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Milking him dry… in a different way

MDNI Peter Parker BND x reader!

- inspired by that one fanart

- hands free orgasm (technically), overstimulation (technically), dry orgasm (maybe?), slightttt noncon, slightt sadism, sub!Peter, cumming in pants (or suit), Peter cries, a little praise, mean reader

Peter was laying on your bed, his mask removed, but otherwise still completely clad in his Spider-Man suit. He looked up at you with brown eyes pooled with desire, but also filled with weariness. He must have taken in your mischievous expression.

You, clad in an old oversized tshirt of his and a pair of panties, were feeling mischievous tonight. Peter had told you about the changes happening to his body, the way webs would shoot out against his control, and you were eager to see it for yourself.

Peter glanced around the room nervously, his lips turning down to form a pout, as if he could predict your next move. Lucky for you, his spidey senses didn’t seem to be keen enough for that, or you weren’t sure he’d still be laying here willingly. Though the tent in his pants was proof enough he’d let his girlfriend try anything with him.

You leaned in, watching his pretty eyes flutter closed and his lips part, clearly expecting you to kiss him. A kinda evil smirk graces your own mouth. Much to his dismay, at the last second you avoid his face entirely and instead focus your attention on his left arm.

Peter exhales in disappointment. He opens his eyes to glance at you sideways. “D-don’t tease me like that…” his voice is breathy, anticipation beginning to make his body squirm a bit underneath you.

You ignore his whining, carefully moving his arm to extend straight out, 90 degrees from his body. You slowly slide his sleeve down just a bit, as well as riding his glove up a fraction, to expose a few inches of his wrist.

Your intentions click in Peter’s head immediately. He whips his head to the side to look at you, nerves twisting his features. “..w-wait what are d-doing?”

You lightly place your pointer finger over his plush lips to quiet him. “Shh.. I just wanna try something.” You purr sweetly.

“I-I don’t know.. it’s weird and I don’t understand it yet and I d—“ he begins nervously blabbering, but before he can finish you give the lightest swipe over the barely visible slit in his wrist.

His whole body twitches. His breath hitches with a quiet and surprised “fuck!”

You continue caressing his wrist, passing over the slit and down the newly thick vein. With every touch, Peter shivers with concerning force, his face twisted into a hesitant expression of pleasure and disgust.

Mock sympathy crosses your features. “You okay, Spidey?”

“God— I-it feels so weird— w-wait! Wait wait w—“

Peter’s hand spasms as a long, thick spurt of web shoots from his wrist.

“Agh! Shit.” He throws his head back, a mix of a groan and whimper bubbling from his throat. His face scrunches even more as his boner strains against the thin fabric. He turns to you, his eyes watery, assuming you’re done now.

But you don’t stop. Your thumb is right back to swiping over his wrist, his vein now pulsing slightly. Peter’s arm trembles but you hold it still with your other hand.

“Aww it’s okay baby.” You coo at him, now rubbing circles around the small slit. His fingers won’t stop tensing and twitching, just like the nonstop string of pathetic noises coming from him.

“P-please.” He begs. “It’s s-sensitive hah now.”

Though he doesn’t make a move to stop you, only continues to writhe on your bed. So you keep going, pressing hard into his vein all the way up, as if to milk the web out of him. “You’re being such a good boy.” You murmur.

Another spurt shoots out.

This one has more of an effect on him. His whole body shakes, hips jerking up, eyes blown wide as he moans. “Fuck! Okay, okay. We’re done now? I can’t—“

This time, you cut him off with your mouth. Your tongue eagerly runs down his vein and laps at the tiny slit.

A broken sound pierces the air as a third wave of web sprays out of him, much weaker than the first two.

You glance over at him, seeing a few tears run down his cheeks. “It’s too much. It’s too much for me.” His entire body is flushed, shaking, and covered in a sheen layer of sweat.

“Just one more?” You innocently bat your eyelashes, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw. “You’re doing so good. You can handle it. Your body wouldn’t make it if it wasn’t meant to come out.”

Before he can answer, you’re back to his wrist. Your teeth come out this time, lightly nibbling on his vein. It only takes a few sucks and nips before a fourth wave is coming out. It weakly spurts from him, more oozing than anything. His eyes roll back with a cry.

Your mouth comes down, licking up the little blotches of web that finished trickling out. Even after his wrist is cleaned, though, you don’t pull away.

He violently shudders. “Oh god I t-think I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna—“

His entire body convulses. Hips bucking frantically, head tossing around wildly, loud and pathetic whines and groans filling the bedroom air.

A huge glob of web sprays from his right hand, and you see the now damp spot in his crotch area where he must have cum in his pants…

But nothing came out of his left wrist.

He turns his attention to it the same time you do, a slightly pained expression on his face. “Oh, fuck.”

You look him in the eye with a tilt of your head, grinning. “What’s wrong? Got nothing left in there?”

Your thumb comes down to his wrist again. He jerks, squeezing his eyes shut. “Gah! Hah! Plea.. mm! I ca- ngh!”

You suppress a giggle at his inability to form a coherent thought.

After a few minutes his arm tenses and his hand clenches like it always does before a spray, but nothing comes out.

He groans, and this time it sounds like pain has finally outweighed pleasure. His eyebrows are drawn in and eyes screwed shut. His back is off the bed as he heavily pants.

You slide his glove back on all the way, pushing his hair off his sticky forehead. “What does it feel like?” You murmur.

He opens his eyes to look at you, gaze cloudy and lost. “Like my body wants— n-needs to shoot something out, but there’s nothing for it to.”

You give him a light kiss on his nose bridge. “That must be so hard.” You say, voice sympathetic, but there’s a glint in your eyes at his completely fucked out state, one that you were the complete cause of.

Though he doesn’t see the slightly evil look in your eye, as his eyes are shut again, focusing on his heavy breathing. He simply nods. “I-it is. I can’t stand it. It’s like being denied l-like air o-or—“

Your hand gently cups his cheek, thumb swiping the drying tears under his eyes. “That’s just awful. Especially since I haven’t finished your right arm yet.”

His eyes shoot open.

You laugh. “I’m just kidding, Peter.”

#spiderman #spider #spiderm #spider man: brand new day #bnd #sm bnd #Spider-Man #smut #peter parker #x reader

•18+ Adults Only

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The Letter (BND SPOILERS)

Masterlist

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary:

Please don't read this description until AFTER you've watched Brand New DAY! After being taken into hiding by Spider-Man because a super-powered maniac mind controlled you, you discover a letter to you written by a Peter Parker.

Warnings: BRAND NEW DAY SPOILERS!!!!!!!! Angst, bad writing (I'm out of practice!)

Word count: 2.1k

Peter Parker. Peter Parker. Peter Parker.

That was Spider-Man’s real name. An entire city desperate to know the masked hero’s true identity and you have it in the palm of your hand.

All because he had once loved you.

Or so his letter says.

Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and you don’t remember me, but I have...

An entire letter dedicated to you. Expressing love. Giving an explanation. Building a history. Yearning.

That you’re familiar with. For as long as you can remember, you were brought up on fairytales and fantasies of love and sacrifice, where the hero risks their life for the person they love, even if that means losing everything. Your bookshelves were filled to the brim with it.

And yet here it was in a crumbled letter.

You weren’t meant to find it, and you certainly weren’t looking for it, but it clicked a lot of things back into place. Like how someone named Jean Grey was after you despite your insignificance in this city, in this story.

But this, this was the connecting piece. Not just with Jean, not just with Spider-Man’s sudden interest in you, but for the crater that has been carving a home in your chest for a very long time.

Something had been missing—and if this Peter Parker is telling the truth then doesn’t that explain it all? Even now, holding this hero’s lifeline in your hands, it feels as though your heart could explode out of your chest, and not from fear or the thought that he could be back any second.

But from the meaning behind it all.

The door to Frank’s boat creaks open and paint splashes of red and blue invade your vision.

He stops at the sight of your crestfallen face—ashen and nauseous—he hasn’t seen the letter yet, he doesn’t have to.

“Is this some sick joke?” You ask, breaking the silence along with the past four years of your life. You can’t see the way his eyes drop to the table and back to your face—you can only see the way he almost curls into himself. This international hero—one who has fought men bigger than him, with weapons bigger than him, received the key to the city after taking down more villains than a comic book arc. A man who fought against aliens, been to space, been in both battles against Thanos. But it’s this damn letter that has him cowering.

“Where did you find that?” He asks, the words forced out against his will.

“Answer the question,” your voice wavers in a way that surprises you—after all, ten minutes ago you were adamant this wasn’t real. And in an attempt to seek out the truth, you add: “Peter.”

His breath halts, the lines of his suit distorting with the interrupted breath. The air grows thick with danger, like this is not a truth you should uncover, and even the universe knows it. Peter. His name is Peter. Real.

“No.” His voice matches yours, and you can’t even take pleasure in this retribution.

It’s true then. All of it. It shouldn’t be. And in a universe where Gods didn’t descend, aliens didn’t invade every few years, it wouldn’t betrue—just a matter of fiction.

But this is that universe. And this is Peter Parker. Your Peter Parker, supposedly.

And yet it’s all too much, and you can’t decide if it’s the boat rocking or your vision that’s swaying.

This man once loved you—more than his own happiness by the sound of it.

And you can’t even remember who he is.

“No,” you repeat, almost taunting. No, this is not a joke. No, I also can’t breathe. No, I don’t know what to do, those two letters seem to say. “Take the mask off… please.”

He pulls back in a way that leaves you with questions and doubts. If you had once loved him as he had once loved you, then surely you’d have seen the man behind the mask.

“Let me see who Peter Parker is.”

His hands hover at his neck, then the fabric drags against a strong chin, followed by thin lips and a rounded nose. Blood smeared across his cheeks. Then comes his hair—light curls that give this super man gentleness. And only when he drops his hand back to his side—the one that had been blocking his upper-face, you see his eyes. The saddest eyes one could find on a person. Who was he and how much has he really lost?

You stand from the small, wooden table that is too low for your knees. The same one you had both mocked Frank for during the prior night when his chilli pot took up the entirety of it.

“Peter?” The name falls from your lips as you lift gentle hands to bloodied cheeks—just an inch away. Too close for you; too far away for Peter. An inch away from the life you’ve lived and never lived.

He calls your name out—broken. Pushed out and so soft it could make you cry and you don’t even know why. No one has ever looked at you like Peter has. No one. But this is practiced. Strong and unwavering in the wait it’s been since he found you. Since you found him, you suppose.

He really loved her.

Really loved you.

Not you, but you?

Your hands slap against your thighs as they fall, too terrified to touch a presence so intoxicating, and yet so strange. You wonder if Frank will return home to interrupt whatever collision of planets this is. Save you both from further destruction.

You swallow, but you don’t step away and neither does he. “You wrote this letter. You kept it for who knows how long. Months? A year?”

“Four years.”

The collision of these planets finally ruptures—not from the gravitational pull of space, but from the pure hot, white rage you feel bubbling in your blood.

“Four. Four years. You wrote this four years ago. And you didn’t even— Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I was trying to protect you!” Suit-covered hands lift automatically, as if it to reach for you. As if there was a time when the two of you would fight, and even then, he would still love you enough to hold you through it.

“Protect me?” You shout. “In the past twenty-four hours I have had some super-powered maniac control my mind and toss me off a building! Great protection there!”

“I know. I know. That’s exactly why I had to do what I did. Everyone around Spider-Man gets hurt or they… they…” He struggles to get the words out and there’s this intrinsic part of you that can’t bear to see it. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to understand. You had almost died yourself last night.

You might not remember Peter, but you remember a time long ago. Four years ago, give or take a few months, when there was an attack on New York. Not unusual given the way the world works nowadays. But you remember being stranded by the Statue of Liberty after an attack, after nearly falling like you did last night. Was that the night you had seen each other for a final time? The night of a goodbye that was never followed with a promised hello?

“So, what? You were just going to leave me with…this?” You gesture to your chest, to the invisible dip that has been left there since that day. Therapists called it trauma, and in some ways it probably is. But just like Peter Parker, that feeling was nameless. And now it’s called loss.

How can you explain that to a man who’s looking at you like he’ll shatter if you touch him—one you still can’t find that old feeling of love for.

“But you didn’t leave me, did you?” You push. “You were at Ned’s party. You brought flowers. And even before that, right?”

Silence.

“Right? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“What do you want from me?” He pleads, anger absent from his voice. His body slinks lower, like the weight of being Peter Parker and Spider-Man is catching up to him. There’s no version of this story with a happy ending. No version of this where true love conquers all. He knows that.

And all you know is that you can’t do this.

“I want you to tell me it’s all a lie. I want you to tell me that I’m wrong; that I’ve inserted myself in a story that’s not mine.” Your hand slides back, searching for the silly, little table that’s too inconsequential to hold your own weight—but desperate to try anyways. Too overwhelming—like you might drown in Peter Parker’s feelings. Like he might take you with him.

But all he says is: “I can’t.”

Your knees threaten to buckle.

“It’s you,” he says. “It’s always been you.”

You slam yourself back onto the wooden square, pressing yourself against it.

“Do you want the truth?” He asks, and you know it’s an out. You can stop this now. You can tell him no, and that’ll be the end of this conversation. But you’ve been without the truth for so long—raved about deserving it in between the lines of questioning. Could you bear to be a hypocrite in the face of his anguish?

You nod.

He takes a steeling breath, looking around the small cabin and then at his deflated mask. Spider-Man was never just a costume—it’s him, you realise. “I have been in love with you since we were sixteen years old. Probably even longer than that—it took me a while to work up the courage to tell you.” He laughs bitterly, the irony of repeated mistakes haunting him. “I was your best friend for years, and even that wasn’t enough. And no matter how many years I spent loving you, knowing you… It wasn’t enough.”

“Stop.” It’s a weak protest even to you.

“I made the toughest choice I’ve ever had to make, and I did it all for you. Blame me, hate me. Tell the world that I’m Spider-Man, let them come. Just be in my life enough so I can keep breathing. Because that’s the real truth. I gave you up and I had to learn that you are one thing I can’t live without.”

Tears well up in the corner of your eyes, blurring Peter into his masked persona. Blue and red. It feels as though the tears are gathering in your chest, like they want to drown you from the inside out. It makes you think of those emergency procedures you see on doctor-drama shows—the ones with a gazillion series and cast changes—where they shove a pen into someone’s chest to relieve the tension.

It’s too much. It’s too much and he’s been carrying it around for four years. You can barely stand the forty minutes since you found the letter. Your avoidant eyes find his, and you see the same tears fill his brown eyes—though your memories are divided, the atoms in your bodies know deep down they are the same.

You don’t know when it happens, or how, or who moves first—probably you, with Peter letting you decide the terms—but those precious atoms search for each other, drawing their physical masses closer and closer together.

Your hands find his shoulders, his hover at your waist as if to avoid crossing undrawn lines, and losing you all over again. Your eyes dart across his strong shoulders, all the way up to his mouth, his across your face, savouring every second he has you again—like he had when Jean was in control. But this is really you, he knows that now.

Bodies push closer until your faces hover.

“You don’t have to—”

You shush him, lips slowly grazing his and the need almost kills you. And just when he finally finds the nerve to tug on your hips, mask abandoned to the ground, a sheer ringtone slices through the air like doom itself.

You both spring apart faster than you reached that destination, progress becoming stagnance. His face falls, and when you follow his gaze you see why: Paul is calling.

Paul.

Paul, your boyfriend.

Paul, your boyfriend who you forgot you even had in the past hour.

“I have to…” You stumble both physically and audibly, desperate to stop that incessant tone. Heat floods your cheeks, shame buries your stomach in guilt. You’ve never been a cheater before, didn’t think you could be.

“Yeah,” he chokes.

“Can you—”

“Yeah,” Peter Parker attempts a hopeful smile to match his voice—one that says ‘it’s okay’— but both shake.

And the worst part of all?

You still don’t remember who he is.

#westviewsoldest #peter parker #spiderman brand new day #brand new day #spiderm #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader

Amazing Spider-Man #20 (2023)

written by Joe Kelly art by Terry Dodson & Rachel Dodson

#spiderm #peter parker #marvel #wednesday spoilers #spoilers #comic spoilers

Salvaging parts of her.

hi I want them to be friends

#miles mora #peter parker #spiderm #spider-man #into the spiderverse #my art #digital art #2020

•18+ Adults Only

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**SOLD** Traditional ink sketch of the Ben Reilly Spider-Man.

Copic multiliners and Pentel Fude brush pens on Bristol board.

#spiderm #spider-man #clone saga #ben reilly #spidey #web slinger #fan art #fanart #webbing #Marvel Comics #artists on tumblr #inking #sketch #doodle

BACK TO YOU (CHAPTER VII)

Summary: Y/N Stark and Peter Parker are unconditionally and irrevocably in love with each other, being friends for years was just the step before making it official. BUT, just the weekend they did, Thanos and the snap happened, leaving Y/N broken: without friends, avengers family or Peter Parker. So, she has to move on, at least that’s what everyone’s telling her and she really tries to do it and who better to help her than Harry Osborn. But, has she really let Peter go? What if Tony Stark -genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist- knows how to bring Peter back? And what happens when he does? Is Y/N going to avenge again? Who’s going to lead the avengers now? Who is she going to choose? Harry or Peter? and who the hell is mysterio? *He doesn’t even go here

word count: 7.3K

author’s note: Okay I know this story isn’t getting too much love and I have an idea for the sequel of this which I’M IN LOVE but I don’t want to abandon another story like I did with my GMW stories so I’ll definitely finish this one for sure. Plus, I love it. Let me know what you think, even a like helps my motivation.

SERIES MASTERLIST

You grinned your teeth together as you glared at Harry who was already exiting the elevator into the lobby of Stark’s Industries.

What did he meant with ‘I mean, do you have to?’? It ranged on your ears as you dragged yourself from the elevator, following Harry who was carefree and unaware that he had upset you. You didn’t know which annoyed you more, that he had said it or that he was completely oblivious that it had touched a nerve.

“What do you mean with that?”, you growled as he opened the door for you, not looking at you distracted by waving goodbye to the receptionist, Mark, that had a clear crush on him.

You pursed your lips, not because you were bothered by Harry being somehow nice to him, but because Harry wasn’t even acknowledging you.

“With what?”, Harry asked you, cocking his head to the side.

You watched him carefully as he answered, maybe he hadn’t even meant it or he just didn’t want to bring it up after hearing your tone.

You doubted yourself, a part of you wanted to bring it up because it seemed like an important thing to discuss. Being head of the Avengers would become your main activity for the next couple of years, you would go to college as well and then it would come second to being CEO of Stark Industries, but that would take a while. So, Harry had to be supportive.

But another part of you was scared, maybe he wouldn’t support you and in the back of your mind, a small part of you was worried that if Harry didn’t support you, he would show you that you had made the wrong choice.

So, you decided to restrain yourself.

“Nothing”, you shrugged as you walked through the streets of New York, putting on a smile. “So, how has everything been with your father?”

“Oh”, Harry said as he lumbered, looking at the ground and you saw his face turning a bit slack. “I mean… he has been undoing a lot of what I did in his absence”, he explained and he tried to seem chill, but you recognized the pain in his voice.

“What?”, you cried in disbelief.

Harry had been killing himself over all the projects he had worked on while his father had snapped, you had been a witness of his hard work and dedication. Yes, he helped you with your non-profit but he still had his projects with his passion for bioengineering, with his goal of making an impact wherever he saw fit.

“Yes, the resources wouldn’t simply manage to do both of our projects. So, he cut some”, Harry shrugged while you still watched him with bulging eyes.

“Which ones?”, your tone was dead, making Harry turned to you with a lopsided grimaced.

He sighed as he took a hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“The one that helped people in Japan?”, he fretted naturally.

It was as if he was mentally shrugging as if it was something that had to be accepted.

“Are you serious?”, you said with lingering annoyance on your voice.

It pained you to see him that way, you felt your cheeks growing hotter as time passed and you remember the times where he had told you he couldn’t go to New York because of his projects, or the times when you would spend entire nights at his lab working on a new thing while you learn more about bioengineering by his side. Now, you knew for sure that Norman -as your father had said before meeting Harry- was a real asshole.

“Yes…”, Harry replied apprehensively, raising his eyebrows and pulling you into him. “But he allowed to keep the ones regarding children and public health”, he said with a genuine smile. “I fought for those”

You remained silent for a moment, watching your boyfriend carefully, analyzing his dark almond eyes and his features. How much could you intervene without being

too

much?

“Still, I’m so sorry”, you muttered. “You know that you can transfer those programs to other companies, right?”

He stayed silent for a moment as he zoned out. Somehow, it didn’t fit with the picture that you had of Harry. He always had something to say, he was always witty and surprisingly good at making conversation, confidence was his second name. But this version of him, you didn’t know how to handle it and you didn’t know if it was more trouble to actually speak on the situation or just remained silent. But then again, you were the daughter of Tony.

“Is there anything he did that you also wanted?”

Maybe it was a bit too forward and you shouldn’t have gotten into it because it was none of your business. And honestly, you understood what was listening to your parents’ wishes; You almost always listen to what Tony and Pepper had to say, maybe a bit too much for being a Stark but you knew that if you made a decision, they would respect it. You just wished it was the same for Harry.

You didn’t hear him huffing at your reply and you didn’t notice how he held a little bit tighter to your hand or his flashing eyes, so what he managed to say next really surprised you. You were still thinking about Norman Osborn and if there was some way you could move those programs to another company.

“He wants to meet you”

You stopped dead on your tracks, which made Harry turn back to you a little unsettled by your reaction. You could feel your face growing hot as your eyes connected with his.

In the time that you and Harry had dated -about a year or so- you had reached almost every milestone, for example, him meeting your family, you met his friends, saying the actual words “I love you”, giving each other access (since everything was with AI) to each other homes, among others. He had always been nothing but perfect, a charming gentleman in every occasion.

But although you had gone through all of that together, you were not at all prepared to meet his father, it never even crossed your mind, not even when he came back.

“What?”

You couldn’t believe it was your actual voice, it was wheezy and tight; which Harry picked-up immediately. You could see on his eyes how uncomfortable he was with your state and you hated yourself for it because it wasn’t your intention to hurt him but you couldn’t avoid thinking not only about the words of Tony about Norman before you went to Oscorp for the first time and also your current state of mind with Peter back in your life.

Harry nodded, “Yes, I told him about you and he really wants to have dinner with you.” He said it slowly as he pulled you a little bit closer to him slowly and with a soft smile as if he was treating you like a scared bird that would fly away if he made any more sudden moves.

Your eyes went back to your hand holding his, gazing downwards. Something deep in you told you that maybe you didn’t really want to meet Norman Osborn, maybe it was better off like this but how could you explain it to him? Without hurting his feelings.

“I-I, well it’s such a big step”, you cleared your throat as Harry watched you carefully. “Are you su-”

“You are not sure…”, Harry cut you off sternly as he cocked an eyebrow.

You could tell he was upset, you could see it on his sleek jaw, how tense he was and the way he was gazing at you, like as if he was trying to dig every little thought that went through your head to know what was happening in it. He did that usually when you were in a lab together, as he watched you worked and you hadn’t become used to it because you felt on the spot; this time you liked it even less.

It was weird since it was something Peter often did, maybe it was the memory of Peter on the back of your mind that made you uncomfortable.

Before you could say anything trying to save the situation, he intervened.

“Why didn’t you tell me Peter Parker was back?”, he spat.

Peter Parker (shit edits)

#sony #marvel #peter parker #tom holland #spiderm #spider-man #edits #TOMHOLLAND #hollanders