“Like what?” you ask, trying to keep your tone steady. “Relaxed,” he replies, his voice softer now. “Comfortable. In my space.”There’s something deliberate in the way he says it—like he wants you to notice. You focus back on the cutting board, though your movements slow just a little. “You’re laying it on kind of thick.” Sanji’s quiet chuckle brushes past your ear as he steps around you to check the pan. “You always do this?” you ask. “Drop everything the second I say I’m hungry?”He hums, flipping something in the pan with practiced ease. “Only for you.” You raise a brow. “You cook for everyone.”

“Yes,” he agrees smoothly, “but I spoil you.”He plates the food with way too much care for the time of night—adjusting, fixing, making it look like something out of a restaurant instead of a quiet ship kitchen at midnight. Then he turns, stepping closer. Your plate never leaves his hand. “Go on,” he murmurs, holding it just out of reach. “Taste it.” You narrow your eyes. “You’re not even going to let me take the plate?”His smile is softer now, teasing but… focused. On you. Always on you. “Where’s the fun in that?” You sigh, playing along, and lean forward—taking a bite straight from the fork he offers. And yeah, It’s ridiculously good. “It’s really good,” you admit. Sanji exhales like he expected nothing less, though there’s clear satisfaction in his expression.

“I’m glad,” he says. Then, after a brief pause, his tone dips slightly. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”You shake your head, a quiet laugh slipping out. Something about that answer makes him still for a second. Then he steps closer again, just enough to close the space between you without crowding it. “Good,” he murmurs. The kitchen falls quiet again, but it’s no longer just calm—it’s charged, subtle but unmistakable. Sanji’s gaze lingers on you, softer now, but no less intense. “Next time you’re hungry,” he says, voice low and steady, “come find me sooner.” You tilt your head. “Why?” He steps closer again, just enough that you can feel him. “Because,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “I like taking care of you.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88

​ 🕸️ 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 like I do

Sneaking your boyfriend into your apartment through the bedroom window seemed like a foolproof plan—until the morning after. keeping your relationship a secret suddenly becomes a lot harder than either of you expected. Maybe it’s time to stop sneaking around… if your roommate doesn’t figure it out first.

18+ Explicit Sexual Content mdni, porn/w plot, m!reader, Praise, Riding, Dirty Talk, Bottom!Peter

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

Peter's text lit up your phone screen just after midnight: Coming over. Window's open? Barely five minutes passed before the familiar tap… tap… tap… sounded against your bedroom window. You crossed the room, slid the window open, and watched Peter climb inside with the effortless grace of someone who had made this trip far too many times.

You couldn’t stop smiling as he stepped forward, slipped his arms around your waist, and rested his forehead against yours.

“You know…” Peter murmured, absentmindedly tracing circles across your back. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“What is?” You looked up, giving him your full attention.

“Sneaking into your apartment.” He glanced toward the window before looking back at you with a crooked smile.

“You say that like you’re not climbing through my window voluntarily.” You nudged him gently with your finger.

“I am.” Peter chuckled, reaching back and rubbing his neck. “But it’d be nice to use the front door one day.”

“My roommate knows I have a boyfriend.” You sighed, letting your fingers trace along his chest. “Then what’s the problem?” Peter frowned, clearly missing the issue.

“You.” You pointed a finger at his chest again, fighting back another smile.“…Me?” He blinked, genuinely confused.

“If she finds out the guy she’s been hearing about has been living three floors above us this entire time…” You let the sentence trail off, already imagining the inevitable teasing.

Peter groaned dramatically, throwing an hand over his face as though he’d received devastating news. “I’ll never hear the end of it.” His muffled voice came from behind his hand.

“Exactly.” You nodded as if your case had been proven beyond all doubt. “So this is about protecting me?” Peter peeked at you from beneath his fingers, his grin already returning.

“Oh, absolutely.” You answered with the most innocent smile you could manage. Peter narrowed his eyes before breaking into a laugh. He reached over to lace his fingers with yours.

“Missed you,” Peter whispered, pulling you close. His lips found yours in a heated kiss, hands roaming your chest. You guided him to the bed, both of you moving with practiced silence to avoid waking your roommate across the apartment.

“Shh,” you whispered, putting a finger to your lips. “Roommate's asleep.”

Peter nodded, grabbed the lube from your nightstand drawer, and shoved his briefs down. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking. He climbed onto the bed, straddling your hips while you lay back. You kicked off your own briefs, your cock standing stiff between you.

He slicked his fingers with lube, reached behind himself, and worked two digits into his hole, biting his lip to stay quiet. His breath came in short pants as he stretched himself open, then he poured more lube over your cock and lined you up.

Peter sank down slow. The head of your cock pushed past his rim, stretching him wide. He took every inch until his ass rested flush against your thighs. All of your cock was buried inside him. A low groan escaped before he bit his lip again.

He started riding. Up and down, his thighs flexing, his hole gripping your cock on every rise. The bed creaked once as Peter sped up. He froze, then moved slower, rolling his hips in tight circles so the motion stayed quiet. His cock bobbed with each bounce, slapping lightly against his stomach.

“Fuck... so good,” he breathed, rolling his hips in slow circles. Skin slapped softly against skin with each descent, his cock bouncing against your stomach.

“No one fucks me like you do,” Peter moaned quietly, leaning down to give you a kiss. You gripped his waist, guiding him deeper. Peter leaned forward, hands planted on your chest, and fucked himself harder on your cock. His hole clenched around you, slick and hot. Every thrust made a wet sound that you both tried to muffle with kisses.

He leaned back, changing the angle so your cock dragged over his prostate. His mouth fell open in a silent moan. Precum dripped from his cock onto your stomach. You reached down and stroked him in time with his riding, thumb circling the head.

Peter's pace quickened, his ass slapping against your hips. He clenched hard around your cock, body shaking as he came. Thick ropes of cum shot across your stomach and chest. The sight pushed you over; you thrust up once, twice, and unloaded deep inside him, filling the condom. 

He stayed seated on you, both of you catching your breath in the dark. Peter finally lifted off, his cum dripping down your stomach. He wiped it with his discarded briefs, then crawled under the blanket beside you, already half-asleep.

The next morning, a loud knock jolted you awake. "Hey, you up?" your roommate called, jiggling the locked doorknob.

Your eyes snapped open, and beside you Peter’s did the same, both of you instantly alert. Peter startled beside you, both of you scrambling in a tangle of sheets.

“Why’s your door locked?” she called through the wood, giving the handle another twist.

“My roommate,” you breathed, already throwing the blankets aside. “Oh no,” Peter echoed, sitting upright so quickly he nearly tangled himself in the sheets.

The doorknob rattled harder. “You never lock your door!” your roommate complained, knocking again.

“What do I do?” Peter hissed, frantically looking around the room as if another exit might magically appear. “You leave,” you whispered, pointing toward the window.

“Through the window?” Peter asked, glancing between the glass and you. “How else?” you muttered, already hurrying across the room to unlatch it. “I don’t know! Teleport?” Peter joked weakly as he scrambled out of bed.

“You don’t have that power,” you shot back, pulling the window open. “Would be useful right now,” he grumbled, tugging his black briefs back on as fast as humanly possible.

Another sharp knock made you both jump.

“Hello?” your roommate asked suspiciously, leaning closer to the door.

You shoved the window open the rest of the way while Peter climbed onto the windowsill with practiced ease. Just as he shifted his weight outside, he leaned back toward you with a grin.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, grabbing the front of his shirt before he could move. “Kiss goodbye?” Peter asked hopefully, tilting his head toward you. “Peter!” you hissed, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“You need to leave,” you insisted, trying not to laugh despite the situation. “I’ll text you,” Peter promised, flashing one last smile. “You’d better,” you replied before finally pushing him away.

With one last wave, Peter crawled out onto the brick wall, sticking to it effortlessly before disappearing toward the fire escape. You exhaled slowly, and forced yourself to look as though you’d been doing absolutely nothing suspicious.

After unlocking the door, you pulled it open. Your roommate stood there with a coffee mug in one hand, immediately looking you over from head to toe.

“You okay?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m fine,” you answered a little too quickly, stepping into the doorway to block her view of your room.

She tilted her head. “You look… out of breath,” she observed, studying your flushed face.

“I was… cleaning,” you improvised, gesturing vaguely over your shoulder.

She slowly peeked around you toward the room.“…At eight in the morning?” she asked skeptically.

“Yep,” you replied with an awkward smile.

“Huh.” She hummed unconvinced as her gaze drifted toward the still-open window.“…Sounded like a zoo in there,” she added, crossing her arms.

“There was a spider,” you blurted, the excuse leaving your mouth before you could think of anything better.

“A… spider?” she repeated, one eyebrow climbing higher.

“Yep,” you nodded far too enthusiastically.

“You made that much noise because of a spider?” she asked, clearly unconvinced.

“It was…” You paused, searching desperately for something believable. “…a big spider.”

She folded her arms tighter across her chest. “I’m not buying this,” she said flatly.

“Nope. Definitely just a spider,” you insisted, nodding so hard it probably made things worse.

“You didn’t kill it, did you?” she asked, her expression softening just a little.

“What?” you blinked, momentarily forgetting the lie.

“The spider,” she clarified. “You know I hate killing them.”

Relief flooded through you. “Oh! No, of course not,” you assured her, pointing toward the open window. “Put it outside. Safe and sound.” Your eyes betrayed you for just a split second, flicking toward the window before returning to her face.

She caught it immediately. “…Right,” she said slowly, clearly filing that away. After a long moment, she sighed. “I’m choosing to believe you,” she decided, though her smile suggested otherwise. “You should,” you replied, trying your best to sound confident. She turned toward the kitchen before pausing halfway down the hall.

1.2k Words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 18+ Only | Explicit m/m | Nsfw | Minors Dni | Reunion after 28 years | Old Man Leon | M/M Smut | Dirty Talk | Anal Sex | Fingering | Creampie | Making Up For Lost Time

You hadn’t heard his voice in almost three decades. you glanced at the caller ID, and your heart stuttered. Leon S. Kennedy. The name alone sent a jolt of memories flooding back. “Leon?” There was a pause on the other end. Then his voice—deeper now. Gravel and tired. “Yeah, it's me. Been a long time.” Surprise didn't cover it, shock ripped through you like a fresh wound. “Twenty-eight years. Where the hell are you?” You had imagined this moment before. In grocery stores. In traffic. In the middle of random Tuesday afternoon. But you never imagined he’d say the next words. “Wrenwood. I'm here.“ Your mind reeled. Silence stretched between you. Twenty-eight years of silence. “What are you doing here?” you finally asked. “Cleaning up something.” he said quietly. “Can I see you? Your place, if that's okay.” You didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. Get over here.” You rattled off the address, hanging up before your voice could crack.

You expected nerves. You didn’t expect your hands to shake while unlocking your own apartment door. When the knock came an hour later, you opened the door to a man who wasn't the rookie cop from your memories. Leon stood there, taller somehow, broader in the shoulders, Hair darker with gray streaks threading through. His blue eyes still held that piercing intensity, but time had carved depth into them—experience, loss, survival. The boyish softness was gone. His jaw was sharper now. Lines carved at the corners of his eyes. He wore a fitted leather jacket over a black shirt, jeans hugging his thighs, and if you were honest he looked even better with age. His eyes moved over your face like he was cataloging changes.“Leon,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he entered, the door clicking shut behind him. The apartment felt smaller with him in it, the air thickening with unspoken history. For a second, neither of you spoke. You studied him openly now. The scar near his collarbone—visible just above his shirt line. The healed slash at his wrist. The way his hands flexed unconsciously, like he was used to holding a gun. He caught you staring. “What?” You tilted your head slightly, letting a slow smile pull at your mouth. “You’re aging like fine wine, Leon.”

“Yeah?” He huffed, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat as he tilted his head, those eyes locking onto yours with a spark of amusement. “Yeah.” You stepped closer. Close enough to see the lines on his face more clearly. You move closer—slow enough to give him time to move if he wants to. He doesn’t. Your hands come up, resting against his chest. He’s solid. Warmer than you expected. His heart is beating fast. Faster than yours. Leon moved first closing the distance his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and then he kissed you—slow at first. But the years melted away as your tongues got tangled with a hunger that had simmered too long. You groaned into the kiss, hands fisting in his jacket as he backed you up, his arms sliding around your waist. With effortless strength, he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively.

Leon adjusted you before carrying you toward the bedroom like you weighed nothing. He kicked the door open and lowered you onto the bed, not breaking the kiss as he followed you down, his body pinning yours in the best way. His hands were everywhere—tugging at your shirt, shoving it up to expose your chest, fingers tracing the lines. You arched into his touch, nipping at his bottom lip. “Shit, old man you still got it.” Leon pulled back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your skin as he yanked your shirt off completely. “You're not that far behind me,” he shot back, voice teasing with passion. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again in a deeper kiss, his tongue sweeping in possessively while his hand dipped lower, palming the growing bulge in your pants. You bucked against his touch, a laugh bubbling up between gasps. He stripped you efficiently—pants unzipped, shoved down your thighs, until you were bare beneath him. He took you in, then he shed his own clothes, jacket tossed aside, shirt peeled off to reveal the toned planes, scars faint but telling stories. His jeans hit the floor, and there he was, cock hard and thick, curving up against his abdomen, pre-cum already beading at the tip. He climbed back over you, knees bracketing your hips, and leaned down to kiss your neck, teeth grazing the pulse point. “Been thinking about this for years,” he confessed, voice rough as his hand wrapped around your cock, stroking slow. You moaned, hips jerking into his grip, the pace driving you wild. “Leon—fuck, don't tease.” Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in as he nipped at your collarbone, then lower, sucking a mark into your chest.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you. “Who's teasing?” You reached for the nightstand—you'd kept lube there, always half-hoping for a miracle like this—you slicked his fingers, pressing one against your hole. You spread your legs wider, inviting him in, and he pushed inside slowly, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “Shit, yes,” you hissed, rocking back onto his hand as he added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you open. Leon's eyes never left yours, intense and affectionate. He pumped his fingers deeper, thumb circling your rim, building the pressure until you were panting, cock leaking onto your stomach. “Need you inside me, Now.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away, withdrawing to slick his cock with more lube. Leon lined up, the blunt head nudging your hole. He pushed in inch by inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. “Fuck, you're huge,” you gasped, legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. He bottomed out, hips against yours, and paused, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he caught his breath. Then he started moving—slow thrusts at first, grinding deep, his cock dragging against your walls in a rhythm that had you seeing white. You met every roll of his hips, hands in his hair, tugging him up for messy kisses. The pace quickened, the bed creaking under the force as he fucked into you with precision—pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, hitting your prostate dead-on.“Like that? Bet you missed this cock filling you up.”

“God, yes—don't stop.” Pleasure coiled tight in your gut, his dirty talk pushing you closer to the edge. He wrapped a hand around your cock again, jerking you in time with his thrusts. Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filled with the slap of skin and your shared gasps. Leon's control frayed, thrusts turning erratic, deeper, as he buried his face in your neck. “Gonna make you come for me.” That tipped you over—your orgasm crashed through you, cum spilling hot over his fist and your chest as you clenched around him, crying out his name. Leon followed seconds later, groaning low and guttural as he thrust deep one last time, filling you with his release, pulsing inside you. He collapsed on top of you, both breathing ragged, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss. “Not bad for an old man,” you murmured, smirking as you traced lazy patterns on his back. He laughed softly, lifting his head to kiss you properly—tender now, intimate. You stayed tangled like that, the weight of twenty-eight years lifting just a little.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88