May I Offer You For Some Tea Milady?

Another rainy evening results in you staying cooped up in your dorm, eyes heavy despite being dosed up on caffeine, the warm lamp light on your desk ghosting over your laptop screen and papers in a golden blur.

It’s that point in the semester where the weather is getting colder, the stakes are getting higher, and everyone is cramming to memorize fifteen weeks of school work in one night. For you, an Entomology major, your current ball and chain is a thoroughly written report on arachnids, their mating cycles, and their habits.

The sound of the rain thumping against your windowsill makes it hard to focus. But it’s not just the rain that tears away your attention—it’s the fact that your boyfriend, Peter, is out doing God knows what on his exam night. He assured you he would be back no later than ten, but one quick glance at the clock tells you he’s late. It reads 12:45 AM.

You’re eager to reach for your phone and shoot a quick call to Evie, but you try your best to resist so you don’t get in the way of his typical superhero duties. As the minutes tick by and your daunting report burns bright on your screen, your worry gives way.

With a sigh, you sit up straight in your chair and snatch your phone. As you’re dialing his suit, a hard crash against the window makes you gasp and jolt in your seat.

As if he knew you were about to call, Peter is right there.

He quickly slides your window open and sneaks in smoothly—drenched in rain and panting hard.

“Christ, Peter!” You try to will away the adrenaline from the scare. “You told me you’d be back at ten. I was just about to call you—”

Peter nearly collapses over your desk as he tries to hold himself up, scattering your research papers. Normally, you’d give him a lecture for messing up your study station, but as worry washes over you, you don’t even glance at the pages you’ve slaved over for the past twenty-four hours.

“Peter? Peter, look at me—what happened?” you hurry over to him, your hands cupping his cheeks through his mask.

His suit is soaked through, cold rain pooling on the floor, but despite the chill, his body radiates a feverish, unnatural heat. His breathing comes in hard pants and desperate gulps. He rips his gloves off harshly and tears at the neck of his suit.

“I—I don’t know,” he rasps, his voice strained as if he’s trying to swallow down a growl. “Something’s wrong. I—I’ve been feeling like this for days, and I thought it was just a fever—but then I started producing my own webs, and I—”

“Okay, okay, just breathe. Help me get you down.”

You wrap one arm around his waist and guide him toward your bed, but the contact makes him hiss sharply, as if your touch hurts him. You quickly help him undress out of the rest of the suit, eager to examine him for any injuries.

He lies before you in just his underwear—and as you scan Peter’s muscular frame, you notice nothing unusual except for a strange pulsing in the veins at his wrists.

“Peter,” you frown, eyeing him up and down to make sure you haven’t missed anything. “You’re not injured—are you?”

“No,” he reassures through ragged breaths. “No, I’m not injured—it’s just—I don’t know, everything feels so warm and I—”

“Here, let me help you remove your mask.”

Without warning, you lean over his body and reach for the hem of his mask at the base of his neck. He gasps sharply the moment your fingers graze his hot skin. “No! Don’t touch it!”

His hand shoots out and clasps your wrist tightly, making you wince. He has never grabbed you like that before.

Peter, realizing what he’s done, loosens his grip on your wrist just slightly.

“Crap—I’m sorry. I just… don’t remove it, okay?” He pants heavily. “My eyes—they’re pitch black. I’ve never had this happen before, and I don’t want to scare you.”

A line creases between your brows in worry. “I could never be scared of you.”

“I know, I know,” he sucks in a deep breath, the pillows rustling as he turns his head toward you. You can’t see his face, but his voice betrays his pained expression. “Please don’t remove it. Not yet.”

“But what if you’re injured?”

“If I had a head injury, I would tell you.”

You search the white lenses of his mask, but eventually, you give in with an exasperated sigh and slowly lower your hand from his neck. Peter doesn’t let go of your wrist; he intertwines his clammy fingers with yours.

With a solemn expression, you cup your free palm over his knuckles while holding his hand.

“Peter, what’s happening to you?” you ask softly, kneeling beside him at the edge of the bed.

He swallows hard, his neck flushing a deep, embarrassing shade of red where his mask pulled up.

“It’s hard to explain,” he stammers, his lenses focusing on the ceiling of your warmly lit dorm room. “For the past few days, my body’s been feeling restless. It’s like every single instinct I have is screaming at me to do something, but my brain couldn’t figure out what.”

His hand—the one that isn’t holding yours—clenches into a fist, the veins and muscles in his forearm popping with frustration.

“And then tonight,” he continues in almost a bashful whisper, “I started producing my own webs. Like Peter Two did—” He turns to you real quick. “You remember Peter Two, right?”

You nod. He looks back up at the ceiling.

“Anyway, the webs weren’t strong enough to control at all. It felt… almost painful. It wouldn’t stop spurting out. There’s also this feeling in my gut— like I’m hungry.”

The white lenses of his mask narrow in embarrassment. “And I don’t mean for food,” he mutters, shifting his hips awkwardly until the bed creaks. “My body was screaming at me to come back to you. To feel your touch, to hear your voice… and now that you’re here, my skin burns every time you touch me, but I don’t want you to stop. I feel like I’d die if you did.”

You hum softly, your fingers stroking over his knuckles as your eyes rake over his body once more. Without even looking at you, Peter can feel the weight of your gaze—and fuck, it’s heavy. You’re his girlfriend, and you’ve seen him through all his ups and downs, but for some reason, this feels completely different.

His body is tense, his skin is burning hot, and his heart is beating erratically. The longer you stare at him, the longer you stroke your fingers against his hand, the more he feels an unmistakable ache in his groin.

Before he knows it, his underwear begins to tighten, revealing a prominent, pulsing bulge right in front of you—begging for your touch to move from his hands to somewhere much lower.

You swallow hard, your face heating up instantly at his size.

Your mind—trained by months of endless lectures, lab practicals, and late-night readings—slowly begins connecting the dots. The feverish body temperature, the blacked-out eyes, the hyper-fixation on your presence, his restlessness, the involuntary production of silk, the sudden surge of physical arousal—it isn’t just a random mutation spike.

It’s textbook arachnid behavior. It also happens to be exactly what you’re writing your report on right now.

“Peter,” you try your best to pry your eyes away from the space between his legs. “You’re in an ultimate molt cycle.”

Through the white lenses of his mask, he squints at you in confusion. “A... a what?”

“Ultimate molt,” you repeat, pushing yourself off the floor so you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. “In mature male spiders, the final molt signals sexual maturity. Their bodies undergo a massive physiological shift. They stop eating, their metabolic rate and temperature skyrocket, and their brain gets overtaken with one goal in mind.”

Peter swallows hard. “And what’s that?”

“Um,” you say, sheepish. “Reproduction.”

His head slumps back onto the pillow with a small thud. “Oh, God.” He shuts his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. “I’m pretty sure you’ve explained this to me before.”

You squint at him. “I did. During the beginning of the semester. I also told you this was something you should keep in mind—but you insisted that none of it actually applied to you.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but you can already see the smug grin sitting behind his mask.

“Anyway,” you quickly glance down at his erection before continuing. “When a male reaches this stage, his silk glands change. He builds what’s called a sperm web—a small, specialized sheet of silk where he deposits his genetic material so he can charge his pedipalps.”

“English, please.”

You roll your eyes. “Your body is trying to build a sperm web, Peter. Your spider DNA is hitting its final maturation phase, and your bloodstream is swimming with reproductive hormones.”

“And the only way to fix it is by…” Peter drawls.

He already knows the answer, but the way he dances around the words makes it clear he’s trying to get you to admit it out loud. You can’t believe that even in such a vulnerable situation, he still manages to find a way to tease you.

“Having sex,” you finish, a shy expression creeping onto your face.

A silence settles between the two of you—a silence filled with so much tension that most people wouldn’t consider it “normal” for a couple.

The few times you and Peter had sex, it was gentle, intimate, and respectful. It always involved him whispering sweet nothings into your ear and making sure your pleasure came first. Even without saying it aloud, you both know that if you were to do it right now, it would be entirely different. Peter isn’t even sure he could control himself.

You clear your throat, trying to break the tension.

“Well—that’s what I’ve been writing my research paper on. Male spiders can get extremely aggressive at this point in their lives, so scientists are trying to find remedies that don’t require a female partner,” you explain, slowly prying your hand away from his and standing up from the bed. “If I check my references, I might be able to find something that can help you—”

Peter’s whole body tenses. With your touch gone for even a millisecond, he feels like he’s starving. Before you can step away, he stops you with a firm grip around your wrist.

“No,” he breathes roughly. “Get back here.”

With a harsh tug, he pulls you back down onto the mattress. “If having sex is what’ll solve this,” Peter rasps in a low, hungry voice, “then that’s what we’re going to do.”

Warmth spreads rapidly across your face and down your neck. You look down at him, reaching to gently cup the side of his masked jaw. He shudders.

“Peter… look at me,” you whisper softly, your voice trembling just a bit. “I’m always going to want to help you. Always. But… is this something you actually want?”

Peter’s body tenses—not because of anything you said, but because your touch feels like throwing gasoline onto a roaring flame.

“More than anything,” he breathes out, his hand blanketing yours to keep it there. “Every cell in my body is begging for you.”

His white lenses stay locked on your eyes as his hands move down to his waist. Even just lying in his underwear, he feels restricted. Contained. His body screams at him to get rid of it. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down his legs, kicking them aside.

Freed from the restraint, his length springs heavy and hard against his lower stomach, so swollen it looks almost painful. The dark tip is already glistening, leaking a clear, hot bead of pre-cum. His whole body twitches at the release of pressure, a low groan escaping his throat as he guides your hand down to his hip.

You’ve touched him plenty of times, but tonight, even the simplest graze of your fingertips feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

“It hurts so bad,” he whimpers behind his mask. “Please… I need you to ride it.”

His cock twitches, his balls sitting heavy and full between his legs. You swallow hard, clenching your thighs together. You’ve never ridden him before, and the thought of doing it now—when he needs it most—makes you feel self-conscious.

“Peter, I’ve… I’ve never—”

“I know,” he reassures, though his voice strains painfully, like he’s fighting to hold back. “Just try your best, okay? I know your body can take it. I can smell how wet you are.”

His spider sense is buzzing violently. He can hear the uneven thump of your heartbeat, feel the heat radiating off your skin, and smell the scent of your arousal filling the air—sweet and intoxicating, driving every instinct in his blood wild.

His masked head tilts up, white lenses expanding slightly as he watches you straddle his hips.

Hovering over him, you reach for the hem of your shirt. You pull it over your head and cast it aside, followed by your sleep shorts, until you’re straddling him in just your underwear.

Peter lets out a trembling exhale. His large hand wraps around the base of his cock, his hot fingers closing tight over himself. He begins to stroke lazily—up and down in long drags that make his hips roll for more. The wet slicking noise of his pre-cum against his palm echoes in the quiet room.

“Fuck,” he groans. Through the white lenses of his mask, you can tell his gaze is glued to you, tracing every curve, watching every move. “Look at you… you’re so pretty.”

Emboldened by how much of an effect you have on him, you discard your panties, baring yourself completely. You settle yourself back over his hips, positioning yourself right above him. Peter’s hand rests at his base, holding his cock steady as he watches you slowly lower your body until the tip presses against the tightness of your entrance.

A choked, almost sobbing sound breaks from his throat.

Control yourself, Peter tries to remind himself. He thought he had it handled, but his senses are louder than ever—telling him to grab your waist and drive you down in one ruthless pull.

“Oh, God,” he curses, tossing his head back against the pillows as you sink deeper.

You stop halfway, your face flashing with worry. “Is this hurting you?” you ask. “We can stop.”

Peter feels like he’s going insane. His hands fist the blankets beneath him, because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you right now.

“No,” he hisses. “It only hurts because I’m not inside yet. Don’t stop. All the way in, baby. You’re almost there.”

You take a deep breath, resting your hands flat on his broad chest to steady yourself. You push your hips down, taking the remaining inch of his girth until your hips flush against his. The stretch is dizzying, making your heart take flight in your chest.

Peter’s cock sheathes hot inside you, twitching as it savors every surface of your tight walls.

You can’t make out his expression past the mask, but from the way his head is thrown back and the veins pop in his forearms as he grips the bedsheets, it’s clear he’s about to lose his mind. You tilt your head back with a soft breathy sigh, letting your hips roll against his in a slow, testing rhythm.

The movement alone drives his heightened senses over the edge.

Whatever thin thread of restraint Peter was clinging to snaps entirely.

With a sharp hiss, his hands shoot out from the tangled sheets. His large hot palms slam against your bare hips, his long fingers digging into your skin with an inescapable grip—holding you tightly in place as his primal instincts take over.

“I can’t—I can’t wait,” he rasps painfully. “I’m sorry, baby, I need it now—”

Without giving you time to answer, his hips snap upward in a ruthless thrust that sends a gasp flying from your lips. Before you can even catch your breath, he sets a punishing pace from underneath you, using his grip on your waist to guide your body up and down his length in hard, unrelenting pistons.

The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes loudly through your dorm room. You feel his chest heaving against your hands while the white lenses hide the obsession behind his pitch-black eyes. It’s a good thing he kept the mask on—because with the way his cock is kissing your womb, he knows his eyes are crazed.

“Oh, God! Peter!” You cry out, your tits bouncing with every upward thrust of his hips.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so tight,” Peter groans.

He lifts his hips, bridging his back so he can thrust deeper, angling his length so every hard drive grinds right up against your most sensitive spot. Your vision swims as he ravages you from the inside, a tight, coiled pressure building deep in your lower belly.

The pleasure is overwhelming, yet it’s still not enough for him. His cock needs to drive even deeper—until your wetness coats his entire length from tip to base, until both of your juices combine into a thick sheen right where his brunette curls rest at his pelvis.

He wants to make a mess out of you, to see you crying his name and begging to be filled.

Filled up…

The idea of it makes Peter go crazy.

Peter sits up fast, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest before you can even blink. Your positions are flipped as he hovers over you from behind.

His knees bracket your thighs while his chest presses flush against your spine. You gasp at the sudden shift, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips to pull you back against his cock as he aligns himself once more.

“Peter—” you cry out, your voice muffled into the mattress. It smells just like him.

“Stay right there,” he growls into your neck, his hot breath searing your skin. “Don’t move.”

He’s got you in a perfect position—face down, ass up, completely bared and vulnerable for mating.

He’s never had you in such a vulgar position before—all of your lovemaking before was face to face so he could see every whimper and tear that spills. But in this position, the angle is even deeper. Your back arches perfectly. His cock finds your entrance again, and with how wet you are, he finds no trouble burying his cock all the way back inside you, a harsh grunt breaking from his throat as your tight walls clamp around him. His hands dig into your hips, locking you in place as he begins to pound into you from behind with a speed he’s never used on you before.

“Oh!” you cry into the pillow.

Every thrust pushes you forward into the sheets, the wet, slapping sound of his hips against yours filling the air alongside his groans.

“I feel so backed up,” he grunts so quietly, it’s like he’s speaking to himself. “This feels so good—gonna dump it all inside you. Make me feel better.”

Peter’s balls slap against your folds, obscenely hot and heavy. It’s in this moment that you realize what exactly this is. He has you in the same position you’ve seen in countless textbooks during your studies.

During spider mating, the male must align his pedipalps with the female’s epigyne for a successful sperm transfer.

Peter is going to breed you.

A low growl escapes him when his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot. Your walls, tight and rubbing against the underside of his cock, drive him insane, his muscles tensing as he throws his head back in pleasure. He’s sweating profusely under the mask, almost making it harder to breathe, but he doesn’t care. His body screams for something else, and as his cock pistons in and out of you, accompanied by your moans and cries of his name, he feels himself getting close.

His girth makes your eyes roll back, an overwhelming cry tearing from your throat. Instinctively, you scramble your legs and arms for purchase, trying to get into a more suitable position, but in Peter’s blacked-out eyes, he thinks you’re running away.

A disapproving groan vibrates in his chest as one hand releases your hip to grab your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His legs wrestle against yours to keep them still from behind. Then, he shoots out a web—an organic, self-made web that slings around your wrists like a band, and then another to keep your ankles pinned, effectively keeping you in place.

“Almost there,” Peter grunts, his sweaty chest pressing up against your bare back as he ruts into you. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. God—my balls are so full, I needed this. Just stay like that—let me fill you up.”

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his palm resting gently over your nape to press your head into the pillow.

“You’re trapped,” he rasps, his voice deep and gravelly. You have never heard him talk to you like this before, and the filth of it makes your body clench with desire. “Look at you… bound up, completely wide open for me. You can’t get away.”

His hips snap forward to bottom out inside you, it makes your heels twitch against the web binding your ankles.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” Peter grunts, the words coming in shallow bursts against the shell of your ear. “Every single drop. I’m gonna flood you so deep you’ll feel me inside you for days… make sure everyone knows you belong to me. My sweet, beautiful mate…”

The biological urge to plant his seed, to mark you, and to fill you until you overflow turns his pace crazed.

The wet slapping of his pelvis against your rear sings like a song in the room, mixing with the strained, needy whines escaping your throat. His cock swells inside you, pulsing and stretching your walls to their limit. It’s more than you can take, and you feel yourself getting close.

“Peter—! I’m—I’m going to—” you cry out, your chest heaving against the bed.

“Come for me,” he commands, his fingers tightening gently on your neck as his thrusts turn short, vicious, and frantic. “Clench around my cock and take it. Breeding you, baby… I’m breeding you.”

Your mind is hazy with an overwhelming sense of desire. His words, the position—it’s like a whole new side of Peter you never knew existed, and your body is enjoying every second of it.

You cry out his name, your body twitching as your pussy clenches around his shaft, milking him for every drop. Peter’s muscles pull taut at the sensation, his forehead pressing into your damp shoulder blade as his balls draw tight against your entrance.

One pulse, then another, and your womb fills with his cum.

Thick, scorching floods of semen pump deep into your core. Spurt after heavy spurt fills you past your capacity, the force of his release so strong his entire frame shakes violently, his breathing erratic as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His instincts move his body on command. Just like a spider aligning with the epigyne, he pulls out quickly and spins you around so your back hits the mattress. He spreads your legs, positioning himself between them as his cock slaps heavy against your lower belly, letting the rest of his cum seep onto your skin.

He groans incoherently as he watches his body mark you, holding himself at the base and smearing his seed over your stomach with his tip.

He stays above you for a long moment until you both catch your breath. Finally, he sits back on his knees.

His cock, now half-limp, slaps against his stomach lazily as a trickle of his seed drips down your inner thigh and lower belly. He slumps onto the mattress, but wastes no time pulling you in close against his chest.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. He’s never allowed himself to take you so vulgarly—almost monstrously. Now, he’s terrified of removing the mask; he doesn’t want you to see the burning shame etched on his features.

Peter’s hands cradle your back, his chin resting gently against your sweaty temple. He tries to muster up an apology, maybe say something along the lines of, “I don’t know what took over me.” Because truthfully, he didn’t.

But then your laugh comes first—soft, raspy, and utterly spent.

“You know what female spiders do to their partners after they’ve finished mating?” you ask into his neck.

Peter stiffens. “What?”

“They eat them. It's a good source of nutrients for the babies.”

Peter tries to remember if you had anything to eat before he got here. “Oh.”

📝 idk what to say. if you've read my first peter parker fic, i felt like i just put on an evil mask because this is a complete 180 twist from my last story. again, i only proofread like half of it and got lazy, so i apologize for any mistakes !! if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them! I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

Another rainy evening results in you staying cooped up in your dorm, eyes heavy despite being dosed up on caffeine, the warm lamp light on your desk ghosting over your laptop screen and papers in a golden blur.

It’s that point in the semester where the weather is getting colder, the stakes are getting higher, and everyone is cramming to memorize fifteen weeks of school work in one night. For you, an Entomology major, your current ball and chain is a thoroughly written report on arachnids, their mating cycles, and their habits.

The sound of the rain thumping against your windowsill makes it hard to focus. But it’s not just the rain that tears away your attention—it’s the fact that your boyfriend, Peter, is out doing God knows what on his exam night. He assured you he would be back no later than ten, but one quick glance at the clock tells you he’s late. It reads 12:45 AM.

You’re eager to reach for your phone and shoot a quick call to Evie, but you try your best to resist so you don’t get in the way of his typical superhero duties. As the minutes tick by and your daunting report burns bright on your screen, your worry gives way.

With a sigh, you sit up straight in your chair and snatch your phone. As you’re dialing his suit, a hard crash against the window makes you gasp and jolt in your seat.

As if he knew you were about to call, Peter is right there.

He quickly slides your window open and sneaks in smoothly—drenched in rain and panting hard.

“Christ, Peter!” You try to will away the adrenaline from the scare. “You told me you’d be back at ten. I was just about to call you—”

Peter nearly collapses over your desk as he tries to hold himself up, scattering your research papers. Normally, you’d give him a lecture for messing up your study station, but as worry washes over you, you don’t even glance at the pages you’ve slaved over for the past twenty-four hours.

“Peter? Peter, look at me—what happened?” you hurry over to him, your hands cupping his cheeks through his mask.

His suit is soaked through, cold rain pooling on the floor, but despite the chill, his body radiates a feverish, unnatural heat. His breathing comes in hard pants and desperate gulps. He rips his gloves off harshly and tears at the neck of his suit.

“I—I don’t know,” he rasps, his voice strained as if he’s trying to swallow down a growl. “Something’s wrong. I—I’ve been feeling like this for days, and I thought it was just a fever—but then I started producing my own webs, and I—”

“Okay, okay, just breathe. Help me get you down.”

You wrap one arm around his waist and guide him toward your bed, but the contact makes him hiss sharply, as if your touch hurts him. You quickly help him undress out of the rest of the suit, eager to examine him for any injuries.

He lies before you in just his underwear—and as you scan Peter’s muscular frame, you notice nothing unusual except for a strange pulsing in the veins at his wrists.

“Peter,” you frown, eyeing him up and down to make sure you haven’t missed anything. “You’re not injured—are you?”

“No,” he reassures through ragged breaths. “No, I’m not injured—it’s just—I don’t know, everything feels so warm and I—”

“Here, let me help you remove your mask.”

Without warning, you lean over his body and reach for the hem of his mask at the base of his neck. He gasps sharply the moment your fingers graze his hot skin. “No! Don’t touch it!”

His hand shoots out and clasps your wrist tightly, making you wince. He has never grabbed you like that before.

Peter, realizing what he’s done, loosens his grip on your wrist just slightly.

“Crap—I’m sorry. I just… don’t remove it, okay?” He pants heavily. “My eyes—they’re pitch black. I’ve never had this happen before, and I don’t want to scare you.”

A line creases between your brows in worry. “I could never be scared of you.”

“I know, I know,” he sucks in a deep breath, the pillows rustling as he turns his head toward you. You can’t see his face, but his voice betrays his pained expression. “Please don’t remove it. Not yet.”

“But what if you’re injured?”

“If I had a head injury, I would tell you.”

You search the white lenses of his mask, but eventually, you give in with an exasperated sigh and slowly lower your hand from his neck. Peter doesn’t let go of your wrist; he intertwines his clammy fingers with yours.

With a solemn expression, you cup your free palm over his knuckles while holding his hand.

“Peter, what’s happening to you?” you ask softly, kneeling beside him at the edge of the bed.

He swallows hard, his neck flushing a deep, embarrassing shade of red where his mask pulled up.

“It’s hard to explain,” he stammers, his lenses focusing on the ceiling of your warmly lit dorm room. “For the past few days, my body’s been feeling restless. It’s like every single instinct I have is screaming at me to do something, but my brain couldn’t figure out what.”

His hand—the one that isn’t holding yours—clenches into a fist, the veins and muscles in his forearm popping with frustration.

“And then tonight,” he continues in almost a bashful whisper, “I started producing my own webs. Like Peter Two did—” He turns to you real quick. “You remember Peter Two, right?”

You nod. He looks back up at the ceiling.

“Anyway, the webs weren’t strong enough to control at all. It felt… almost painful. It wouldn’t stop spurting out. There’s also this feeling in my gut— like I’m hungry.”

The white lenses of his mask narrow in embarrassment. “And I don’t mean for food,” he mutters, shifting his hips awkwardly until the bed creaks. “My body was screaming at me to come back to you. To feel your touch, to hear your voice… and now that you’re here, my skin burns every time you touch me, but I don’t want you to stop. I feel like I’d die if you did.”

You hum softly, your fingers stroking over his knuckles as your eyes rake over his body once more. Without even looking at you, Peter can feel the weight of your gaze—and fuck, it’s heavy. You’re his girlfriend, and you’ve seen him through all his ups and downs, but for some reason, this feels completely different.

His body is tense, his skin is burning hot, and his heart is beating erratically. The longer you stare at him, the longer you stroke your fingers against his hand, the more he feels an unmistakable ache in his groin.

Before he knows it, his underwear begins to tighten, revealing a prominent, pulsing bulge right in front of you—begging for your touch to move from his hands to somewhere much lower.

You swallow hard, your face heating up instantly at his size.

Your mind—trained by months of endless lectures, lab practicals, and late-night readings—slowly begins connecting the dots. The feverish body temperature, the blacked-out eyes, the hyper-fixation on your presence, his restlessness, the involuntary production of silk, the sudden surge of physical arousal—it isn’t just a random mutation spike.

It’s textbook arachnid behavior. It also happens to be exactly what you’re writing your report on right now.

“Peter,” you try your best to pry your eyes away from the space between his legs. “You’re in an ultimate molt cycle.”

Through the white lenses of his mask, he squints at you in confusion. “A... a what?”

“Ultimate molt,” you repeat, pushing yourself off the floor so you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. “In mature male spiders, the final molt signals sexual maturity. Their bodies undergo a massive physiological shift. They stop eating, their metabolic rate and temperature skyrocket, and their brain gets overtaken with one goal in mind.”

Peter swallows hard. “And what’s that?”

“Um,” you say, sheepish. “Reproduction.”

His head slumps back onto the pillow with a small thud. “Oh, God.” He shuts his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. “I’m pretty sure you’ve explained this to me before.”

You squint at him. “I did. During the beginning of the semester. I also told you this was something you should keep in mind—but you insisted that none of it actually applied to you.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but you can already see the smug grin sitting behind his mask.

“Anyway,” you quickly glance down at his erection before continuing. “When a male reaches this stage, his silk glands change. He builds what’s called a sperm web—a small, specialized sheet of silk where he deposits his genetic material so he can charge his pedipalps.”

“English, please.”

You roll your eyes. “Your body is trying to build a sperm web, Peter. Your spider DNA is hitting its final maturation phase, and your bloodstream is swimming with reproductive hormones.”

“And the only way to fix it is by…” Peter drawls.

He already knows the answer, but the way he dances around the words makes it clear he’s trying to get you to admit it out loud. You can’t believe that even in such a vulnerable situation, he still manages to find a way to tease you.

“Having sex,” you finish, a shy expression creeping onto your face.

A silence settles between the two of you—a silence filled with so much tension that most people wouldn’t consider it “normal” for a couple.

The few times you and Peter had sex, it was gentle, intimate, and respectful. It always involved him whispering sweet nothings into your ear and making sure your pleasure came first. Even without saying it aloud, you both know that if you were to do it right now, it would be entirely different. Peter isn’t even sure he could control himself.

You clear your throat, trying to break the tension.

“Well—that’s what I’ve been writing my research paper on. Male spiders can get extremely aggressive at this point in their lives, so scientists are trying to find remedies that don’t require a female partner,” you explain, slowly prying your hand away from his and standing up from the bed. “If I check my references, I might be able to find something that can help you—”

Peter’s whole body tenses. With your touch gone for even a millisecond, he feels like he’s starving. Before you can step away, he stops you with a firm grip around your wrist.

“No,” he breathes roughly. “Get back here.”

With a harsh tug, he pulls you back down onto the mattress. “If having sex is what’ll solve this,” Peter rasps in a low, hungry voice, “then that’s what we’re going to do.”

Warmth spreads rapidly across your face and down your neck. You look down at him, reaching to gently cup the side of his masked jaw. He shudders.

“Peter… look at me,” you whisper softly, your voice trembling just a bit. “I’m always going to want to help you. Always. But… is this something you actually want?”

Peter’s body tenses—not because of anything you said, but because your touch feels like throwing gasoline onto a roaring flame.

“More than anything,” he breathes out, his hand blanketing yours to keep it there. “Every cell in my body is begging for you.”

His white lenses stay locked on your eyes as his hands move down to his waist. Even just lying in his underwear, he feels restricted. Contained. His body screams at him to get rid of it. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down his legs, kicking them aside.

Freed from the restraint, his length springs heavy and hard against his lower stomach, so swollen it looks almost painful. The dark tip is already glistening, leaking a clear, hot bead of pre-cum. His whole body twitches at the release of pressure, a low groan escaping his throat as he guides your hand down to his hip.

You’ve touched him plenty of times, but tonight, even the simplest graze of your fingertips feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

“It hurts so bad,” he whimpers behind his mask. “Please… I need you to ride it.”

His cock twitches, his balls sitting heavy and full between his legs. You swallow hard, clenching your thighs together. You’ve never ridden him before, and the thought of doing it now—when he needs it most—makes you feel self-conscious.

“Peter, I’ve… I’ve never—”

“I know,” he reassures, though his voice strains painfully, like he’s fighting to hold back. “Just try your best, okay? I know your body can take it. I can smell how wet you are.”

His spider sense is buzzing violently. He can hear the uneven thump of your heartbeat, feel the heat radiating off your skin, and smell the scent of your arousal filling the air—sweet and intoxicating, driving every instinct in his blood wild.

His masked head tilts up, white lenses expanding slightly as he watches you straddle his hips.

Hovering over him, you reach for the hem of your shirt. You pull it over your head and cast it aside, followed by your sleep shorts, until you’re straddling him in just your underwear.

Peter lets out a trembling exhale. His large hand wraps around the base of his cock, his hot fingers closing tight over himself. He begins to stroke lazily—up and down in long drags that make his hips roll for more. The wet slicking noise of his pre-cum against his palm echoes in the quiet room.

“Fuck,” he groans. Through the white lenses of his mask, you can tell his gaze is glued to you, tracing every curve, watching every move. “Look at you… you’re so pretty.”

Emboldened by how much of an effect you have on him, you discard your panties, baring yourself completely. You settle yourself back over his hips, positioning yourself right above him. Peter’s hand rests at his base, holding his cock steady as he watches you slowly lower your body until the tip presses against the tightness of your entrance.

A choked, almost sobbing sound breaks from his throat.

Control yourself, Peter tries to remind himself. He thought he had it handled, but his senses are louder than ever—telling him to grab your waist and drive you down in one ruthless pull.

“Oh, God,” he curses, tossing his head back against the pillows as you sink deeper.

You stop halfway, your face flashing with worry. “Is this hurting you?” you ask. “We can stop.”

Peter feels like he’s going insane. His hands fist the blankets beneath him, because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you right now.

“No,” he hisses. “It only hurts because I’m not inside yet. Don’t stop. All the way in, baby. You’re almost there.”

You take a deep breath, resting your hands flat on his broad chest to steady yourself. You push your hips down, taking the remaining inch of his girth until your hips flush against his. The stretch is dizzying, making your heart take flight in your chest.

Peter’s cock sheathes hot inside you, twitching as it savors every surface of your tight walls.

You can’t make out his expression past the mask, but from the way his head is thrown back and the veins pop in his forearms as he grips the bedsheets, it’s clear he’s about to lose his mind. You tilt your head back with a soft breathy sigh, letting your hips roll against his in a slow, testing rhythm.

The movement alone drives his heightened senses over the edge.

Whatever thin thread of restraint Peter was clinging to snaps entirely.

With a sharp hiss, his hands shoot out from the tangled sheets. His large hot palms slam against your bare hips, his long fingers digging into your skin with an inescapable grip—holding you tightly in place as his primal instincts take over.

“I can’t—I can’t wait,” he rasps painfully. “I’m sorry, baby, I need it now—”

Without giving you time to answer, his hips snap upward in a ruthless thrust that sends a gasp flying from your lips. Before you can even catch your breath, he sets a punishing pace from underneath you, using his grip on your waist to guide your body up and down his length in hard, unrelenting pistons.

The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes loudly through your dorm room. You feel his chest heaving against your hands while the white lenses hide the obsession behind his pitch-black eyes. It’s a good thing he kept the mask on—because with the way his cock is kissing your womb, he knows his eyes are crazed.

“Oh, God! Peter!” You cry out, your tits bouncing with every upward thrust of his hips.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so tight,” Peter groans.

He lifts his hips, bridging his back so he can thrust deeper, angling his length so every hard drive grinds right up against your most sensitive spot. Your vision swims as he ravages you from the inside, a tight, coiled pressure building deep in your lower belly.

The pleasure is overwhelming, yet it’s still not enough for him. His cock needs to drive even deeper—until your wetness coats his entire length from tip to base, until both of your juices combine into a thick sheen right where his brunette curls rest at his pelvis.

He wants to make a mess out of you, to see you crying his name and begging to be filled.

Filled up…

The idea of it makes Peter go crazy.

Peter sits up fast, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest before you can even blink. Your positions are flipped as he hovers over you from behind.

His knees bracket your thighs while his chest presses flush against your spine. You gasp at the sudden shift, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips to pull you back against his cock as he aligns himself once more.

“Peter—” you cry out, your voice muffled into the mattress. It smells just like him.

“Stay right there,” he growls into your neck, his hot breath searing your skin. “Don’t move.”

He’s got you in a perfect position—face down, ass up, completely bared and vulnerable for mating.

He’s never had you in such a vulgar position before—all of your lovemaking before was face to face so he could see every whimper and tear that spills. But in this position, the angle is even deeper. Your back arches perfectly. His cock finds your entrance again, and with how wet you are, he finds no trouble burying his cock all the way back inside you, a harsh grunt breaking from his throat as your tight walls clamp around him. His hands dig into your hips, locking you in place as he begins to pound into you from behind with a speed he’s never used on you before.

“Oh!” you cry into the pillow.

Every thrust pushes you forward into the sheets, the wet, slapping sound of his hips against yours filling the air alongside his groans.

“I feel so backed up,” he grunts so quietly, it’s like he’s speaking to himself. “This feels so good—gonna dump it all inside you. Make me feel better.”

Peter’s balls slap against your folds, obscenely hot and heavy. It’s in this moment that you realize what exactly this is. He has you in the same position you’ve seen in countless textbooks during your studies.

During spider mating, the male must align his pedipalps with the female’s epigyne for a successful sperm transfer.

Peter is going to breed you.

A low growl escapes him when his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot. Your walls, tight and rubbing against the underside of his cock, drive him insane, his muscles tensing as he throws his head back in pleasure. He’s sweating profusely under the mask, almost making it harder to breathe, but he doesn’t care. His body screams for something else, and as his cock pistons in and out of you, accompanied by your moans and cries of his name, he feels himself getting close.

His girth makes your eyes roll back, an overwhelming cry tearing from your throat. Instinctively, you scramble your legs and arms for purchase, trying to get into a more suitable position, but in Peter’s blacked-out eyes, he thinks you’re running away.

A disapproving groan vibrates in his chest as one hand releases your hip to grab your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His legs wrestle against yours to keep them still from behind. Then, he shoots out a web—an organic, self-made web that slings around your wrists like a band, and then another to keep your ankles pinned, effectively keeping you in place.

“Almost there,” Peter grunts, his sweaty chest pressing up against your bare back as he ruts into you. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. God—my balls are so full, I needed this. Just stay like that—let me fill you up.”

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his palm resting gently over your nape to press your head into the pillow.

“You’re trapped,” he rasps, his voice deep and gravelly. You have never heard him talk to you like this before, and the filth of it makes your body clench with desire. “Look at you… bound up, completely wide open for me. You can’t get away.”

His hips snap forward to bottom out inside you, it makes your heels twitch against the web binding your ankles.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” Peter grunts, the words coming in shallow bursts against the shell of your ear. “Every single drop. I’m gonna flood you so deep you’ll feel me inside you for days… make sure everyone knows you belong to me. My sweet, beautiful mate…”

The biological urge to plant his seed, to mark you, and to fill you until you overflow turns his pace crazed.

The wet slapping of his pelvis against your rear sings like a song in the room, mixing with the strained, needy whines escaping your throat. His cock swells inside you, pulsing and stretching your walls to their limit. It’s more than you can take, and you feel yourself getting close.

“Peter—! I’m—I’m going to—” you cry out, your chest heaving against the bed.

“Come for me,” he commands, his fingers tightening gently on your neck as his thrusts turn short, vicious, and frantic. “Clench around my cock and take it. Breeding you, baby… I’m breeding you.”

Your mind is hazy with an overwhelming sense of desire. His words, the position—it’s like a whole new side of Peter you never knew existed, and your body is enjoying every second of it.

You cry out his name, your body twitching as your pussy clenches around his shaft, milking him for every drop. Peter’s muscles pull taut at the sensation, his forehead pressing into your damp shoulder blade as his balls draw tight against your entrance.

One pulse, then another, and your womb fills with his cum.

Thick, scorching floods of semen pump deep into your core. Spurt after heavy spurt fills you past your capacity, the force of his release so strong his entire frame shakes violently, his breathing erratic as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His instincts move his body on command. Just like a spider aligning with the epigyne, he pulls out quickly and spins you around so your back hits the mattress. He spreads your legs, positioning himself between them as his cock slaps heavy against your lower belly, letting the rest of his cum seep onto your skin.

He groans incoherently as he watches his body mark you, holding himself at the base and smearing his seed over your stomach with his tip.

He stays above you for a long moment until you both catch your breath. Finally, he sits back on his knees.

His cock, now half-limp, slaps against his stomach lazily as a trickle of his seed drips down your inner thigh and lower belly. He slumps onto the mattress, but wastes no time pulling you in close against his chest.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. He’s never allowed himself to take you so vulgarly—almost monstrously. Now, he’s terrified of removing the mask; he doesn’t want you to see the burning shame etched on his features.

Peter’s hands cradle your back, his chin resting gently against your sweaty temple. He tries to muster up an apology, maybe say something along the lines of, “I don’t know what took over me.” Because truthfully, he didn’t.

But then your laugh comes first—soft, raspy, and utterly spent.

“You know what female spiders do to their partners after they’ve finished mating?” you ask into his neck.

Peter stiffens. “What?”

“They eat them. It's a good source of nutrients for the babies.”

Peter tries to remember if you had anything to eat before he got here. “Oh.”

📝 idk what to say. if you've read my first peter parker fic, i felt like i just put on an evil mask because this is a complete 180 twist from my last story. again, i only proofread like half of it and got lazy, so i apologize for any mistakes !! if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them! I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

“Thank you.. oh f-fuck thank you,” Peter whines, his pitiful voice barely coherent as he watches you take him in his mouth, head bobbing rhythmically as he lays before you on his plushy bed.

Peter’s hands seek your head, wanting to pull it closer to him, but he ultimately plants them on the bed, grasping at the sheets as if they’re some sort of lifeline. His knuckles turn white, his eyes rolling involuntarily. He can’t focus, how can he?

It’s not like this is the first time, or that he’s too nervous to make such a move… he’s thankful for anything you give him, and doesn’t want to take it for granted.

“Yes, oh god, thank you s-so m-much..”

Every time you suck him off, Peter can’t believe how fucking good it feels. He wonders how you’re so good, then quickly pushes the thought aside. He doesn’t want to think about the how or why.

Peter’s moans are fucking pitiful. Such a whiny boy with shaky thighs and rosy cheeks, the heat of it all rushing to tint his skin. You can taste the pre leaking from him, his cock pulsing against your tongue. The smirk that spreads across your lips as you lick the tip and hold eye contact with him makes Peter huff. His cheeks darken even more, his body heating rapidly at the sight of you as you take him fully again.

“Oh, please… I’m, fuck,” Peter’s pathetic attempt to warn you dies out, his hands gripping the sheets even harder, seemingly seconds away from ripping them. Another reason why he’s careful with touching you. Sometimes, he just can’t help himself. Pathetic.

When you slow down your pace just to tease him, you hear his squeaky whine, the breath being knocked from his lungs. Just as you expected. Peter gets so fucking needy, and you relish in it. It doesn’t take him very long to get close, ever, and a part of you can’t stand it because you want this too. You want to make it last just to see and hear how pitiful he gets.

“No- shit, please,” Peter whimpers, emphasizing his plea to gain some sort of sympathy from you. You oblige, gradually fastening your pace, the filthy, sloppy sounds echoing between you. He can’t help it. His hand flies to your hair, fingers lacing through the soft strands before he tugs. “I-I’m-“

Unable to properly speak, his jaw slacks and his eyelids squeeze shut. Thighs trembling, he chokes out a cry, feeling his cock pulse with each string of cum that stuffs down your throat. Then, it’s over. Just like last time.

Peter shoots up into a sitting position, gulping thickly with a huff as reality sets in. His duvet covers are thick, splayed across his lower half, which is feeling exceptionally more warm than usual. The room is dark, cold, and very much empty. He feels it instantly, the way his briefs cling to his skin, wet and warm.

“Fuck… not again,” he whimpers, peeling his briefs down just enough to expose the globs of thick cum sticking to his skin. Now this wasn’t the first time. It’s almost nightly at this point. He glances over at his door, as if you would somehow know what happened or be there. You never were. He then turns his head toward the alarm clock on his nightstand, 3:14am. “Hey evie?”

Peter’s desktop illuminates with light as numerous monitors flash on, the system starting up.

“Yes, Peter?” evie’s artificial voice responds.

“We need to make a different kinda inhibitor,” he groans, pushing the covers off his legs before getting up, making his way toward the bathroom.

Peter didn’t go back to sleep. He spent hours trying to formulate an inhibitor that would target his arachnid DNA and block hormone levels… particularly his testosterone. With a cheap Newport cigarette lit between his lips, his fingertips pattered across his keyboard, his eyes laser-focused on the screen.

With a soft chime, his phone illuminated on the desk just beside the keyboard. He quickly glanced over, scanning the words across the screen before looking at the map beneath the text, the pinned location insinuating that you’ve arrived to work.

Peter knows it’s wrong. Having secret hidden cameras around the city is one thing, but using them to watch someone that’s not a threat is another.

He tried, really fucking tried, to let it go. To stop. But he can’t.

That’s just another reason why he needs to make an inhibitor that actually fucking works.

Ever since you moved into the apartment across the hall four months ago, he hasn't been able to get you out off his mind no matter how hard he's tried. He’d often think about the first time you met, running into each other in the hall as you rush to work and he heads to get flowers for May.

All of the innocent conversations in passing, the friendly smiles and waves… He tried so fucking hard. You’re just so pretty. So sweet. God, you smell so sweet.

He can smell you from your apartment across the hall, the scent similar to fresh-picked strawberries. He fucking loves strawberries.

That wasn’t what started it, though. After the incident two months ago, with you stuck in the middle of a bank robbery, it was as if a flip had switched and caused a surgical spell. You were sweet and innocent, just trying to deposit a measly check, and next thing you knew, you had a gun pointed at you. Since then, he feels like he has an obligation to protect you — to keep you safe. Knowing you only strengthened that feeling, but your voice… your face… the way you smell. It all adds to it.

He wants to get closer to you, so fucking badly, but he just can’t with how hectic his life is. He tells himself it’s safer for you to stay acquaintances, no matter how much it bothers him.

Ever since that incident, ever since he saw your terrified expression through the lens of his mask, he had your face in his records. He specifically had evie program a separate alert system with facial recognition just for you. So when he gets a legitimate alert, he knows if you’re nearby. That's what he tries to tell himself, anyway.

If only you knew that spider-man had a special system just to keep you safe.

But that's why he needs this to work. It has to. He knows his behavior is wrong. It's weird. Fucking creepy, even...

“Smoke detected,” evie’s voice alerts, prompting a banner message across the monitor screen. Peter’s eyes roll, mentally damning Tony for implementing smoke detection into her programming.

“Just a cigarette, evie. Same as last time, and the time before that,” Peter murmured, his voice muffled from the cigarette trapped between his soft lips.

“Cigarettes can impact your vitals,” evie’s voice responds, to which Peter sighs, pulling the cigarette from his lips and smashing the end into the ashtray beside his phone, the bright amber ash crushing into a pasty grey. He wasn’t a casual smoker. It was usually during late nights or early mornings like this, where he just needed something to ground him. He hated to admit that it calmed him, or at least thought it did. Maybe it was all in his head, but either way, he knew it wasn’t good for him.

While he waits for the inhibitor to finish, Peter thinks of a few ideas on how he could test it. Truly, there’s only one way to really test it. He has to talk to you, really talk to you, without making things awkward. He needs an excuse to see you that wouldn’t lead to a “hi” and “bye” situation. He hates how his heart races every time you smile at him or even pass by him. You have his mind completely scrambled with your fingers wedged in the folds of his brain.

He’s pacing now, crossing back and forth in front of his desk with his eyes planted on the hardwood floor. His hands moved around as he spoke, a somewhat comforting expression he did during deep thought.

“Maybe… I can wait and we bump into each other in the hall? No, that’s stupid. I could just… knock? What would I say?” Peter groans at himself, covering his cheeks with his hands and slowly pulling them toward his temples. “Or I could…”

Peter’s feet come to a halt, his eyes slowly moving to his apartment door, then to his monitor. The pin on the electronic map shows you’re still out in town.

Oh, he has an idea alright.

Not a sane one, at that.

He really needs that fucking inhibitor.

Within minutes, he has his suit on and is swinging around the outside of the apartment building, his webs allowing a clean swing around the brick structure before he lands on your fire escape just outside your bedroom window.

No, this is insane.

With his eyes squinted behind his mask, he looks through your window, immediately spotting it. A beautiful silver chain necklace with a diamond pendant, carefully laid on your nightstand. The same one he sees caressing the skin of your neck every time he sees you. He recalls the way it lies against your chest, the chain slightly pooling against your collarbones. Why’d you leave it today?

No, I shouldn’t do this, he thinks, shaking his head at the reckless idea. But he couldn’t muster any real flaws in the plan. He gets your necklace, then returns it to you as himself. Not as Spider-Man. That’s innocent, right? No, it’s not.

It’s not like he’s stealing it— well, he is. But… he’s giving it back to you. It’s not a total robbery; it’s harmless.

His gloved hands latch onto your window, pushing it up with ease despite the lack of a handle. It’s as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs, replaced by the intoxicating scent of you.

Fuck it, he thought, slipping through the open window with ease and landing on his feet with precision. His heart was thumping, but not out of nervousness. Excitement.

Glancing around your bedroom, he takes in the sight of your decor, mentally picturing and framing it inside his head against his will. He’d remember regardless.

He slowly stalks toward the nightstand, the finger pads of his gloves gently catching on the chain just before he tightens his fingers around it, holding it up at eye level. Yes, it’s the exact same one you wear all the time. Not particularly expensive looking, as far as he could tell. Not that it mattered much.

Peter felt another thump in his chest, you’ll notice it’s gone. That should’ve been enough for him to put it down. But he’s giving it back to you. Shit, what is he gonna say? That he found it in the lobby? That’s ridiculous.

Peter groans, clenching the thin chain in his fist, pressing it against his mask-covered forehead.

“This is fucking stupid,” he whispers, cursing his own thoughts. No, it’s going to work. It has to. He wants you to understand that you can trust him. He’s more than just your neighbor. He’s your secret protector, but he wouldn’t directly call himself that. He has good intentions, but that doesn’t make his actions any less wrong. He knows it too: “…and creepy.”

The skin on the nape of his neck prickles. He should put it back. This is wrong. This isn’t who he is.

Peter’s thoughts are suddenly interrupted as his head snaps up, his senses spiking. As soon as he hears the familiar jingle of your keys, his throat tightens.

Fuck.

He quickly tucks your necklace into his suit, where his phone would usually sit. Of course he forgot to grab it. Too fucking concerned about getting into your apartment, he was completely unprepared. No wonder he had no idea you were on your way back.

Peter slowly stalked back toward your window, his footsteps completely silent. As soon as his hand grasps the frame of your window, he hears a startled gasp that was awfully similar to a yelp. He whips around, seeing you in the doorway of your bedroom, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Peter’s lenses widened on his mask, emphasizing his own surprise.

For several seconds, the two of you just stared at each other.

“Oh my god.”

Think. Quick!

“Hi,” Peter greets you with a slight change in his voice, lifting a hand and giving you a small wave. He's pathetic, really.

“Spiderman?” you breathe, unsure whether you should take a step forward or a step back. The spider-man is standing in your room. You’ve seen him in person once before, your mind flashing to the incident at the bank. The way he focused on you, but never spoke to you. How could you forget?

Your expression shifts, your wide eyes narrowing slightly, eyebrows leveling and furrowing closer. Why the hell is Spider-Man in here?

“What… are you doing here?”

“Oh- aha. Just a, uh, mixup. Wrong apartment… building. Entirely. I’m a little scrambled. Hit my head on the fire escape,” Peter rambles, mustering lies while using his hands to emphasize his words since he lacked showing expression from behind the mask. His pulse is racing; he's sure you can see the way his suit shifts against his chest.

Your eyes are intensely boring into him as you take in the explanation. Strange, but believable.

“Well... are you okay?” you take a step forward, the space between you shrinking, dangerously close. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Peter feels like he’s about to fucking explode. Is he okay? No, not at all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to see him.

“I.. yeah! I’m fine, I’ll just go—“ he stammers, turning back toward your window.

“Wait-“ you stop him, slightly lifting your hand in his direction to halt him before crossing your arms over your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder. “This might be a stupid question, especially since I'm sure hundreds of people a day, but… do you remember me?”

Peter’s eyes widen again, his mask mirroring his expression. He turns back in your direction, his eyes scanning your face. Of course he does. He knows you way more than you think. It’s not a stupid question, but kind of ridiculous considering what Peter knows about you.

Though, you’re referring to him infiltrating the bank robbery, saving you amongst other innocent civilians. A pang strikes in his chest as he remembers how terrified you were, but it quickly dissipates just being in your presence.

“Uh, well,” he ponders, quickly trying to muster a response that doesn’t sound creepy while also wanting to validate your curiosity. He mirrors you and crosses his arms over his chest, trying his best to shove his panic to the side. “Now that I think about it… yeah, I do.”

“Really?” your eyes light up, and you take a step closer, your arms falling to your sides now that you feel less strange for asking. “I just- I never got to thank you.”

“Oh, no need. You don’t have to-“

“I know,” you shrug, your lips spreading into a slight smile as you step even closer, your eyes shifting from his face to his chest, then his biceps— fuck, he’s built. “but, thank you. Really. I feel a lot safer here, living here alone and all.”

Truth is, you don’t have any family here in New York. Peter didn’t know that, though. You weren’t sure what compelled you to tell him, either. Regardless, he's Spider-Man — not a threat.

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat. This is exactly what he’s been craving; your undivided attention. He made an impact, and you made it a point to mention it. He quickly shakes it off, taking in your words.

You’re not alone here. You’re so blissfully unaware that he is the same man living across the hall from you. He tries not to think about the way he feels himself twitching against his briefs within the suit the closer you step toward him. He physically can’t help it, and it doesn’t matter how tender the conversation is. He can practically feel the warmth radiating from your body despite being just a few feet away.

He needs to leave. Now.

If he doesn’t, if he allows himself to sink into your spell any further, he’s afraid he won’t be able to help himself. He can’t avoid the filthy visuals raiding his mind, disarming him of critical consideration. Your fingers had somehow sunk even deeper in the crevices of his brain. Leave.

“O-of course! Yeah, no worries at all,” he waves you off, his voice matching his relaxed, confident persona. He climbs through the window, stepping onto the fire escape with ease. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Whoa, hey! You can’t just break into someone’s apartment and then leave like it's normal,” you softly scoff, arms raised at your sides to express your disagreement.

“Technically, I didn’t break anything. Just came through the window, which was unlocked,” he quips with a matter-of-fact tone, the space enabling him to finally breathe and collect his thoughts.

“How is that any better?”

Well, it’s not.

Avoid the question.

With his hands still planted firmly on the windowsill, he tilts his head at you, “Lock your window.”

Mirroring him, you tilt your head as well, raising a brow at the order, “Why, so no one else can stumble in here after getting concussed?”

“Because there are people out there who aren’t as nice as me. Now lock it, and keep it that way unless you’re home, yeah?”

It’s somewhat of a cocky response, but it’s true. He lets you sit with that for a moment, the two of you just sharing a few seconds of silence before he shoots a web to the top of the building, making a quick getaway.

You stand there astonished, still trying to comprehend the fact that you came home to find Spider-Man in your room. You wish he stayed at least a little bit longer. There was something about him that felt comforting and familiar, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. You have to admit, you feel a sense of pride at the fact that he remembers you.

If only you knew.

Two nights later, Peter is pacing around his apartment, per usual. The clock on his monitor strikes 9:34pm; he's been contemplating for hours. The more he thought about how he'd return the necklace to you, the more he realized how risky it is.

There was no way he could return it as himself, as Peter, and manage to pull off a lousy lie about how he found it.

All he can think about is how you'd figure it out. He can't risk you putting the pieces together. Fuck, why didn't he think of this beforehand?

Truth is, his behavior has been beyond risky and ridiculous. You quite literally drive him insane to the point where rational decisions are nonexistent. For a split second, he even considers moving away, saving himself the absolute torture of living beside you and not being able to do anything about it.

Deep down, he knows he would never do such a thing... but he can't involve himself personally with you, he just... can't.

He has to return your necklace, but not as Peter. He understands that, but what is he going to say?

Doesn't matter. He can say a lot more with a mask on, knowing you won't figure him out. In fact, he could just tell you he took it and face zero consequences, but what's the fun in that?

As he waits for the inhibitor that’s just nearly finished, Peter lies down on his bed, staring up at the cracked brick ceiling. Maybe a tranquilizer is what he needs. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until evie’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Inhibitor complete. Trial number forty-seven on standby.”

Finally.

The washer in Peter’s apartment tumbled, numerous articles of clothing swishing and sloshing, covered in suds. His suit was laid flat on top, shaking along with the rumbling of the machine.

“Alright,” Peter sighs to himself, reaching around to settle the inhibitor on the back of his neck. He feels it latch on, letting out a small grunt as his eyes scan the monitor in front of him.

“Arachnid levels decreasing,” evie states as the orange-tinted bar lowers in real time.

“And my hormones?” Peter inquires, raising a brow.

“Decreasing,” evie’s responds, pulling up a second page on the screen to show various hormone levels. Peter lets out a breath of relief, nodding to himself.

“Perfect," he whispered, snatching his suit off the top of the washer.

In your bedroom, you're comfortably sprawled out, sketchbook in hand as you continue marking the thin sheet of paper with a charcoal pencil. A loud knock startles you, causing you to jump and inevitably scratch the pencil across the paper, ruining your work.

Your head whips in the direction of the sound; your window. On the other side of the glass stands Spider-Man, his arms crossed comfortably on the outside of your windowsill as he waits for your response. His suit is glistening, the loud pattering of rain bellowing in his ears.

You quickly close the sketchbook, tossing it aside before standing from the bed.

Peter would usually feel his heart racing the moment you look at him, but he feels calm. Much better. Even though you look so fucking good in your pj shorts.

Hands finding the latch, you unlock the window and push it up, opening it swiftly. The sound of the rain pattering loudly against the fire escape and nearby streets is much clearer now. Before you can even ask why he's here, his voice shuts you down,

“Good girl,” he drawls out in a high teasing tone, voice still quippy and unrecognizable. You blink, your lips parting slightly, but no words come out. What an introduction.

That's the first thing he says? Not that you can complain. You'd be lying if you denied the way it made your stomach twist deliciously.

“W-What?”

“You locked the window.”

You let out a breath, unable to contain your smile and the slight tint in your cheeks. Face flushing, you turn away from the window to make your way back toward your bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“You scared the shit out of me. I can’t keep seeing you like this, you know,” you say, which catches him completely off guard. You can't see it, but a sense of hurt mixed with panic flicks in his eyes before he can control it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean with you, at my window, uninvited,” you explain. Peter’s mouth opens slightly, words dying in his throat. Before he has a chance to panic further, your next words take him by surprise. “Come in.”

“What?”

“I said come in. You can’t be uninvited when I’m telling you I want you here,” you add softly. You took the chance, throwing the ball into his court for him to catch.

Was it bold? Yes. Did he find it hot? Also yes.

Feeling an instant wave of relief, you hear a cute, "Oh," before he chuckles, slipping through your window, his feet landing effortlessly on your bedroom floor as he stands upright. He takes in the environment, your ambient lighting causing the droplets of water on his suit to reflect even brighter.

"Care to tell me why you've blessed me with your presence again? Everything okay?" you ask jokingly, yet still surprised by his sudden return. It's been two days, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him since then. That’s what he hoped, at least.

"I was just coming to check on you," he lies, standing still so as not to get any of your belongings wet. Besides your floor, of course.

“Why?”

“Because someone broke into your apartment.”

Another lie.

“That was you."

“I meant the building.”

“Still applies.”

“I’m aware,” he quips, the eyes of his mask squinting playfully at you as he tilts his head slightly. You snicker. This back-and-forth game gives him a rush he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels much more confident this time, much more willing to play such a game.

That fucking smirk, he thinks.

“Well, as you can see,” you start, holding your arms up at your sides. “I’m fine.”

Peter tsks, sucking his teeth slightly as he steps toward you, almost as if he's sizing you up. "Well, that's not the only reason I'm here."

You watch as he lifts his hand, loosening the grip of his fingers to release the chain in his fist, dangling it in front of you. Your necklace.

"Oh my god," you softly gasp, reaching for the silver chain and grasping it from his hold. "How did you... Wait, did you take this?"

Now he's panicking.

"W-what? No, no. I found it," he lies again, his tone strong but his legs are feeling a bit weak. Shit.

"...In my room?"

"No," he laughs, trying to muster an explanation before you can dig any deeper. His heart is thundering so fast, he can feel it in his veins, causing him to twitch slightly. "Why would I steal from you?"

Good thing you're gullible enough to believe Spider-Man wouldn't steal from you. Because that's not who he is, right?

"Where was it?"

He rehearsed this, but the way you're looking at him makes it impossible to mutter out a lie. On the ground outside of Delmar’s? No. Fuck it.

"Don't worry about it."

"But how did you know-"

"I've seen you wear it," he admits, unable to control the smile spreading across his lips beneath the mask.

You don't think much of it. He must’ve recognized it from the bank. Opening the clasp, you reach behind you to latch it around the back of your neck, the necklace now resting against your collarbones, the pendant nearly reaching your cleavage. You twist slightly to face away from him, “Can you help me, please?”

He doesn’t answer, immediately grasping the ends from your delicate fingers. His gloved fingers graze the nape of your neck, and he notices the instant goosebumps that litter your skin. He struggles at first, the chain being so small and not having much to work with, but he manages, “anddd... got it.”

You turn back and smile up at him, at his figure standing directly in front of you, head peering down at you.

You felt incredibly inferior, watching him stare with his head tilted in such a way, like you were some sort of prey. If only you could see what's underneath the mask.

"Thanks. I owe you one, again,” you smile, eyes fluttering up at him. His stomach is doing somersaults.

"We talked about this. You don’t owe me anything," he quickly responds, referring to your last conversation. All in all, he’s grateful to return it without consequences. He appreciated the gratitude, but he didn’t expect a damn thing from you. Just the ability to see you.

Pausing, unable to form a proper response, you gaze up at him. Never, ever would you have thought you would be in this position before. Especially with him being so intimately close to you.

You stand, instantly feeling the heat radiating from him. He’s so close. Less than a foot away, chests just barely touching. His posture is steady as he awaits your next move, shocking even himself. If it weren't for his inhibitor, his mind would be going absolutely nuts.

"I know," you finally murmur a response, your eyes searching for his, but all you can see is white mesh. You lift your hand, instinctively trying to reach for him, but you stop yourself. He doesn't move.

You do it anyway. Your hand finds rest at his jaw, your thumb softly rubbing over the ridges of the mask. What is it about him that gets you so?

Is it that he saved you? No...

Maybe the fact that he remembered you and made it a point to make you safe.

It's not like you could stay casual after hearing him praise you like that.

"You... you should probably stop," he warns softly, but doesn't pull away from you. He knows you can feel his chest thundering just a mere inch from you. Despite that, the inhibitor was working, because if it wasn't... you'd definitely not be standing any longer.

"Do you want me to?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his eyes intently focusing on yours through his mask. Is that even a question? It's not like he could just tell you that this is practically torture for him.

"No."

That's just enough for you to raise your other hand, fully grasping his jaw on both sides to get a good look at his mask. Curiosity gets the best of you, your thumb reaching down and gently tugging at the edge of his mask beneath his neck. You just want to feel his skin, feel how warm he is. Feel how real he is.

In a flash, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping your hand in place.

"Hey, hey. I didn't say you could do that," his tone is playful but his thoughts are a complete contrast, his grip tight on your wrist, but not too tight. Just enough to convey the message. God, he wanted to let you, though. So fucking bad.

It’s too risky. No matter how badly he wants to.

Even if he only shows his lips, he’s sure you’d recognize them after so many small talks. After so many exchanged smiles.

"Then how am I supposed to..." you trail off, the word kiss dying in your throat as your eyes trail down to where his lips would be beneath the mask, then down to where his hand is wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but soft. He understands immediately.

"You don't."

It killed him to say it.

"I can't kiss you?"

"No."

Your lips curl into a small frown. You understand and respect his boundaries, but you can't deny how much you've thought about this. Rehearsed this. Ever since you caught him in your room, you couldn't help the thoughts that pooled in the moment he left. The fact he'd saved you once before only strengthened that.

What if he just took you, right then and there? God, that's fucked up. You knew that, but... the way you'd feel your core twist and get damp, fuck.

I mean, who doesn't want to fuck him? He's a hero. He's sweet. He's incredibly muscular, and his suit only accentuates that. You could go on and on.

It's not crazy to think about. You're not the only one that thinks this either, confirmed by the many reddit forum threads you dove down after he left. But, you are the only one to have this kind of luxury. The luxury of him being in your room, so close to you, touching you

"You're right, I'm-" you cut yourself off, taking a step back as you rethink your actions. What the hell are you doing? You don't even know him. You're being ridiculous - pathetic, even. You shake your head at yourself, shyly plastering your hand over your face. "I'm so sorry-”

"No, no, don’t be,” he whispers, releasing your wrist from his grasp, shaking his head. If this is his chance, he’d be a goddamn fool to pass it up.

“I can’t kiss you, but..” he continues, his hands moving to find your waist, gently gripping your soft skin through your soft, silky shirt. "I can touch you.”

No, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should’ve left right after giving you the necklace. This wasn’t part of the plan at all.

Tilting your head back up, you peer at him through the gaps of your fingers, your cheeks tinted rosy pink.

“Wha.. what?”

It's a bold move, he knows that. At least it's something he can actually give you.

Slowly, he backs you up, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed, inevitably making you fall back down into a sitting position. He leans down, hands planting on your plushy covers on either side of your thighs. You’re trapped.

“You heard what I said. I can touch you— I want to touch you,” he repeats, his teasing grin beneath the mask widening as he watches your eyes melt. Despite his rather audacious idea, Peter truly didn’t have a dominant bone within him. Not when it came to sex, anyway.

He would try for you, though. If that’s what you wanted.

The heat radiating from your skin through your shirt was a clear sign of just how much he was affecting you. You don’t know he can tell, but he does. He can sense it. He can smell it.

Despite how much he’s wanted this, how much he’s been dreaming of this, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that this wasn’t right. This feels too fast. No real connection. No romance.

But if you want this just as much as he does, he’s not fucking leaving.

“I…” you start, your words absolutely failing you. You feel so small below him, so vulnerable. An idea sparks, and there’s a particular glint in your eye. Fine, you can play that game. “If I can’t see you, then you can’t touch me until I say so.”

Oh.

Peter wasn’t expecting that. Not by a long shot.

“Oh really?” he murmurs, his purr causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together. You’re fucking leaking. Maybe he can… just only when you tell him to. You’re calling the shots. His padded fingers move to gently caress your jaw, softly grasping your chin. “You sure about that?”

Who is he kidding? Peter knows he would be a fucking mess if you told him when he could and couldn’t feel you or take control of himself. He loves seeing you flustered, though. It’s a sight he will never forget.

You grab his hand, pulling it away from your chin before pushing him over to land beside you. He lets you, allowing himself to plop down on the bed, his legs still hanging off the edge. He stabilizes himself, sitting up to grab your waist as you straddle him.

Just before his hands can make contact with you, you quickly grab his wrists, shaking your head at him with a grin, “Nu-uh.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“You heard what I said.”

Peter let’s put a short, weak huff of protest at you using his own words against him. You’re fully aware that he’s much stronger than you could ever be, and yet he was letting you control him. You release his wrists, pressing a hand against his chest, pushing him down until his back is against the bed.

Softly grinding your hips on his way down, you could feel him twitching and hardening against your clothed cunt, his suit failing him tremendously.

“Shit, you’re that easy?” you tease, moving your hips back and forth, the friction only worsening the wet spot forming on your panties, seeping to your shorts. He could feel it.

“F-fuck, so are you,” he whimpers in defense, unable to control how pathetic he is from the change in dynamic, his gloved fingers grasping at the blanket to avoid touching you without permission. “You’re so wet.”

“You can feel that?” you smile, leaning forward to cup his jaw, running your thumb over his mask-covered lips. You lift yourself up, and he whines at the loss of contact. A playful smirk tugs at your lips, “Aw, don’t be like that.”

Your hand moves from his face and down his chest until you feel his abs, feeling them twitch beneath your touch. You need to see him.

“Take it off,” you demand softly, removing yourself from his lap and moving to lay properly on the bed, watching as he struggles to regain himself to stand. Once he does, you watch him discard the suit, taking note of the way the cloth tightly hugs his muscles until it’s gone. Your eyes light up as soon as his abs are exposed, you almost want to throw the whole game out the window and have him take you. But you had to admit, watching him struggle and fall apart was even better.

Your eyes trail down to his briefs, the large tent exposing just how much he needs you. Of course, he kept the mask on. He stands there, unsure of what to do, suit discarded to the floor.

You twist your wrist, motioning for him to come closer with your finger, curling it toward you. His drops his bare hands to the bed, carefully crawling onto your covers until he’s hovering over you.

“Now take mine off.”

Holy fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Peter’s hands shift to the hem of your shirt, wanting to slip them underneath and touch your warm, bare skin. He contains himself just enough. He gently pulls your shirt up, his heartbeat picking up once again. He pushes it above your waist, exposing your bra that's so pretty and lacy. Almost as if you'd planned this already.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers to himself, the barrier of the mask making it difficult for you to hear. You don't bother having him repeat himself, lifting your back slightly to allow him to pull your shirt over your head.

He reaches to grab your clothed breast, eyes wide and hungry, but he stops himself. Still lifted, you unclasp your bra and before you can even move another inch, he's tugging it off you, the straps easing off your shoulders.

"Shit," he nearly moans, the sight enough to have him leaking. He's already throbbing, it's almost painful. He wants to touch them, to squeeze your plushy skin, but you haven't told him to yet. "You're so pretty. You know how fucking pretty you are?"

"I've been told," you smile irresistibly, your shoulders lifting slightly in a shrug. You've been told? By who?

Stop it, he thinks to himself, to his own thoughts. He has you right here, underneath him.

His hands shift downward, eager and cold, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. He doesn’t waste any time. As he tugs your shorts down your thighs, you hear a pitiful, muffled whimper. You look down to see his thumb just barely grazing the wet spot on your panties.

God, you smell so sweet.

“Please,” he whimpers again, his fingers hovering over the side of the thin cotton, wanting to pull them aside. You smile, your hand lowering and wrapping around his to guide his hand, having him push them over, exposing your slick folds.

"Go on," you nod, slightly condescending and full of pity as you hand-over-hand guide him further, allowing his finger to graze before pushing closer, his finger slipping between your wet slit and making a filthy squelch. 

“Pretty,” he huffs. He’s fucking vibrating. Every bone in his body, his mind, everything is telling him to just take you. He’s being good, though. You have to give him that credit. 

He pushes his finger inside you, a puff of air being knocked out of his lungs as he feels your walls hug around it. You’re tight. He curls it inside you, earning a tiny moan from you as you buck your hips up ever so slightly. All restraint is lost. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper softly, melting beneath him. You sound so pretty. He can’t take it. He can’t keep holding back. He needs you to break and give in fully. 

Peter’s free hand moves to your lower stomach, pressing down to hold you in place as his finger works inside you, pumping slowly yet deliciously loud. 

“S-shit, so wet. So fucking wet,” he murmurs to himself, easing in a second finger. It almost feels like he’s done this before, or it’s just from the spike in confidence after hearing the pretty noises you make. 

Softly biting your lower lip, you try to grasp his hand, wanting to stop him just to tease him but he surprises you. Quickly, moves his free hand to grab yours before holding it down against your stomach, on the same spot that his was previously. “J-Just.. wait. Please, let me.”

Of course, you give in. Peter experiments, pumping his fingers as deep as he can, the veins in his hands prominent. He watches, completely mesmerized, at the way your pussy sucks in his fingers, accepting them, your juices leaking around them. The filthy sound your pussy’s making combined with that warm squeeze — he can’t wait any longer.

If you smell this good, he can only imagine how you taste. He needs to know. He pulls his hand back, looking up at you.

“Please… Cover your eyes,” he demands in a gentle tone, waiting until you cover them with your forearm, your back resting comfortably against your plushy sheets. He pulls the mask up just enough to expose his lips, raw and plump from him biting them, trying to keep himself from sounding utterly fucking pathetic. 

He doesn’t even bother properly removing your panties first, he just keeps them held to the side as he dives down. You gasp, feeling his tongue dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on his tongue before swiping it up to your clit. You taste just as sweet as he thought you would; even more so. 

He groans against you, the vibrations shooting straight into your core. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, pulling a loud, unapologetic moan from your throat. The pretty sound causes his cock to twitch against his briefs, his hips starting to slowly rutt into the mattress. He’s ravenous. 

“Fuck, you taste so sweet... so good.. s'good,” he slurs incoherently, his tongue working almost expertly, swirling around your sensitive bud with such focus, softly sucking then lapping at it. Over and over. 

You feel his fingers push inside you again, your mouth falling open with a pitiful cry. His mouth works meticulously with his fingers, feeling your orgasm creeping closer, the spindle in your core tightening with each passing second. 

“My fucking g-god, you’re… you’re doing so good,” you breathe between your words, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he laps at your messy cunt like a little puppy. He whimpers against you, his fingers curling each time he sucks around your bud. The friction he's created, rutting his cock against the mattress, he's already fucking close.

So are you. It shocks you, really. You’ve never had someone get you so close so quickly. It’s like he was made for this.

“Shitshit, I’m— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you squeak softly, whimpering when you feel his free hand on your waist, his fingers squeezing your soft, plushy skin. He keeps the same pace, not wanting to ruin this for you. He can feel you squeezing around his fingers that are expertly pumping inside you, curling deliciously to graze your sweet spot. “F-fuck!”

Your thighs squeeze together, trapping his face against your messy cunt as you start to cum, your eyes blowing wide. You’re shaking, and not just because of the force of his fingers ramming into you, working you through your orgasm. Peter can feel how hard you’re breathing, his thumb rising and falling on your stomach as he keeps his grip on your waist firm, holding you.

Just as you start to reach down for his head to pull it closer, he pulls away from you, the filthy pop of his lips disconnecting from your clit echoing between you. 

"Shit, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong," he responds a little too quickly.

You can hear the rustling of him pulling his mask back down, your heart jumping in your chest. 

“You can look now,” he breathes, moving to hover above you, his cock throbbing against your thigh within the confines of his briefs. You’re still panting as you move your arm away to see him hovered above you, your eyes searching his through the mask. “Did I do a good job?”

“Such a good job,” you huff, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Your hand instantly moves down to his clothed cock, your fingers curling around him. You feel the definition, and how much he’s throbbing. 

Nearly instantly, he’s whimpering. You feel his two fingers, still wet and messy from you, pushing against your lips. You were hoping to taste yourself on his tongue, but this’ll do. You part them, sucking them as soon as they touch your tongue.

Peter didn’t expect it to feel so good, the way your tongue wraps around his fingers makes his head spin. You hadn’t even really touched him yet and he’s a leaking, moaning mess. 

Taking him by surprise, you slip your hand into his briefs, your soft fingers wrapping around him to slowly stroke him as you continue sucking on his fingers. His eyes roll, his head tilting back slightly as he relishes in the feeling. It’s just like how he imagined it. 

Despite being unable to see his face, you can tell he’s falling apart. You swear it’s like he knows what he’s doing, but has never been touched before. Maybe he really is just that pathetic. 

You start to fasten the pace of your hand, but just as you start, he’s just as quick to stop you.

“S-stop,” he whimpers, pulling his fingers from your mouth and lifting his hips. You retract your hand, and before you can ask what happened, he’s quick to continue, “I’m already getting close.”

What?

He pushes his briefs down the rest of the way, kicking them off. You see the way his cock springs free, aching red and already leaking precum at the tip. In an instant, he's hovering over you again, his cock just mere inches from you. From where you want him the most.

“You poor thing-” your teasing is cut short when you feel his arms wrap around your thighs, pulling them closer to him. You gasp, eyebrows raising as he softly grinds his tip against your slit free-handed. He’s rushing and he knows it. He can’t fucking help it. 

You wanted to degrade him, to remind him of his rules, but he's just so desperate. So needy. It's a pretty sight.

“J-Just tell me when I can, please,” he huffs, his tip rubbing between your folds causing a filthy squelching sound. His eyes are focused on your pretty cunt, at the way his tip fits perfectly against your slit before he starts to push in, “Oh my god, fuck, please. Tell me. Tell me I can—“

"Of course you can, baby. Touch me," you purr teasingly, your hands move to his hips, gently tugging to pull him even closer. The pet name nearly makes him rut, but he's hanging on to the last thread of control he has left. He pushes in slowly, the pitiful sound he makes nearly making you gush.

"O-oh my, fuck. Thank you. Shit, you're so tight," he whines, pushing into you slowly, watching your pussy take him, sucking him in inch by inch. Your hands tighten on his hips, your nails sinking into his taut skin.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” you purr, intently watching the way his movements stutter at your teasing. He can't take it. He can't fucking take it anymore.

"Yes, yes. Feels so fucking good," he whimpers, pushing in the rest of the way before bottoming out completely with his hips snug against yours. The feeling makes your eyes roll slightly, your head tilting back against the pillow.

When you move to roll your hips against his, his hands fly from your thighs to your waist, pushing you slightly up the bed with such ease, stopping your movements, "S-stop, stop."

You look up at him, naturally searching for his eyes through the mask, "It's okay, we can stop."

"No, I just," he grunts, his hips shaking slightly as he fights to control himself. "I need a second."

“Okay,” you nod softly, lifting a hand from his hips to wrap it around the side of his throat, your thumb gently caressing his adam’s apple. He swallows thickly, and you feel it bob under your touch. 

With the remnants of your orgasm still rippling through you, you can’t control the way your cunt flutters around him. Fuck, is he gonna have to cum before he can keep going? He wants this to last. 

Slowly, his hips start rolling against yours, “I-I’m okay, sorry, m’sorry,” he whispers, looking back down at where you’re connected before rambling on. 

"You have no idea-" he grunts, eyes locked onto the way his cock is fully stuffed inside you, your pussy taking him so good. So wet and eager. He pulls his hips back until his cock slips out halfway, glistening with your juices before he slowly pushes back in, listening to the filthy sound it makes, "-how much I've thought about this."

His hands are still tightly gripping your waist as his hips work to keep a steady pace. He doesn't want to go too fast, he can’t. This is so embarrassing. 

Your eyes light up at the admission, hand still gently wrapped around the side of his neck, “Shit. I’m- me too.”

His ears perk, his hips never faltering. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, your response making him whimper. 

“I want to see you,” you whisper, your fingers slipping down to the edge of his mask at the base of his neck. “Let me kiss you.”

He stills. Is it too risky? At this point, how would a kiss be more ridiculous than him literally eating you out?

Well, it’s not, but it’s too much risk. 

“You can’t.”

“Why? You don’t have to tell me your name.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

How is he supposed to answer that? 

His hands leave your waist, leaving your skin cold. He slips a hand underneath you, between your back and the mattress, lifting you enough to press your chest against his. Your face rests just above his shoulder as his hips continue thrusting against yours, deep and slow. His arm stays there, tightly holding you against him, your eyes struggling to stay focused. That’s when you hear it. 

With his free hand, he pulls the mask off, but purposely holding you close enough that he could hide his face over your shoulder. 

“Y-You really don’t trust me?” you manage with a moan, feeling his bare chest tighten against yours at the accusation.  

“That’s not it,” he groans softly against the side of your neck, his lips finally touching the skin of it, warm and wet. You feel his cock twitch inside you, your eyes hooded with the inability to focus. 

“Mmh, then what is it?”

“I trust you. I don’t trust what might happen.”

“Please.”

“I can’t, f-fuck,” he whimpers against your skin, his hips starting to fasten in pace at the sound of your plea. The filthy fucking sounds your pussy is making is driving him insane, his cock easing in and out effortlessly. You know there’s no winning this. 

You wrap your arms above his shoulders and around his back, holding him as you tuck your chin into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. You feel him breathing into your neck, his breath shaky and weak. That oh-so familiar scent has Peter’s head spinning. 

“You smell so good. I fucking dream about this, about you,” he pathetically admits, voice weak and breath hot against your neck. “Y-You- fuck, you make me fucking cum in my sleep. Make me- agh, wake up all messy.”

He’s losing it. He’s so vulgar.

He hears your gasp, so close and soft beside his ear, it sends a chill down his spine. 

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” he whimpers, his voice barely audible when all you can focus on is how much of a loud fucking mess he’s making of your poor cunt. “I dream about fucking you, just like this, making you cum around me, s-shit.”

The thought has his hips stuttering before he picks up the pace even more, his hips smacking yours with a force that causes your body to jolt with each thrust. His grip is tight as he holds you, feeling you jolt against him all while he whimpers in your ear, struggling to not look at you. His other hand remains on your waist, helping to stabilize you as he fucks into you. The filthy squelching of your cunt grows even louder, and you feel the vibrations of a low growl against your neck, “F-Fucking god, do you hear it?” 

“Mh-m, yes,” you moan, your nails digging into the skin of his back. Peter wouldn’t be able to explain the sudden confidence boost, particularly with his words. 

“S’fucking messy,” he whimpers, your wetness splashing on his thighs after each deep thrust, dribbling down his skin. You feel his lips connect with the side of your neck, sucking a harsh love mark into your skin before softly licking it to soothe it. He does it again, over and over, his pitiful noises vibrating against your throat.

Your eyes roll at the feeling, your senses overloading. You feel your core tightening, your second orgasm growing dangerously close. 

“I’m gonna… mmph, fuck, I-I’m close,” you moan into his ear, your pussy milking him with each jolt he causes. With the arm wrapped around your back, he pulls you closer. With his other, he releases your waist, his free hand moving to grab your arm and guide your hand down to your stomach. Pressing his hand on top of yours, he forces you to feel your lower stomach.

You feel it immediately, your stomach bulging slightly with each pump of his cock. He’s in your fucking guts.

“Y’feel it? Feel me in your tummy?” he moans softly in you ear, his pathetic expression one that he’d be embarrassed for you to see. There’s no way you don’t feel it, even he can as he holds your hand down against your rapidly bulging skin. “Feel me filling y’up.”

That was a statement. A demand. Your eyes roll back again, your body growing weak in his hold as he takes complete control. You don’t have any fight left in you to tease him. You’re so fucking close, facing an internal conflict with the need to cum and the desire to keep going. 

“Fill me up,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his, purposely squeezing your pussy around him, wanting to milk every last drop. “I wanna feel you cum.” 

“O-oh my, haah, g-god, aaagh,” Peter instantly whines, his mouth parting open as he starts driving into you faster, pounding his hips into yours. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He was being so good, now he’s rushing just because you told him to fill your pretty cunt with his cum? 

How pathetic can he get?

“You’re doing so fucking good,” you praise softly, feeling him fuck into you even deeper with your hand still prisoned between his and your stomach. That’s all he needed. 

“S-shit, t-thank you,” he whines louder, his voice cracking in your ear as his chest tightens against yours, his breath growing shallow. He doesn’t have time to warn you before he’s cumming. “Thankyouthankyou, fuck!”

His cock twitches with each spurt of thick, warm ropes of cum stuffing inside you. The pathetic sounds he’s making and the feeling of his cum filling you up is enough for you to break, your pussy spasming around him uncontrollably. Your body goes slack against him, thighs trembling as you gasp like all the air in your lungs was violently knocked out.

What’s shocking is he doesn’t stop. His hips keep moving, pistoning relentlessly as he keeps cumming. Your pussy can only contain so much, the leftovers of cum leaking out of you, bubbling around your slit and making a filthy mess each time he pulls his hips back and thrusts back in. It’s like he purposely wants to overfill it, to stuff you full and keep fucking it back into you, not wanting to waste it. 

With your limbs weak and achy, you’re completely limp, but that doesn’t mean you want to stop. You lift your hand from your stomach, lacing your fingers with his before he plants your hand back down against your plushy skin, not letting up. You move your other hand from his back to the nape of his neck, barely grazing his hair as your fingers unintentionally land on his inhibitor.

Oh dear. 

“F-fuck, don’t. Don’t touch that,” he struggles, a whiny moan escaping him as he feels your pussy squeezing him so fucking tight. He pulls his hand from yours on your stomach, quickly moving to grab your wrist, but it's already too late.

He feels it detach from his skin.

You didn’t mean to, only wanting to grab onto him, but it catches onto your fingers and slides out of place. 

“Shit!” he grunts, his free hand moving to cover your eyes. He sits up, still inside you as he looks around for the inhibitor that’s now fallen and out of sight.

“W-what! What was that?”

“Just- don’t move,” he pleads, his head twisting as his eyes search the bunched up sheets. “Fuck, where did it go?”

“Please, just let me see you,” you beg, your hand moving to grab onto his that’s blocking your vision. 

“N-no! Just hold on a second—“

“Peter.”

Oh, no.

He stills completely, eyes widening as he takes in hearing his name coming from your mouth. His ears start ringing. 

“Peter, I know it’s you.”

“What? That’s… not my name,” he lies, eyes still wide, his cheeks flushing rosy red. 

“Inhibitor complete. Trial number forty-seven on standby.”

This can't be happening.

“What did you say?”

Peter gasps, his back shooting up from his bed. Eyes wide, heart pounding. He’s in his room. Peter’s hand quickly moves up to graze the back of his neck. His skin is damp, a cold chill creeping through him at the realization he never had the inhibitor on.

No, no, no. It felt so real.

Whipping his head in the direction of his monitor, he sees the notification that the inhibitor is complete, blinking across the screen. The same notification he swore he already saw. But he didn’t.

When he laid down for that nap at nine, he never truly woke up.

How did he possibly wake up from a nap, put the inhibitor on, and go see you, all within one dream? It made sense, considering how fast things escalated and how he knows what your bedroom like looks now, but…

Something is wrong. It felt too fucking real.

He glances over at his nightstand, the clock blinking 6:26am. Beside his alarm clock was… nothing. No, he could’ve sworn that’s where he put your necklace, carefully laid on the stained wood.

What is going on?

That’s when he feels it. The dampness in his briefs, warm and sticky. His hands fly to his face, a frustrated groan bellowing from him.

“Fuck!”

Effectively, he fucks you completely senseless, with precise snaps of his hips that have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

But verbally? Fuck, you'd think you were the one fucking him dumb.

He whines, groans, moans, and whimpers. Desperate little pleas falling from his throat while he uses your cunt to milk himself.

"Ooooh, fuck, yesyes—fuck baby, just like that. Don't stop, please don't stop! S'fuckin' perfect, fuck me s'good—!" between wet, loud plaps! and creaking wood with a voice that's broken and fucked out.

And when he's about to cum? Oh, he begs for it. Despite having the upper hand, despite being in control of the pace, he begs you to let him cum—"F-fuck, please, m'gonna cum. Please lemme cum—i-inside, can I—fu-huuuck—please make me cum, please—!"

And he actually waits; he waits until you give him permission, pace never faltering, still fucking you so fast and hard that it rattles your brain, toned abdomen slamming into your puffy clit every time he bottoms out.

And you're so close yourself that all you can do is nod and chant, "yes, yes, fuck, yes." while your cunt slurps and flutters around him, sweet moans crescendoing as he fucks you even harder, in fast, short thrusts that quickly bring you—and himself—to orgasm.

"O-ohmygod, baby—'m coming—fuck, please, stay still, please baby—need you to take it, please—" his words cut off into moans that morph into near sobs as he starts to release, cock spurting thick, sticky ropes of cum against your walls.

Thiiiick cum that squelches lewdly from your convulsing pussy as he sloppily fucks himself through the waves, eyes watering from the way he throws himself into near overstimulation just to ensure that he squeezes out every last drop into your warm womb ♡.

you’re sprawled across his dorm room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you like academic shrapnel. your Organic Chemistry problem set is due tomorrow, and Peter's trying to explain electron orbital hybridization for the third time while you're trying not to notice the way his hands move when he talks.

"okay, so—wait, are you even listening?" he glances up from the molecular model he's been gesturing at, catching you staring.

"yes," you lie. "orbitals. hybridization. very sexy stuff."

Peter's ears go pink. they always do. "it’s actually kind of cool if you think about it. like, the atoms are literally reshaping themselves to form stronger bonds—"

"Peter."

"—which is sort of romantic in a way? no? okay, yeah, I hear how that sounds."

you grin, nudging his knee with your foot. "you’re such a nerd."

the contact makes him freeze for just a second—so brief you almost miss it. but you've been Peter's best friend since freshman orientation, when you found him eating lunch alone in the dining hall, and you've gotten good at reading him. the way his breath catches. how his eyes track the movement of your leg as you pull it back.

"takes one to know one," he manages, but his voice is slightly rough.

you’ve been noticing things like this more lately. the way he leans into your touch when you grab his arm. how he finds excuses to be close—sitting next to you even when there's a whole empty couch, walking you home when your dorm is barely three buildings away. the looks that last a fraction too long.

at first, you thought you were imagining it. Peter Parker, who spent freshman year obviously pining after someone he wouldn't talk about, who kept a careful distance from everyone like he was afraid of breaking something. but somewhere between late-night study sessions and 2 AM bodega runs and him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, something shifted.

now he's watching you chew on your pen cap, and there's heat in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.

"we should take a break," you suggest. "my brain is melting."

"yeah, okay." Peter runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up adorably. "i’ve got—uh, i think there's some leftover pizza? and definitely Red Bull, which is probably not great to mix with the coffee we already had, but—"

"Peter."

"hmm?"

you’re not sure what you were going to say. something about how he's rambling, maybe, or how cute he looks when he's nervous. but you're sitting close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and the words dissolve on your tongue.

he swallows hard. "you’re looking at me weird."

"weird how?"

"i don't know! like..." he trails off, and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth before snapping back up. "never mind."

the air feels thick suddenly, charged with something that's been building for months. you think about all the almost-moments—hands brushing when passing coffee cups, the time he caught you when you slipped on ice and held on longer than necessary, the way he said your name last week, soft and wondering, like he was testing how it felt.

"Peter," you say again, and this time his name sounds different. heavier.

"yes?" it comes out barely above a whisper.

you lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he tilts forward like you're gravity and he's been in orbit too long, and when your lips finally meet, the small sound he makes goes straight through you.

the kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before Peter's hand comes up to cup your face and it turns desperate. he kisses like he's starving, like you're air and he's been underwater for years. his other hand finds your waist, gripping tight enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers.

"sorry," he gasps against your mouth. "sorry, i just—"

"don’t apologize." you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently. the noise he makes is almost pained.

"i’ve wanted—" he breaks off, kissing you again, harder. "god, i’ve wanted this for so long."

you end up in his lap somehow, textbooks scattering as he pulls you closer. Peter's hands are everywhere—your hips, your back, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. when you roll your hips experimentally, he actually whimpers.

"fuck," he breathes. "fuck, you can't—i’m trying to—"

"trying to what?" you do it again, feeling him harden beneath you.

his head falls back against the bed frame. "be good. go slow. not just—" his hips buck up involuntarily. "not just maul you like some kind of—oh fuck, are you taking off your shirt?"

you are, in fact, pulling your shirt over your head. "is that okay?"

Peter's eyes go wide and dark. "is that—are you seriously asking if—yeah. yeah, it’s okay. are you kidding?" he reaches for you with shaking hands, then stops himself. "i need you to tell me this is real."

"it’s real." you guide his hands to your waist. "i’m real. touch me, Peter."

he surges up to kiss you, lifting you and gently laying you back against the bed, he follows you down—his weight pressing you into the mattress. he’s kissing the spot behind your ear now, your neck, your jawline, your collarbone, working his way down with single-minded focus. all he can think about is you. you, you you you you.

"you’re so soft," he murmurs against your skin. "so fucking soft, i can't get enough. so soft, and smooth.”

his hands shake as he reaches for your bra clasp. it takes him two tries, and he laughs breathlessly against your shoulder. "sorry, i’m—it's been a while.”

your heart clenches. you know Peter has secrets—everyone does—but sometimes he lets things slip that make you wonder what he's been through. "we can slow down if you want."

"no." it comes out fierce. "no, i don't want slow. i want—" he drags his hands down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "i want to touch every part of you. want to taste you. want to—fuck, i want so many things."

he gets your bra off and just stares for a moment, reverent. when’s the last time he’s seen tits up close? then he's ducking his head to take your nipple in his mouth, and the feeling shoots straight between your legs. his tongue works in circles while his hand palms your other breast, and you arch into him with a gasp.

"Peter—"

he’s grinding against your thigh now, seemingly unconscious of it, completely focused on mapping your body with his mouth. when he kisses down your stomach, just above your navel, your muscles jump under his lips.

"can i?" his fingers are on the button of your shorts. "please. pleasepleaseplease."

"yes." you lift your hips to help him, and he drags your shorts and underwear down in one motion like he can't wait another second.

Peter sits back on his heels, just looking, and the expression on his face makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. "holy shit," he breathes. "you’re so—i can't believe you're letting me—fuck.”

"Peter." you reach for him. "come here."

but he shakes his head, lowering himself between your thighs instead. "i need to taste you first. i’ve been thinking about this for months—i felt like a pervert but.. i just couldn’t stop thinking about you. shit, baby.”

the first broad lick of his tongue through your folds makes you both moan. Peter grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open obscenely as he buries his face between your legs like a man starving. there’s no technique to it at first, just raw desperate hunger—he's licking and sucking messily, his tongue exploring every fold, every inch of you like he needs to memorize the taste.

"oh my god," you manage, watching him devour you. watching his messy curls between your legs. “Peter, that's—fuuuuck!”

he moans against your cunt, the vibration making your legs shake. his tongue finds your clit and circles it sloppily before dipping lower, the tip of his tongue pushing into your entrance. "fuck," he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin already shiny with your arousal. "jesus, you're so wet. you’re dripping—all for me?” he dives back in, licking into you deeper, his nose pressed against your clit as he tries to fuck you with his tongue.

you can feel how soaked you are, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he works you over. Peter's completely lost in it, grinding his hard cock against the mattress as he eats you out like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. because you are. if he knew, he would’ve confessed long ago.

"you taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled and desperate. "could do this forever. could just live between your legs—fuck, you're getting wetter. fuck, honey."

he slides two fingers into you without warning, and you cry out at the stretch. your walls clench around the intrusion, and Peter whimpers at the feeling. "oh god, you're so tight. so fucking tight and warm. holy fuck.” he curls his fingers, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you, your back arches off the bed.

“there!" you gasp. "right there, Peter, don't stop—"

"here?" he does it again, his fingers pumping in and out while his mouth seals around your clit. he sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. you can see him grinding desperately against the mattress, seeking friction, his hips rolling in time with his fingers fucking into you.

"Peter, i’m gonna—"

"please," he begs against your clit, the word vibrating through you. "please cum for me, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my fingers, wanna taste you cumming on my tongue. please? will you cum for me, baby? please, i need it. i need you.”

his encouragements and the fullness combined with his mouth on your clit sends you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you, and Peter moans like he's the one cumming as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. he works you through it, fingers still pumping, tongue still lapping at your clit until you're shaking and oversensitive and have to physically push his head away.

when he lifts his head, his face is a mess—lips swollen and shiny, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes absolutely blown black with lust. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever done," he says, voice completely wrecked. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "you’re the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i can’t—i need to be inside you right now or i’m gonna lose my mind."

you reach for his shirt with shaking hands. "off. please."

he strips so fast he nearly falls over, hopping on one foot as he shoves his jeans and boxers down. it’s almost comical, if you weren’t so desperate right now. when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate him—lean muscle, the cut of his hipbones, his cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. the head is already leaking precum, and as you watch, another bead forms at the tip.

"come here," you say, and he practically lunges back onto the bed.

the first touch of skin on skin makes him shudder violently. "oh shit," he breathes, his cock sliding against your wet pussy. "ah fuck, you feel so good. jesus. your skin. fuckfuckfuck.”

your wrap your hand around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, fucking into your fist. he’s hot and hard and silky in your palm, and when you stroke him once, experimentally, precum leaks over your fingers. the sound he makes is almost pained. he bites his lip so hard, you’re afraid he’ll break skin.

"i’m not gonna last," he warns, voice breaking. "i’m already so close, i’ve been so close just from tasting you, from feeling you cum on my face.”

"it’s okay." you guide him to your entrance, notching the head of his cock against your opening. you’re so wet that he slides through your folds easily. "i want you inside me. want to feel you cum inside me.”

Peter’s hand shakes as he reaches between you, gripping his cock to line himself up properly. "i don't—do you have a—"

"pill," you manage. "i’m on the pill. clean. are you—

"of course i am. i—i mean. yes.”

you’d normally never do this raw. but right now, all you care about is the way he's looking at you like you're everything, as he slowly pushes inside.

the stretch is intense—he's thick and the angle is deep and you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that every inch feels like too much and not enough all at once. you both groan as he sinks in, and you can feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion.

"oh my god," Peter gasps, his whole body trembling. "oh my god, you're so tight, i can feel—fuck, i can feel everything—" his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow, his face buried in your neck. "you’re squeezing me so tight, oh, fuuuuck.”

when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt inside you, he stops, breathing hard against your skin. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel how close he already is. "need a second," he pants. "just need a second or i’m gonna cum right now.”

you run your hands down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself perfectly still. "it’s okay. take your time."

"don’t want it to be over." he lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are almost desperate, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left. "feels too good. you feel too good. like—like you were made for me, like your pussy was made to take my cock.”

you rock your hips slightly, and his eyes nearly roll back. "Peter, you can move. please move. i need you to fuck me."

he does, pulling out slowly—agonizingly slowly—and you can feel everything. every ridge, every vein, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way you're stretched around him. the sensation is so intense it makes your toes curl, makes you whimper at the loss of fullness.

"oh, fuck," Peter breathes, watching where you're joined, watching himself slide out of you. "you look so good taking my cock. so fucking good.”

then he slides back in, just as slowly, and you both moan at the same time. the sound he makes is broken, almost pained, like it feels too good to bear. his whole body shudders as he bottoms out again, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he does it again, pulling out painfully slow—before sliding back in. the feeling is so perfect. yet, your body craves more. he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, but you can feel him holding back, trying to maintain control, his jaw clenched with the effort.

"can’t—" he gasps. "can’t believe how good you feel. so tight and wet and warm. how are you so tight, baby? god.”

he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, his cock plunging deep inside of your pussy, over and over. each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. but you can see the effort it's taking him—his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, his arms trembling where they're braced on either side of you, sweat already beading on his forehead.

"ah—yes!" you encourage, running your hands up his back. "you feel so good inside me."

his hips stutter slightly at your words, the rhythm faltering for just a second before he regains control. "yeah? you like feeling me fuck you?"

"yes, pete! love it! love feeling you stretch me open—!”

"fuck—" his next thrust is slightly harder, slightly faster, and he immediately tries to slow down again. "sorry, sorry, i’m trying to—trying to go slow but you feel so fucking good.”

"let go," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want to feel you lose control. want you to fuck me like you've been dreaming about."

he groans as he feels your walls clench around him. “i’m sorry, honey. m’sorry. i’m too rough, aren’t i? m’so sorry.”

"don’t apologize." you roll your hips to meet his next thrust, and the angle makes him hit deeper. "want to feel you."

the pleasure is building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your belly with each stroke. Peter's breathing is getting heavier, his control visibly slipping. his thrusts are getting incrementally faster, harder, like his body is moving on instinct despite his attempts to hold back.

"you’re so—ah!—perfect," he pants against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder. "so fucking perfect, taking my cock so well—" another thrust, faster this time. "been dreaming about this, about being inside you, about feeling you on my cock.”

his rhythm is getting less controlled now, more erratic. you can feel him starting to lose it, his careful restraint crumbling with each thrust. he’s sweating more, his skin slick against yours, his breathing ragged and desperate.

"Peter—" you dig your nails into his back. "more. need more."

he shakes his head. “can’t—if i go harder i won't be able to stop—" but even as he says it, his hips are moving faster, driving into you with more force. "what are you doing to me? fuuuck, i can't—i’m trying to be gentle but you feel too good.”

“then don't be gentle." you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "want you to fuck me harder."

he makes a sound that's almost a whimper, his hips stuttering before he slams into you harder than before. "like that? you want it like that?"

"yes!—fuck, yes—"

his control is slipping faster now. each thrust is harder, faster, more desperate. he tries to slow down, you can feel him trying, but his body won't listen. his hips keep moving, keep driving into you with increasing intensity.

"can’t stop," he gasps, his voice breaking. "can’t fucking stop, you feel too good, your pussy is so tight—" he’s babbling now, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. "want to fuck you so hard, want to make you feel so good, want to hear you scream my name.”

"m’trying to—trying to hold back—" but his hips are moving faster, pounding into you with a force that makes the bed shake. "don’t want to hurt you—"

"you won't. please, Peter, i need it.”

his next thrust makes you both cry out. he’s completely losing it now, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic, his body taking over despite his attempts at control. you can feel him shaking, trembling with the effort of holding himself back even as his hips betray him.

"i’ll hurt you—i’m stronger than i look—“

"shut up, Peter." you pull him deeper with your legs, and the angle makes you both gasp. "stop—fucking—ah!, stop apologizing. i want all of you. want you to use me, fuck me as hard as you need.”

his eyes roll back at the depth and his fragile restraint snaps. he eyes go dark and feral, and suddenly he's pounding into you, his hips snapping against yours with force that would probably hurt if you weren't so turned on. the bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, and Peter's completely gone, his filter destroyed.

"fuckfuck, shit, your pussy feels so good," he babbles against your neck, his voice broken and desperate. he reaches up, his hand palming your breast, squeezing the weight in his hand. his thumb circling over your nipple as he moans into your neck. "so tight and wet and perfect—can't believe i get to have this, have you. been wanting to fuck you for so long..” he changes the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "there? can you feel me there? can you feel how deep i am?"

"yes!" you’re clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Peter, oh my god!”

"shit—! wanted to bend you over the library table," he confesses, words tumbling out in a rush as he fucks into you relentlessly. "wanted to pull you into the bathroom at that party last month and fuck you against the sink. wanted to wake up with my face between your legs, wanted to fall asleep with my cock still inside you—" he’s rambling now, completely unfiltered, telling you every desperate fantasy as his hips piston. "used to jerk off thinking about this, about how you'd feel, how you'd sound, what your pussy would look like stretched around my cock.”

the world outside his dorm room falls away, all you can feel is his cock pumping in and out of you. you can barely think, he’s barely giving you time to think. all you can hear is his moans, your own desperate cries and the wet slap! of his skin against yours.

you can feel another orgasm building, the angle hitting perfectly with every brutal thrust. your walls are fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it because he moans and somehow speeds up even more. like he’s superhuman.

"Peter, i’m close—"

"i know, sweet girl. i can feel it." he reaches between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit. the touch is almost too much on your oversensitive flesh, but then he's rubbing tight circles and you're flying. "cum on my cock. please baby, need to feel it, need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock. just like you did on my fingers.”

tne combination of his thumb and the relentless thrust of his hips and his desperate words sends you over the edge. your second orgasm hits even harder than the first, your whole body seizing as pleasure whites out your vision. you clench around him rhythmically, and Peter makes a sound like he's been punched, his rhythm faltering.

“oh shit, shitshitshit, you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—i’m gonna cum—where? tell me where. please.”

"inside," you gasp, still riding the waves. "cum inside me, Peter, want to feel it.”

he buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a broken moan of your name.

you can feel it immediately—the first hot pulse of cum flooding into you, but it doesn't stop. it keeps coming, wave after wave, his cock jerking violently inside you as he empties himself. there’s so much—more than should be possible—each pulse filling you fuller, the warmth spreading deep inside as he shakes apart above you.

"oh god, oh god.” his voice is completely destroyed, words slurring together as another massive wave hits him. "i’m sorry, baby. i know it’s a lot—fuuuuck. imsorryimsorryimsorry.”

another pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily, grinding deeper like he's trying to fuck his cum even further inside you.

his arms are shaking so badly he can barely hold himself up. you can see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming intensity, his face twisted in almost painful pleasure.

when his orgasm finally, finally starts to subside, he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress because he literally cannot hold himself up anymore. he’s shaking like a leaf, gasping against your neck, and you can feel the obscene amount of cum leaking out of you.

"holy shit," he finally says, voice absolutely destroyed. "that was—i mean, i knew it would be good, but that was—i think i saw the heavens. god, i feel like i’m gonna pass out.”

"that was so hot," you manage, because words are hard right now and your limbs feel like jelly.

he lifts his head to look at you, and his expression is soft and wondering and a little hungry. "i love you," he says. "i know that's probably too soon to say, and we should probably talk about what this means, but i love you. i’ve been in love with you for months, maybe longer, and i thought i’d never get over—someone else—but then you smiled at me in the dining hall freshman year and i just.. i don’t know. you definitely don’t have to say it back, because i sound insane, but i just want you to know that—“

you kiss him, cutting off the ramble. "i know. i think i love you too.”

his answering smile is bright enough to power the sun. "yeah?"

"yeah.”

he kisses you again, soft and sweet this time, and you can feel him starting to harden inside you again, his cock thickening and lengthening where it's still buried in your pussy.

"Peter," you say, mock-stern even as your body responds.

he grins, sheepish and hungry all at once, and rolls his hips experimentally. the slide is easy, slick with cum and arousal. "i have months to make up for. hope you didn't have plans tomorrow."

you definitely don't have plans. and when he starts moving again—slow and deep and perfect, his cum making obscene wet sounds as he fucks it back into you—you can't think of anywhere else you'd rather be than here, in his messy dorm room, with the boy who's been touch-starved for too long finally letting himself feel everything.

the Organic Chemistry homework can wait.

And, fuck, you can't even say you hate it or regret it—though you really wish you could say so.

You'd promised yourself after the third time that you'd stop. You wouldn't fall for his charming character, puppy-dog eyes, smooth words, or heaven-sent dick; actually, you'd ignore him, maybe even find someone else to help bite away at your sexual frustration for the remainder of your college years.

Someone safer, with far more respect for boundaries.

Because for as beautifully as Peter Parker fucked, for as skilled as he was with his hands, fingers, tongue, fucking everything—he had one glaring, impeding flaw.

He absolutely refused to use a condom.

"Don't have any," he'd murmured the first time you let him between your legs and asked the most obvious question of 'what about condoms?'

You almost shut it down there, but then he pinned you with those puppy-dog eyes, as if he knew what you were about to do, voice a husky whisper, "I'm sorry, I couldn't get any before you came over... is that okay?"

It wasn't. It shouldn't have been.

You should have made that crystal clear, or at least demanded he run to the nearest convenience store if he wanted to stick his cock in you—but you didn't.

You simply nodded, let that stupidly attractive little half-smile he gave you twist your heart, and proceeded to let him fuck your brains out, completely raw and bare. Let him pump his cum inside you and squeeze your throat a little as he did so, feeling your eyes roll at the way his tip smeared against your sensitive cervix in the most pleasurable way.

And even though you were nearly incoherent by the end of it, you were still able to stress that next time, he better have a damn condom.

And Peter smirked, pleased at the confirmation of a next time, and promised that he would have one.

Really, you probably should have seen that for what it was—a bold faced fucking lie. But he was a damn good liar, and they tend to twist even the most obvious of lies into something inherently believable.

Just as Peter had done the second time around.

On your back, legs splayed, lips locked with his and pussy positively buzzing from the promise of being stretched by that heavenly cock pressed against your cunt, you couldn't really register how faux it was when Peter leaned over and opened the bedside drawer, rummaging around inside it before popping up from your lips with a softly hissed, "shit."

"Wh-what is it?" you pressed breathlessly, eyes darting between Peter's tensed jaw and his hand still in the drawer. There was an ache where his lips had just been, an ache that begged to be soothed.

"The condoms," he half rushed, half groaned. "I swear to God I put them in here. They were there last night, I double checked—shit, I'm sorry, babe—maybe next time? I can't find them—"

You were stupid. So, so stupid. But you were so horny, so worked up from his lips and hands, that when Peter tried to push away from you, your hand shot out and caught his bicep.

"It's fine," you pushed out hurriedly. Peter's eyes snapped to you and his jaw unclenched, but his brows furrowed. "We can still—fuck, just don't worry about the condom. It's okay."

Had you been a little more clear headed, you may have been able to realize that weird gleam in his eye was actually the shine of victory, and not the puddle of concern you originally took it for when he asked if you were sure.

The first two times could be written off as you maybe being too gullible, but in a way that was acceptable; after all, Peter was able to hide his disdain for condoms pretty well.

The third time around? He didn't even try—maybe because he knew that by now, you were so hooked to his dick and the way he fucked you that he could get away with it.

And he wasn't entirely wrong. No, actually, he wasn't wrong at all.

That was evident in the way you were bouncing on his raw cock, taking him all the way to the hilt and rocking forward subtly before pulling up again, pulling soft groans and hissed curses from his lips. Rinse and repeat.

And he's just watching you, eyes sharp like a hawk, reveling in the way you unravel for him, a small smirk on his lips because even though you'd been so adamant for 'protection' at the door, you folded so easy.

A few slick words, soft phrases, sultry touches, an easy lie of he 'can't feel anything through them and he really, really wants to feel you, baby', and one look at his dick and you went wild, forgetting all about pesky condoms in exchange for mind-numbing pleasure.

Thank every god in every universe that you weren't fertile during any of those hookups; otherwise you'd definitely be carrying a miniature Peter Parker right now—which wasn't in your books, at all.

You couldn't say the same about this time. Which is why you shouldn't even be here, face down, hips lifted, moaning into a pillow that smells of Dior Sauvage and fresh linen fabric refreshner while you're railed into next week.

You hadn't even meant for it to happen; it wasn't on your agenda for the day.

But when you ran into Peter, his hair freshly trimmed, top shirt buttons popped to expose just enough of his chest, smelling of the same cologne you're currently huffing from his pillow now—well, your ovulating self couldn't fucking say no when he invited you to his place.

And, again, you can't even feel any regret. Because it's everything you'd been craving for the last few days; rough, feral sex, with your face pressed into fabric and your pussy fucked open so deliciously.

God, in this position, Peter feels even bigger than normal. His tip smashes into your cervix with every long, deep thrust, and the subtle upward curve of his cock allows him to slide right against that spot inside you over and over and over—holy fuck!

"Fuuck, Peter—mmm—easy—" you choke out, words slightly muffled by the pillow and nearly drowned out by harsh slaps of flesh. Your pussy is fluttering around him, so sloppy and drooly and that you can hear every single squelch of his cock splitting open your walls.

And Peter fucking loves it. Can't shut up about it, actually.

"Goddamn, jus' listen to that pussy," you can hear the smirk on his lips. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? You been thinking about me, baby? I think you have been. Prolly been thinkin' about this dick messing you up since last Tuesday, huh?"

'Shut the fuck up,' is what you want to say, but all that comes out is a garbled, lewd moan when Peter thrusts just right, effectively clearing your head and crossing your eyes.

"Hah, shit—pussy's too fuckin' good today. So wet 'an tight, sucking me so fuckin' good... Damn, girl—you might make me bust soon." Peter drawls, big hands grasping the globes of your ass and spreading them just so, so he can watch as his cock spears into your sweet cunny.

Sharp panic slices through your fucked-out head at his filthy words.

"No, don't—! Ahh—y-you have to pull out, Peter—can't—not inside t-this time."

With your head down, you can't see the harsh scowl that mars Peter's face when you say the words 'pull out.' Peter's fingers dig ever so subtly into the flesh of your ass, almost as if he's giving you a small punishment for suggesting such a thing.

"Relax, babe, I ain't that close." Peter scoffs, though the sharp twinge in his balls tells him otherwise.

He wasn't lying when he said your pussy is too fucking good today—wetter than usual, with fluid so sticky-slick that it forms strings that connect his smooth abdomen to your thighs and ass every time he pulls his hips back.

Not to mention how hot it was inside you, metaphorically and literally. It felt like Peter was fucking into the physical form of lava, sans the literal melting. And the way you clamped around his cock? Fuck, it was enough to have his head rolling back and eyes crossing.

Peter isn't some prebuscent, acne-addled fifteen year old with sub-par sex education; he knows exactly what your current state means.

And it is so fucking hot, knowing that every thrust of his leaking cock into your depths runs the risk of impregnating you with his spawn.

You, however, don't seem to share his enthusiasm for it. Your fingers twist in his sheets, and you nearly try to crawl from him, "'m serious, Peter—y-you need to pull out, I fucking mean it—"

His thrusts turn a little rougher, more pointed, slamming into your sweet spots with the sole intention of getting you to shut up.

"I get it. I'll pull out, Jesus." Peter hisses, and it's enough. You melt back into the pillow, eyes fluttering and moans spilling into the fabric, nearly drooling from the sudden abuse to your g-spot.

It feels so fucking good that you quickly lose yourself, your fertility completely melting from your brain in favor of jumbled thoughts of fuck, he's so big, he's fucking me up, harder, faster, fucking use me, I'm gonna come—

"Fuck, do you even know how fuckin' pretty you sound—mmmm, fuuuck!—saying shit like that?" Peter suddenly cuts off your string of thoughts—no, words—cock kicking up inside your mushy walls. "I'd swear you're tryin' to make me come with that shit."

You can't even be mortified by it. You feel too good, and there's that familiar knot building inside you. Every slide of his cock into you just tightens it, his grunts and groans just adding more pressure to something that's already almost too heavy.

Fuck, you just want to come. Scratch that. You need to come; all over his glorious fucking cock that's fucking you so good.

"Then do it, baby. Yeah, c'mon, you can do it—wanna feel you, sweetheart. Jus' give it t'me, fuck—"

Peter re-positions, one hand planting itself on the bed beside your head for stability, and your muffled moans morph into something far more pornographic.

He's hitting you so impossibly deep now, like he's trying to break through to your womb—and when he slides his arm down and around your neck for the leverage to fuck you back on him, you lose it.

Your squeal of 'cooooomingg—' gets swallowed by praises from Peter when your pussy clenches around him, gushing up his cock and soaking your cum into his mattress.

"Yesyes, good girl—fuck, mhmm—keep comin', baby, c'mon—let it out, pretty girl, I've got you—fuck, y'feel so good coming around my dick like that."

Normally, Peter would fuck you nice and deep through the waves, kiss your skin and lap the sweat, pepper you with praises and hold you until the high cleared out and you stopped trembling—but right now, he didn't have the patience for it.

Feeling you come was the catalyst for his own undoing, and his hips moved on their own. Fast, short strokes that put most of the friction around his sensitive tip, and before Peter knew it, his lips were next to your ear and he was almost there—

"Gonna come," he squeezes out, and when you start to sputter he tacks on, "fuck, I'll pull out, I remember—hah, oh fuck, baby, s'good, almost—ungh—shit, okay, I don't think I can—'m'sorry, you're gonna have to take it, okay?"

Peter can't really decipher your little half hearted protests through the white static in his ears.

"Fuck, coming! Take it, baby, shhhh—no, no—s'okay, baby... yeah, fuck, milkin' me s'good... 'm fillin' up your pretty pussy, baby—yeah, it feels so good, doesn't it? Yeah, your body wants this, I know it does."

As always, Peter isn't even wrong. Your pussy is slurping up his cum gladly, practically wrenching it towards your womb; and the heat of it is enough to have your gut sparking with sharp arousal. You're really not even that concerned about the risk anymore. It feels too good to be concerned about it.

As for Peter? He wasn't even a little concerned to begin with. He was at peace with his decision—after all, there's a reason you're the only girl he's ever raw-dogged before in his life.

a/n: um, acc idk abt this one.. its my first attempt at like, putting more depth into my smut?? if that makes sense?? critiques would honestly be so so so appreciated bcs by golly i've never written smth like this and i feel outta my depth 😭

tag𝓵ist @mayhemi @triciawritesstuff @therealcap @vannyswims @fawnphile @she1983 @ynstark @emmiegirl @jaydennicole @meeemuirs @hyacinthusflowernymph @knowleeyo if i forgot to add u, or if u would like to be added/removed pls lmk! ♡

You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to push. That night in the bath you had opened the door—told him you weren’t scared, that you were there for whatever came next. He had held you like he believed it. But in the days after, he never quite stepped through that door again. The distance he kept felt deliberate. Protective. Like he was trying to put the version of himself that had lost control back in a box before it could touch you a second time.

So you pulled away too.

You stayed in your own space. Didn't leave the apartment and risk running into him in public— or worse running into him while he was working. Answered his hallway waves with small smiles of your own and didn’t linger. The invitation you had offered stayed open, but you stopped standing in the doorway waiting for him to walk through it. It was easier that way. Safer. Or at least it felt like it should be.

But your mind never quite left him.

You caught yourself listening for his footsteps at night. Replaying the way his voice had gone soft in the bath when he admitted he’d liked you for a long time. The look on his face when the black had left his eyes and pure horror had taken its place. The bruises on your hips had faded to nothing, but the memory of his hands stayed under your skin like a tattoo.

Sometimes, when the apartment next door went quiet for too long, you wondered what he was working on so late. Whether the arachnid thing was still clawing at the edges of him. Whether he was winning.

You never asked.

You just stayed in your shell, the same way he stayed in his, and tried not to think about how much you still wanted him to knock.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It started the way it had most nights since the distance settled between you.

You were alone in your apartment, lights low, the city humming faintly outside the window. Your mind had drifted to Peter again—his hands, the way his voice had gone rough and mean when the spider took over. It felt shameful in a way. You really did not expect to get that turned on by the thought that he could do whatever he wanted with you and you would just… let him. Wanting him and not being allowed to reach for him left everything sharper.

You didn’t bother with slow build-up tonight.

You were already soaked—slick coating your knuckles, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Two fingers curled inside the heat of your cunt while your free hand had shoved your shirt up under your chin so you could twist and tug at a nipple the way you kept imagining he would.

You thought about the night the spider had taken over him—the way he’d bent you over the counter and fucked you like he was starving, the filthy praise that had spilled out of him while he used your body on the couch. You thought about the bruises he’d left on your hips and how they’d faded too fast. You thought about the weeks of careful waves in the hallway, the bagels still warm on your windowsill, the late-night sounds of him working next door and never once knocking. The wanting had only gotten uglier with the silence. Your hips rolled up to meet every thrust of your hand, thighs trembling, breath coming in short, broken pants as the pressure coiled low and mean in your belly.

You were right there—fingers buried deep, cunt clenching hard around the stretch—when the crash hit.

Something heavy slammed into the shared wall hard enough to make the plaster vibrate against your shoulder blades. Glass shattered. A raw, strained yell tore through the noise, unmistakable even muffled by the barrier between your apartments.

“—help—!”

Peter’s voice. Tight with pain.

You were on your feet before the last syllable finished. No thought for consequences. You adjusted your underwear, slid your shirt back down and wiped your still glistening fingers across the fabric. You didn’t stop for pants. Three steps across the hall, hand already on the unlocked knob, and you shoved the door open straight into whatever was waiting on the other side.

The door swung open on chaos.

Broken electronics littered the floor—something small and expensive reduced to shattered glass and exposed wiring. Peter stood in the middle of it, barefoot, dressed in an old soft t-shirt and a pair of dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His chest rose and fell too fast. And his eyes…

Black. Completely. The reflective sheen was already there, pupils blown wide, the mean, hungry look locked on you the second you crossed the threshold.

You barely had time to take a breath before a thick strand of webbing shot from his wrist and wrapped tight around your bare waist. One sharp tug and you were yanked forward, stumbling straight into his space. His free hand caught you by the hip—fingers digging into the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and held you there.

“I heard you.”

His voice was low, layered, already half-gone to the thing under his skin. He leaned in, nose nearly brushing the side of your throat, and inhaled like he’d been waiting for the scent of you.

“You gonna try to play it off? Act like you just happened to be up and racing over here half-naked because you were worried?” A soft, mean laugh left him. “Cute. But I’m smarter than that. And right now my senses are so fucking sharp I can hear your heartbeat from the other side of the wall. I heard every wet little sound your fingers made. Every soft, desperate noise you tried to keep quiet while you were touching yourself thinking about me.”

You opened your mouth—some half-formed denial already on your tongue—but he didn’t let you get there.

“Don’t.” His grip on your hip tightened. The webbing around your waist pulsed once, warm and sticky. “I smelled you too. How wet you got. How close you were. You’ve been aching for weeks and I felt every second of it. You thought you could hide from me? Avoid me? Think again little bug.”

He tipped your chin up with two fingers so you had no choice but to meet those black, reflective eyes.

“I knew exactly how to get you back over here. One crash. One yell. And look at you—you look like a wreck. You didn’t even stop to put pants on.” His mouth curved into something dark and delighted. “You ran straight to me the second you thought I needed you. Just like I knew you would.”

The arachnid thing looked out at you through Peter’s face, hungry and amused and completely without apology.

“Missed me that bad, sweetheart?”

Peter’s mouth curved sharper at whatever he saw on your face.

You tried to counter him.

“You’ve been avoiding me since that night,” you shot back, voice steadier than the rest of you felt. The webbing around your waist was warm and tight, his fingers still digging into your hip hard enough to bruise. “You didn’t have to do all this. I told you I could help. I meant it.”

He laughed—low, mean, almost fond in the ugliest way.

“Help” He repeated the word like it tasted sweet and rotten at the same time. “You think I want your help with this?” One sticky hand left your hip to gesture vaguely at himself—the black eyes, the way fresh webbing still pulsed from his wrists in slow, involuntary strands. “The spider problem?”

He leaned in until his mouth was right against your ear, breath hot.

“I don’t want your help with that, sweetheart. I want you trapped. Just like this. Like my little bug that walked straight into the web because it couldn’t stand not being there to help.” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear. “Look at how easy it was. One crash. One yell. And you came running with your cunt still wet like the desperate thing you’ve been for weeks.”

The meanness landed exactly where he wanted it to.

Heat flooded low and sharp between your legs, fresh slick already threatening to drip down your thigh. Your pulse jumped under his fingers. He felt it—of course he did—and the sound he made was pure, cruel delight.

“There it is,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to watch your face. “That little spark. You can try to look pissed all you want. Doesn’t change the fact that being mean to you gets you dripping. Doesn’t change how fast you dropped everything the second you thought I needed you.” His thumb dragged slowly over the soft skin just above your underwear. “I barely had to try. And you still walked right into it.”

Peter’s black eyes glittered.

“So tell me again how you were going to help me, little bug. While you’re standing here already caught.”

You opened your mouth to tell him off—something sharp, something that might cut through the black in his eyes—but you never got the chance.

Peter moved too fast.

One hard shove and your back hit the wall with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. The webbing already wrapped around your waist stuck instantly to the plaster, thick and warm and greedy. It held you there, suspended just enough that your toes barely scraped the floor. You hung in place, chest heaving, while he stepped in close and looked at you like he’d just caught the most entertaining thing in the world.

Fresh strands shot from both wrists.

One pair snapped tight around your upper arms and pinned them hard to your sides. Another pair wrapped your ankles and yanked outward, forcing your legs apart until the stretch burned in your inner thighs. The silk was hot, almost feverish, and it contracted once—deliberate—locking you open and helpless against the wall.

Peter laughed.

It was a low, delighted sound, completely without remorse. He tipped his head and studied the way you were spread for him, black eyes glittering with pure amusement.

“Oh, look at that,” he murmured, voice dripping mean satisfaction. “All that fire and you still end up stuck like this. Hanging there because the web decided it wanted to keep you.” He reached out and dragged two fingers slowly up the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of where you were already dripping again. “You have no idea how fun this is for me right now.”

He leaned in until his mouth was almost against yours, the reflective black of his eyes the only thing you could see.

“Where do you think the Peter you knew went, little bug? Buried somewhere under all this?” A soft, cruel huff of laughter brushed your lips. “Maybe. Or maybe this is just what happens when he stops fighting so hard. Either way…” His fingers finally pressed against the soaked crotch of your underwear, rubbing once, slow and deliberate. “You’re not going anywhere. And I am going to take my time enjoying the fact that you walked right back into my web.”

He pulled his hand away and licked the wetness off his fingers without breaking eye contact, still smiling that mean, hungry smile.

The real Peter felt very far away.

He started slow on purpose.

Two fingers pressed against the soaked crotch of your underwear and dragged upward in a lazy, deliberate stroke, the wet cotton clinging to every fold. He watched your face the entire time, black eyes half-lidded and mean with amusement as he rubbed tight circles over your clit through the fabric. The pressure was just enough to make your hips twitch against the webbing that held you open, just enough to pull a soft, frustrated sound out of your throat.

“Listen to that,” he murmured. “Already so vocal and I haven’t even touched skin yet.” He pressed harder, the damp cloth dragging over swollen nerves until your thighs strained against the silk pinning them apart. “These are ruined. Completely soaked through. All that time you spent touching yourself next door and you’re still this desperate the second I get my hands on you.”

The teasing lasted maybe thirty seconds before the patience dissipated.

Peter hooked his fingers under the waistband and ripped. The fabric gave with a sharp, wet tear, and the ruined scrap of underwear came away in his hand. He didn’t toss it aside. He crumpled the soaked cotton in his fist, brought it briefly to his nose like he was savoring the scent of you, then shoved it deep into the back pocket of his sweatpants with a satisfied little hum.

“Mine now.”

Then his fingers were back—two of them, thick and unapologetic—sliding into you in one smooth, relentless push. The stretch burned. Your cunt clenched hard around the sudden intrusion and he laughed under his breath, already curling them against that spot that made your vision spark.

He didn’t ease up.

Peter finger-fucked you hard and deep, the wet, filthy sounds of it filling the quiet apartment as he worked you open against the wall. Every thrust of his hand drove a broken noise out of you. The webbing around your arms and waist held you perfectly still for it, legs forced wide so he could watch every time his fingers disappeared inside you.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and mean and almost fond. “Take it. Look how easy you open up when you’re stuck like this. No fighting. No running. Just my fingers fucking this pretty cunt until you make a mess all over them.” He added a third finger without warning and the stretch punched a cry from your throat. “Gonna keep going until you come on my hand. And I wanna hear you scream.”

His thumb found your clit and pressed down hard, rubbing tight, merciless circles while his fingers kept slamming into you at a pace that left no room to breathe.

The spider looked out at you through Peter’s face, hungry and delighted, and it had no intention of slowing down.

A fourth finger pressed against your already stretched entrance and pushed in alongside the others. The burn was immediate—sharp, deep, almost too much—yet it rolled straight into heat that made your toes curl against the empty air. Your cunt fluttered hard around the thick intrusion, trying to pull him deeper even as the stretch edged into delicious pain. He watched every flicker of it on your face, black eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice low and filthy. “Look at that. Four fingers and you’re still trying to suck me in. Greedy little thing.” He worked them deeper, knuckles pressing against your entrance with every slow, deliberate thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—slick and rhythmic, filling the quiet apartment as he fucked you open against the wall. “You’re stretched so wide for me. I can feel you shaking. Does it hurt? Or does it just make you wetter?”

Your answer came out broken. The webbing held you perfectly still for him—arms pinned, legs forced apart, waist stuck to the plaster—so there was nowhere to go when he curled all four fingers hard against that spot and kept them there, rubbing in relentless, grinding circles.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot. “The one that makes you forget how to talk. I’m going to keep pressing it until you break. Until this pretty cunt has no choice but to soak my entire hand.”

The pressure built too fast. Your thighs trembled against the silk restraining them. Every nerve felt lit up, oversensitive, the stretch of four fingers turning every movement into a thick, overwhelming drag that left you gasping. Peter’s thumb found your clit again and rubbed tight, merciless circles in time with the deep thrusts of his hand.

“Come on,” he goaded, mean and soft at the same time. “I can feel how close you are. You’re fluttering around my fingers like you’re already about to lose it. Do it. Squirt for me again. I know you can do it. Make a mess of the hand that’s fucking you open.”

It hit like a wave.

Your whole body locked up as the orgasm tore through you—cunt clenching hard around the thick stretch of his fingers while you squirted, a hard, pulsing rush of wetness that spilled over his hand, his wrist, down his forearm in messy streaks. The sound you made was raw and animalistic. Peter groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt and kept working you through it, fingers still moving, still curling, dragging every last spurt out of you until your legs were shaking and fresh tears of overstimulation pricked at the corners of your eyes.

He finally slowed, but he didn’t pull out.

Four fingers stayed buried deep while he looked down at the mess you’d made of him, black eyes bright with pure, mean delight.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He lifted his free hand and slowly licked a stripe of your release off his own wrist, never breaking eye contact. “You just fucking flooded me. Look at the state of my arm. All because I stretched this tight little cunt open and told it what to do.” A soft, cruel laugh left him.

The fight had already left your body somewhere between the fourth finger and the way he’d licked your release off of himself. Maybe if you just let this version of him burn through whatever was clawing under his skin, the real Peter might surface again. The one who had held you in the bath. The one who had looked horrified when the black left his eyes. You could try to reach him after. You could try.

Peter didn’t notice the quiet shift in you—or if he did, he only found it more entertaining.

He tipped his head, studying the way you hung open and wrecked against the wall, and made a soft, thoughtful sound.

“Where next…” he murmured, almost to himself. One sticky hand stroked up the inside of your thigh, smearing the mess he’d already forced out of you. “Counter was fun last time. Couch too. But you’ve already been on the wall.” His black eyes flicked upward, and a slow, mean smile spread across his face. “Ceiling it is.”

The webs around your waist and limbs released with a wet snap. Before you could drop he caught you, spun you, and launched a fresh burst of silk that stuck hard to the ceiling. Another sharp pull and you were hauled upward, stomach pressed flat to the cool plaster, arms stretched out along your sides and webbed tight, legs forced close together and pinned the same way. Your head fell back, hair hanging, the entire apartment suddenly upside down. Blood rushed in your ears. The world tilted.

Peter’s clothes hit the floor in two careless motions.

Then he crawled.

Hands and feet stuck to the wall with that same unnatural ease, he scaled the vertical surface like it was nothing, sweatpants and shirt left in a heap below. When he reached you he settled between your forced-together thighs from behind, the thick, hard length of him dragging through the slick mess between your legs. The angle was different—you felt impossibly full. Your legs being pinned so close made every inch of him feel thicker as he lined up and pushed in.

The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat.

Peter groaned like he’d just sunk into the best heat of his life and bottomed out in one slow, deliberate thrust. The position left you completely at his mercy—head hanging, world inverted, cunt gripping him in a vice because there was nowhere for your thighs to open.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the back of your shoulder, voice pure filth. “Even better like this. Look at you. Stuck to my ceiling with your pretty cunt wrapped around me and nowhere to go.” He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet room. “I can feel every flutter. Every time you try to adjust. You’re just going to take it exactly how I give it.”

He set a deep, rolling pace, hips snapping forward bouncing off the curve of your ass while the webbing held you perfectly still for every thrust. The inverted angle made everything sharper—the drag of his cock, the way your own wetness dripped upward toward your stomach, the dizzy rush of blood in your head every time he bottomed out.

Peter’s mouth found the side of your throat, teeth grazing as he fucked into you from behind.

“Still hoping the nice version of me shows back up?” he murmured, mean and breathless against your skin. “Keep hoping, little bug. I don't think he wants to play right now.”

Peter fucked into you harder.

Every thrust drove your stomach against the ceiling with a force that made the plaster groan. A sharp crack split the surface right beside your shoulder. White dust sifted down past your hanging face. He didn’t slow. He just laughed—low and delighted—and shot a thick burst of webbing over the fracture, sealing it shut in one careless motion before slamming back into you like nothing had happened.

“Oops,” he murmured against the back of your neck, voice pure mean amusement. “Ceiling’s not built for this. Neither are you, but you’re taking it anyway.”

You let the words wash over you without answering.

Somewhere under the dizzy rush of blood in your head and the thick, relentless stretch of him, a small, stubborn part of you was still waiting. Waiting for the rhythm to break. For the black in his eyes to flicker. For the real Peter—the one who looked at you from afar and left you your favorite bagels and just cared—to claw his way back up through whatever this was. You had stopped fighting for exactly that reason. If you just let this version burn itself out, maybe the man you knew would surface again.

And you didn't exactly hate what was happening to you right now.

The webbing around your hips loosened just enough.

His hand snaked in front of your body, sticky fingers finding your clit with perfect accuracy. He rubbed tight, filthy circles in time with every deep thrust. The dual sensation was almost too much—his cock stretching you from behind while his fingers worked the swollen bundle of nerves that had already been oversensitive for too long. Your body responded helplessly, cunt clenching around him, wetter with every cruel stroke of his fingers. Traitorous. Even now.

“That’s it,” he goaded, breath hot against your skin. “I can feel you getting closer. You’re gonna come on my cock while I’m buried in you, aren’t you? Do it. Take me with you.”

It hit both of you at once.

Your orgasm tore through first—cunt locking down around him in hard, pulsing waves as you cried out, the sound echoing oddly in the upside-down room. The tight, rhythmic squeeze pulled him over the edge a heartbeat later. Peter groaned low and filthy against your shoulder, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you, thick heat spilling into you in long pulses while his fingers kept rubbing your clit through every tremor.

For a few seconds the only sound was the two of you breathing hard, still locked together against the ceiling.

In that thin, fragile quiet, hope flared—stupid and bright. The shared finish. The way his body had shuddered against yours like it still knew how to match you. Maybe—

Then he laughed.

The sound was soft and cruel and completely without mercy. He nuzzled the side of your throat like he was savoring the way your pulse jumped under his mouth.

“Aww,” he cooed, mocking. “We finished at the same time. How fucking cute. You were hoping that would bring him back, weren’t you?” His fingers finally stilled on your clit, but he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried to the hilt, letting you feel every twitch of his cock as he softened just slightly inside you. “Hold on to that hope little bug. Makes this all the more enjoyable.”

He tipped your hanging head further back with two sticky fingers so he could look at your upside-down face.

The black in his eyes was still absolute.

Something in your chest tightened, then went quiet.

The hope didn’t vanish all at once. It just… dimmed. Folded in on itself under the weight of that mocking smile and the unbroken darkness staring back at you. You had wanted so badly to believe the real him was still reachable. That the man who had confessed he liked you for years, who had washed your hair with careful hands, was only buried—not gone.

Peter’s mean, satisfied expression made the truth feel colder.

“Sorry, little bug. He’s not here right now.” A slow, cruel smile curved his mouth. “It’s just me. And I’m not done playing with you yet.”

You closed your eyes against the inverted room and let the last of that fragile hope slip away, as Peter chose the bed next on purpose.

The webbing released with a series of wet snaps. He caught you before you could fall, carried you the short distance, and dropped onto the mattress with you straddling his hips. The position was deliberate—your knees on either side of him, his cock already hard again and sliding through the mess of his own release still dripping out of you. He settled you over him exactly the way he had that first night, when the black had finally left his eyes and the real Peter had surfaced underneath you.

He knew what he was doing.

“Familiar?” he asked, voice dripping mockery as he gripped your hips and pushed up into you in one slow, deep thrust. The stretch pulled a broken sound from your throat. “This is how he came back last time, isn’t it? You on top. Him underneath. Soft little moment after he finished using you.” He fucked up into you harder, watching your face. “Are you sad little bug? Because your Peter isn't the one fucking you stupid? Spider got your tongue?"

Something in you finally snapped.

“Fuck you,” you bit out, hands bracing against his chest as he drove up into you. Your voice came out rough, meaner than you expected. “You think this is funny? Dragging me around your apartment like a sex doll and then putting me here just to remind me he left?” You rolled your hips down to meet his next thrust, deliberately tight, trying to take some of the control back. “You’re not him. You’re just the thing wearing his face and getting off on how much I still want the real one.”

Peter’s eyes flashed—black and delighted.

“There she is,” he laughed, mean and breathless. His hands locked harder around your hips, fingers digging into the bruise marks from earlier as he snapped up into you with new force. “There’s the little spark. You finally got mean back. Took you long enough.” He thrust up again, deeper, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet room. “Keep going. Tell me how much you hate that it’s me fucking this cunt instead of him. Oh you're going to be so disappointed when it's just you and him. Tell me how badly you wish the soft version would climb back out and apologize.”

You glared down at him, even as your body clenched around every upward snap of his cock.

“I do hate it,” you shot back. "I hate that you know exactly how to make me come and you use it like a weapon. And I hate that the second you decide you’re done playing, he’ll have to look at what you did.”

Peter’s smile turned sharper. He planted his feet and fucked up into you harder, using the position to drive the air from your lungs with every thrust.

“Good,” he growled, voice pure filth and cruelty. “Hate me. Fight me. It just makes you hotter.” One hand left your hip to wrap loosely around your throat, not squeezing at full capacity, just holding you in place while he used your body from below. “You’re soaked for the version of him that doesn’t care if you’re hoping. The version that wants you trapped and dripping and talking back like it might change anything.” He thrust up particularly deep and held there, grinding against you. “Spoiler, little bug—it won’t. He’s not coming back until I’m finished. And I am nowhere near finished with this cunt.”

He kept fucking up into you, mean and relentless.

You kept trying to talk.

Every sharp retort came out broken—half a sentence, a curse, a breathless jab at the thing wearing Peter’s face—only to be punched out of you by the next deep upward thrust. He fucked into you like he was trying to carve space for himself, each stroke stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping against his chest.

“Still trying to run that pretty mouth,” Peter snarled, mean and breathless beneath you. One hand stayed locked on your hip hard enough to bruise; the other shoved between your bodies, nimble fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, filthy circles. “Keep going. Tell me how much you hate the version of him that’s balls-deep in this soaked little cunt. Tell me while you’re about to fucking squirt all over me again.”

The dual sensation was brutal. His cock stretching you deep from below while his fingers worked your clit with merciless precision. Your thighs started to shake. The words died in your throat, replaced by raw, helpless sounds you couldn’t swallow back.

“That’s it—right there,” he goaded, black eyes locked on your face. “I can feel this greedy cunt fluttering. You’re gonna make a mess of me. Do it. Squirt on my cock like the desperate little fucktoy you are.”

It hit like a punch.

Your orgasm ripped through you hard—cunt clamping down in violent, pulsing waves as you squirted, a hot rush of wetness spilling over his cock and stomach in messy streaks. The force of it left you shaking, breath gone, forehead dropping against his shoulder while aftershocks kept milking him.

Peter groaned like he’d been waiting for exactly that.

“Fuck—yes. Soak me. Just like that.” His hips snapped up harder, chasing his own edge now that you were clenching and dripping around him. “Taking every inch while you come your brains out. Look at the state of you—shaking, dripping, still trying to hate me.” A few more deep, punishing thrusts and his rhythm broke. He buried himself to the hilt with a low, guttural sound and came hard, flooding you in thick, pulsing ropes while his fingers kept rubbing your oversensitive clit through it.

He stayed inside you through every spurt, grinding up against the mess he’d just made.

Then he moved.

He pulled free and immediately shot a thick, precise burst of webbing straight against your entrance. The silk was hot and sticky and sealed you shut in one deliberate motion, trapping everything—his fresh come, your slick, the mess of the orgasm he’d forced out of you—deep inside.

“There,” he said, voice pure filthy satisfaction as he looked at the sealed mess between your legs. “All plugged up. Every drop of me locked inside this pretty cunt where it belongs. You’re going to stay full and dripping on the inside while I use that mouth next.”

Fresh webbing shot from his wrists before you could react.

It wrapped your wrists tight and yanked them behind your back, then looped around your upper arms and torso, forcing your shoulders back. Another set of strands caught your ankles and calves, binding them together. One firm pull and he dragged you off the bed entirely, dropping you hard onto your knees on the floor between his spread thighs. Your plugged cunt throbbed. Your hands were useless behind you. The only thing left free was your mouth.

Peter sat on the edge of the mattress, cock still hard, shiny with the combined mess of both of you. He reached down, fisted a hand in your hair, and tipped your face up so you had no choice but to meet those black, reflective eyes.

“Open,” he ordered, mean and calm. “You’ve been talking so much shit. Time to put that mouth to better use.” He dragged the head of his cock across your lips, smearing them with the slick evidence of what he’d just done to you. “You’re going to suck me clean. Every inch. And you’re going to do it while that webbing keeps my come trapped inside you like a good little toy who knows her place.”

His grip in your hair tightened, not quite forcing you down yet—just holding you there, waiting to see if you’d fight or open for him.

“Go on, little bug. Show me how well you can take cock when you’re already full and sealed shut.”

Something in you finally broke.

The constant mockery, the deliberate cruelty, the way he kept twisting every soft memory into something filthy and mean—it all stacked up until the only thing left was pure, sharp anger. You were done. Done being the little bug. Done hoping. Done letting whatever this thing was wear Peter’s face and use your body like it owned the right.

So you bit.

Hard.

Your teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of his cock without hesitation, deep enough to draw a raw, startled sound out of him. Whatever he was right now, he could take it. You wanted him to feel it.

The reaction was instant and violent.

Peter’s hand left your hair. Both palms hit your shoulders and shoved. The webbing around your arms and legs snapped under the force as you were thrown backward. You hit the floor hard, right in the middle of the shattered electronics and broken glass from earlier. Sharp edges bit into your palms, your hip, the side of your thigh. Pain flared white-hot. Blood welled immediately—thin red lines cutting across your skin and dripping onto the debris.

You pushed up onto one elbow, breath ragged, and looked at him.

Peter had staggered back against the edge of the bed, one hand clamped over himself, chest heaving. For a second the black in his eyes was absolute, furious, predatory—

Then it flickered.

A sharp, human sound left his throat. His pupils contracted. The reflective sheen cracked like ice under pressure. He stared at the blood on your skin, at the way you were still half-bound and bleeding on his floor, and something raw and horrified tore across his face.

“No—”

The word came out strangled, half his voice, half the thing still fighting underneath. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t trust them. Fresh webbing leaked from his wrists in uncontrolled pulses, but he didn’t aim it at you. He looked sick. He looked like he was drowning.

“I—fuck, I threw you—” His voice cracked, the mean edge gone, replaced by something panicked and familiar. “You’re bleeding. I made you bleed.”

The black tried to surge back. You watched him wrestle it down in real time—jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut, every muscle in his body locked in a visible war. When he opened them again the darkness was still there, but it was no longer alone. The real Peter was clawing upward through it, staring at the damage he’d done like it was the worst thing he had ever seen.

“Stay down,” he forced out, voice shaking, still not fully his. “Don’t—don’t come closer. I can’t… I don’t know which one of me is speaking right now.”

Blood dripped from your palm onto the broken glass.

For the first time in hours, the thing wearing Peter’s face looked terrified of itself.

Peter looked like he was coming apart.

He stayed backed against the bed, one hand still pressed over himself, the other braced on the mattress like he needed it to stay upright. His eyes kept flickering—black to brown to black again—like two versions of him were trying to occupy the same body and neither was winning cleanly. Ohh

“This is why,” he forced out, voice raw and cracking. “This is exactly why I stayed away. Why I left the bagels and just waves and left you alone. I knew it was getting worse. I knew the second I let myself get close to you again it would stop being me.” He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, leaving a streak of silk behind. “I threw you into glass. You’re bleeding because of me. Because I couldn’t keep the darkness down.”

His gaze locked on the red welling across your palm and thigh, and something close to panic flashed across his face.

“You need to go. Right now. Get out of this apartment and lock your door and don’t open it no matter what you hear.” The words came out sharp, almost desperate. “I don’t care if I sound like him when I say it—leave. I can’t trust what I’ll do if you stay.”

You didn’t move.

Blood dripped steadily from your hand onto the broken glass, but you stayed exactly where you were, still half-bound, still breathing hard, staring at the man fighting himself in front of you.

“No,” you said.

Peter’s head snapped up. The black surged hard in his eyes for a second, then receded under what looked like pure, human fear.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t be brave right now. I’m not safe. The thing that just used you and mocked you and threw you is still right here under my skin and it wants—” His voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped. “Please. I’m asking you. Go.”

You shifted onto your knees carefully, glass crunching under you, and kept your voice steady even though your pulse was still hammering.

“I’m not leaving.” You met his flickering gaze without flinching. “You don’t get to decide that for me. Not after everything. The real you is still in there—I saw him. I saw the way you looked when you realized I was bleeding. That wasn’t the spider. That was you.”

Peter let out a shaky, broken sound. More webbing spilled from his wrists and hit the floor with soft, wet impacts. He was trembling now, every muscle locked in the effort of holding the darkness back.

“You don’t know what it feels like,” he whispered. “It’s louder every day. Hungrier. And when you’re near it gets so much worse because it already decided you’re mine and I can’t—” He cut himself off, breathing hard. “I don’t want to hurt you again. I can’t live with that.”

“Then don’t,” you said simply. “Fight it. I’m right here. I’m not running. Look at me and come back.”

You stayed on your knees in the glass and the blood, refusing to look away, giving the real Peter something solid to reach for while the darkness tried to drag him under again.

You moved closer.

Glass bit into your knees and the side of one palm as you shifted forward across the debris. Blood ran warmer now, steady lines tracking down your wrist and the outside of your thigh, dripping onto the broken glass and glittering fragments beneath you. You didn’t look at it. You didn’t care. Your eyes stayed locked on Peter’s face—on the war still happening behind his flickering eyes.

He tensed hard when you closed the distance, fresh webbing pulsing from his wrists in a sharp, involuntary burst that stuck to the floor between you.

“Stop,” he rasped. “You’re bleeding and you’re still coming closer. You need medical attention. Pressure on the cuts. I— I don't know. Anything but being around me. Please—”

“It decided I’m its,” you said, voice low and steady even as another drop of blood left your hand. “That’s what you keep saying. The spider. The darkness. It already claimed me. But what about you?” You held his gaze without flinching. “What have you decided, Peter? Because you’ve spent weeks running from me, like the only option was to lock it down so hard it never got near me again.”

His breath hitched. The black in his eyes surged, then receded under something rawer.

You kept going, softer but no less direct.

“What if that’s why it’s so feral when I’m around? What if the constant fighting—the way you keep trying to shove it down and pretend it isn’t part of you—is exactly what’s making it worse every time I get close? Like it’s starving and angry because you won’t let it have any air.” You shifted another inch nearer, close enough now that the heat of him reached your skin. “Maybe it doesn’t need you to lose. Maybe it just needs you to stop treating it like the enemy long enough to figure out how to live with it.”

Peter stared at you like you’d just reached into the middle of the war inside him and touched something vital.

His hands flexed. The reflective sheen in his eyes kept fracturing, brown bleeding through in unstable waves. He looked terrified of the idea and desperate for it at the same time.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to risk,” he whispered. The voice was almost fully his now—wrecked, shaking, but his. “If I stop fighting it the way I have… if I let any of it stay…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

You kept your voice quiet, almost conversational, like the blood on the floor and the war in his eyes weren’t the loudest things in the room.

“What were you trying to make?” you asked. “All those late nights. The sounds through the wall. What was it?”

Peter blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. For a second the question seemed to short-circuit the spiral he’d been trapped in. His gaze flicked toward the workbench in the corner—scattered tools, half-disassembled devices, notebooks open to dense pages of formulas—then back to you.

“An inhibitor,” he said roughly. “Something that might dampen the arachnid side. Slow the takeover. Give me enough control that I wouldn’t… that I wouldn’t become this every time you got close.” He swallowed hard. “I thought if I could just build the right formula, the right delivery system, I could keep you safe without having to stay away forever.”

You nodded once.

“That’s a good idea.”

Then you reached out.

Your bloodied hand settled lightly on his knee. Red smeared across his leg— warm and unmistakable— dripping freely. Peter went rigid under the contact. The black surged hard in his eyes for one sharp, dangerous second—hungry, possessive, furious at the sight of your blood on him—

—and then it cracked.

A broken sound left his throat. The reflective sheen shattered. His whole body seemed to fold in on itself as the last of the darkness lost its grip. He grabbed your wrist like it was the only solid thing left in the world and collapsed forward, forehead pressing hard against your shoulder, arms coming around you with desperate, shaking force.

“I’m sorry—” The words tumbled out of him in a wrecked, continuous stream. “I’m so fucking sorry. I hurt you. I threw you. I said those things and I used you and I watched you bleed and I couldn’t stop it— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

His shoulders shook. Fresh, uncontrolled webbing leaked from his wrists and stuck harmlessly to your back as he clung to you, face buried against your neck, repeating the apology like it might undo any of it if he said it enough times.

The real Peter was back.

And he was falling apart in your arms.

Until he forced himself to pull it together.

The full-body shaking didn’t stop all at once, but he managed to sit back enough to look at you properly. His eyes—clear brown again, red-rimmed and wrecked—scanned every visible inch of you with frantic care. The blood on your palms and thigh. The glass still clinging to your skin. The way you were still half-naked and marked from everything the other version of him had done.

“Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

He stood on unsteady legs, scooped you up as carefully as if you might shatter, and carried you to the bed. The sheets were a mess of earlier webbing and come, but he lowered you onto the clearest spot he could find, supporting your head and back the entire way down. His hands never stopped moving—checking, adjusting, making sure nothing pressed against the cuts.

“I’m going to take the webbing off,” he said, voice low and tight with leftover guilt. “Just… stay still for me. Please.”

He knelt between your knees and worked with deliberate gentleness. The silk sealing your entrance had already started to dry at the edges. Peter coaxed it free with slow, patient fingers, murmuring soft apologies the entire time like the removal itself might hurt you. When the plug finally gave, a warm rush of everything he’d left inside you spilled out onto the sheets. He didn’t look away. He just kept apologizing under his breath while he reached for a clean cloth.

He cleaned you with the same careful attention—warm water, soft pressure, never lingering longer than necessary on the places that were still oversensitive. Every pass of the cloth came with another quiet “I’m sorry.” When he finished between your legs he moved to the cuts, picking out the tiny shards of glass with tweezers from the first-aid kit he kept under the bed, then disinfecting and bandaging the worst of them on your palm and thigh.

“I did this,” he said while he taped gauze over the deepest slice on your hand. His voice cracked again. “I let it get that far. I’m so fucking sorry.” He smoothed the last piece of medical tape down with trembling fingers, then sat back on his heels, still staring at the bandages like they were proof of every failure. “I never wanted you to see me like that again. I never wanted to make you bleed.”

Peter stayed kneeling there beside the bed, one hand resting lightly over the gauze on your thigh, continuing to apologize in a soft, broken loop even as he finished patching you up. The darkness was gone.

Only the guilt remained.

Once the clock hit midnight you pounced onto Peter. He hadn’t been injured too badly recently and it was a big day so you were going to make the most out of it.

The whole hour prior you had been teasing him, touching yourself in front of him but only over your (his) sweatpants. You locked eyes with him the entire time and made sure to let out little noises to tease him further.

But now that it was his birthday you could go all out.

You started by making out with him, grinding right on his aching bulge while you felt yourself getting wetter by the second.

His hands were all over you. First they were on your hips, helping you grind right against him then they were going up and down your back while you shoved your tongue in his mouth.

He moaned and you pulled away going down to his neck, leaving mark after mark all over before kissing every new bruise.

Your name came out like a prayer, needy and pretty, just how you liked it.

You left kisses along his collarbone plus a few more marks for good measure before kissing down his chest. You stuck your tongue out and licked down his chest then down his abs until getting to his boxers.

You looked up at him through batted lashes and he was already breathing heavily, eyes pleading. You gave him a smile and put a stop to your teasing, instantly pulling his boxers down and taking his cock in your hand.

It instantly throbbed as you let out a tiny chuckle before taking him into your mouth.

“Ah- fuck-“ he mumbled, bucking his hips up.

You got yourself comfortable between his legs then went down, taking more of him. You pulled up, spitting on it then stroked it two times before taking him back in your mouth.

This time you didn’t stop until he was all the way down your throat and he was moaning so much. You looked up at him, making him groan, his hands resting on your head — softly grabbing your hair.

You pulled back halfway then went back down, his tip hitting the back of your throat quickly earning yourself a whimper from him.

At this time you’d usually stop and just stroke him because you loved to tease him but tonight had to be different.

Instead you kept going, bobbing your head back and forth on him wanting to give him the utmost pleasure you possibly can.

After two minutes of that, he moaned out, “b-baby- please, I need you.”

You pulled his cock out and smiled, “how do you want me?”

“On top- please.” He breathes out and you nod, taking your clothes off before quickly climbing on top of him.

He looked out of breath but excited which is perfect in your books.

You hovered above him while he lined himself up to your entrance, you gasped before lowering yourself all the way down. You both moaned in sync as you placed your hands on his shoulders and his were on your waist.

“Feel so good.” He mumbled and you giggled, “someone’s excited.”

“It’s your fault.” He chuckled, making you smile, “whatever you say birthday boy.”

He gasped then gave you a playfully glare, “You teased me for an hour! If that’s not your fault I don’t know what is.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t want to stroke yourself!” You deflected, slowing moving yourself up.

“Well no- I just wanted you.” He mumbled and you nod, halfway on his cock.

You lean in close to him, just enough for your breath to hit his lips, “And now you have me.”

You slammed down and he groaned, gripping your skin while you started to ride him properly. He trained your legs just for this, he loved this position and you loved making him happy even if this’ll probably pain you tomorrow morning.

Which is why you called the day off.

You moved your body just like he taught you, first slow movements then upping the pace when he had that look in his eye.

When he was impatient and wanted more but was too shy to ask.

Almost like giving you puppy dog eyes when he wanted something.

Sometimes they went hand in hand.

So you moved yourself a little faster, getting the hang of it while he helped you. His hands were holding you, moving you at the pace he wanted and you let him.

He’s been having rough fights out there lately and you wanted to give him these moments so he could feel human and normal.

Which by the loud moans he was letting out, was working like a charm.

“You won’t laugh if I come too fast right?” He asks and you quickly shake your head, “never.”

“Okay good because,” he starts then bucks his hips up, “you’re getting me closer to.”

Before you could give him a snarky remark, he started fucking up into you but at the same time he was bringing you down.

You were slamming into him right at the moment he thrusted up into you and it instantly made you whimper. He let out a chuckle, going harder than before and bringing you down with him.

“Fuck baby-“ you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He grunted and bit his lip, thrusting harder and faster into you that your thighs were starting to burn. But you could feel him getting closer.

He was throbbing and pulsing, a tell tale sign that he was seconds away from release.

Your cunt was dripping against him and the sounds of slapping skin were filling your bedroom, louder than it usually does.

You bounced just as hard as him, not relying on his help which had him groaning and throwing his head back. His eyes fluttered as he tried to watch the sight between your bodies, how you take every inch of him with every thrust.

His hands were suddenly on your hips, and he lifted his ass up, now full on pounding into you like there was no tomorrow.

You tried your hardest to stay with him, and match his pace but he didn’t budge. Every inch of him was inside you and he wasn’t slowing down.

Instead he was moaning so many things out.

“Fuck baby you make me feel s-so good-“

“Best present ever.”

“I love you.”

Once he said the last one, you repeated it straight after making him whimper. You gasped and a moan followed as he opened his eyes and mumbled, “say it again.”

You smiled and murmured, “I love you. I love you so much Peter.”

With that he let out the loudest of moans and groans, spilling his load into you while he kept you up high before sinking down into the bed.

His moans didn’t stop and you leant down, giving him a soft kiss but he was the one to change it fast.

It turned into a heated kiss as he finished cumming inside you and he was trying to calm his breathing down. You held him close as his moans turned quiet but still needy.

You brought a hand up to his head, playing with his curls to calm him down and he slowed the kiss down. It was a tiny clash of tongues with light pecks while you tried to get off him.

He whined, “Can we sleep like this?”

“You know we shouldn’t.” You murmur and he sighs, pulling away, “you’re right.”

After getting cleaned up, you ended up on top of him and in his arms while you both tried to doze off.

“What do you wanna do tomorrow?” You ask quietly and he chuckles, “maybe we could do this again..”

You laughed and nodded, “we could..”

He then shuffled a little before his hands ended up on your back, “what if… you.. y’know..”

“I don’t know actually.” You teased, making him groan.

“What if.. you wake me up to.. something?” He says and you hum, “like a bj?”

“Mhm… or…” he says and the silence was just loud.

You smiled and hummed, “or… me using your cock like a dildo?”

He suddenly started choking making you laugh while you tried to calm him down and tell him you were absolutely down to do it.

Again.

It was the following morning and Peter’s snores woke you up.

It was still pretty early and he decided to try to ignore the city until noon so that still gave you a few hours with him.

Through the night it seems you switched positions as you were now spooning, his arm wrapped loosely around you while you tried to turn around as well as try to move him.

Once you succeeded in both, you leaned close to him, kissing his neck then his shoulder. You then brought a hand over his body, roaming up and down his abs oh so gently.

He somehow was a heavy sleeper, although sometimes it depends.

Right now though, he was out.

Your hand traveled down to his cock, slowly stroking him over his boxers as he breathed normally.

You smiled and continued, going a little faster as you felt him getting harder under your touch. You grinned when he let out a little moan, going a little faster before stopping to just go under his boxers.

Your hand went under them with ease and you worked his cock how you were before, just right for him to subconsciously feel good and to not wake up.

You figured the best position to fuck him was on top but you wanted it to be different.

So you laid down on your left side before turning then moving him with you. He subconsciously moved and wrapped his arm around your waist again.

You were somehow able to take off your panties without him waking up and spread your legs without hearing a peep from him.

At that point you figured you were completely safe so you reached back, trying to find his cock. Once you felt it, you brought your ass close to him before lining him up to your already drenched pussy.

You slipped him in and held your moans back as his hand held spasmed. You froze and it stopped.

You waited a few seconds before moving back, all the way against him that he left you full.

His cock was stretching you much more like this and you wanted to be loud but didn’t want him to wake up.

So you moved slow and covered your mouth as you fucked yourself into him. It felt so dirty, so forbidden.

Yet you couldn’t help but want more.

You moved your ass faster, desperate to make yourself cum before he woke up because the idea just turned you on so badly last night.

You weren’t sure what was in the air, if it was the excitement or maybe the thought of him cumming fast last night but you felt close.

The good thing about this was you could just lie and he wouldn’t know a thing.

He was still snoring but he would let out the occasional moan which was just so incredibly hot that you couldn’t stop.

You were so turned on that you were letting out accidental whimpers every time his tip hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

It was surprising he still hadn’t woken up but it was better this way.

You just knew you looked so needy and his ego didn’t need to get any bigger.

So you let your moans out and continued using his cock like a dildo, as promised. You felt that too familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach and you couldn’t stop whatsoever.

You chased that feeling and held onto his arm for help while you slammed back into his cock and after one final thrust, you came.

You cried out and held tightly onto his arm while your pussy clenched against him. You shivered as you came and you clapped a hand over your mouth as you finished.

Suddenly though you felt his cock twitching and he came.

Your eyes widened in shock as he let out a sleepy moan and he spilled a load inside you.

You whimpered and tried to keep quiet, hell try to not move too as he whined in his sleep.

Then as if by magic, he stirred then yawned, you whipped your head back to look at him. Right at that moment, he opened his eyes and gasped, “oh god-“

You smiled then sighed, “happy birthday baby.”

“You’re the best.” He sighs and you giggle as he leans forward giving your cheek a kiss.

Then without saying anything else, he grabbed you and moved you until you were straddling him. You laid comfortably on him, hearing his heartbeat go back to normal but still racing just a bit.

“Already a great birthday.” He whispers and you grin, looking up at him, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He took that as a challenge so he carried you all the way to the bathroom, turning the warm water on fast before getting in.

Your arms were wrapping around his neck as he got in under the water first. He then moved and it was your turn, it was the perfect temperature.

The warm water eased the pain from your thighs, which were still wrapped around him.

And as if he read your mind, he finally put you down. You smiled and he got in the water but not before his hands playfully smacked your ass.

You chuckled and stepped into the water with him, reaching up to kiss him. He met you halfway and moaned into your mouth, as you tried to ignore his cock hitting your stomach.

“I came inside you?” He asks and you hum, “mhm..”

“Fuck..” he moans, making you whimper.

“It was so hot.” You murmur as he gropes your ass, “It felt like a dream.”

“A very realistic dream.” You hum and he nods.

He then suddenly brought a hand between your legs, “I need you.”

“Let’s clean you up a bit yeah?” He asks, pulling away and you nod slowly.

You spread your legs wide and he helps you bring a leg up while he stuffs two fingers inside you. You moan and hold onto him tightly as he started pumping them in and out of you.

“So messy.” He whispers and you nod, “because of you.”

“We’ve gotta do that more.” He answers, making you quickly nod, “please.”

He chuckles before bringing his fingers up, showing you the mixture of his cum and yours. “Such a messy girl.” He teases, making you pout, “you like messes.”

“No, you’re wrong baby..” he mumbles and you raise an eyebrow.

He suddenly turned you around then pushed you against the wall, sticking your ass out and slammed inside you, making you cry out as you held onto the wall.

You body was pressed against it and his body was behind you, you could feel his chest on your back as well as his mouth close to your ear because of his breath. “I fucking love messes.” He mutters and sticks his fingers into your mouth.

You moaned at the taste of it as he started pounded into you. You made sure you licked every bit of it as his thrusts got rough, very fast.

Your feet were planted on the floor and you only prayed you wouldn’t slip and bust your ass.

But he held onto you tightly with his unoccupied hand and after you sucked every bit of the juices, his fingers came out and he held you firm with both hands.

“Still so fucking tight..” he groans, making you whimper, “Peter-“

“Yeah baby? You like when I tell you these things, don’t you?” He teases in your ear, his voice low.

You cried out and he clearly didn’t like that answer when he smacked your ass, leaving a sting until he massaged it. “Answer me baby.” He whispers and you nodded.

He clicks his tongue and presses onto your stomach, his thrusts becoming harder by the second, your grip barely steady. “I said answer me.” He murmurs and another whimper came out, “I can’t!”

“Yes you can- just like how you’re taking me.. you can tell me how you love when I tell you how good you feel.” He says into your ear and you moan out, “f-fuck!”

“Always so fucking good.” He teases and your walls envelope his cock even more than before.

He groans then chuckles, “I wanna be here all day with you.”

“Then don’t leave-“ you moan out and he groans, “yeah? You want me to stay?”

“Y-Yes- I need you to stay and fuck me all day.” You finally admit and he instantly groans.

“Might just have to baby- fuck you make me feel so good.” He pants and you nod, “please, please do.”

“Fuck baby- you’re gonna make me cum inside you again.” He moans, making you whimper.

Every thrust hit you deep and hard, you were practically seeing stars. You mumbled out, “Good! Mm I want you to.”

“You want me to cum in you again?” He asks, in that tone you love.

“You can cum in me all day baby.” You answer, making him groan.

“Fuck baby- you’ll regret saying that.” He says and you shake your head, “I won’t- I promise, I want you to.. I need you to.”

“Oh baby- fuckkk baby-“ he moans before giving you one deep thrust and cumming.

Your whimpers nearly drowned out his groans as he filled you for the third time on his birthday. You came on his cock once again, somehow harder than before and your legs finally gave up on you but he grabbed you just in time.

In the moment, you wouldn’t be able to describe how you got here. With your thoughts clouded, tainted and filthy, you found yourself underneath your best friend, his legs straddling yours with his knees dipping into the plush mattress on both sides of your hips. Tongues tangled together, you held the sides of his face, gently swiping your thumbs over his cheekbones as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips effortlessly aligning with yours.

With both of your legs being imprisoned between his, you took the advantage and began to gently graze your knee against the tent forming on his sweatpants, earning a soft moan from him in return. The moment of pure transparency made him feel vulnerable, and after a few moments of you gently repeating your movements, it took much strength for him to not succumb to your advances, gently grasping your legs to wrap them around his waist.

After that, there was no turning back.

Grabbing a free pillow from the bed with one hand, Peter wraps his opposite forearm underneath your lower back, lifting you to place the pillow on the mattress beneath you. With a soft gasp at the sudden movement, you realize what he's doing, ultimately lifting your lower back even further to help, your back arching against the bed. Once Peter has done so, he pushes you back down against the pillow, which noticeably raises you up just a little less than enough to be in level with him.

“Can I do it?”

Peter raises a brow, “Do what?” he inquires in a genuine tone, stroking himself slowly as to not disturb the tender moment. The two of you, tangled together fully unclothed, was not something Peter would have expected five months ago by a long shot -- but this wasn't the first time. Hell, he's lost count at this point. Thankfully, you've managed to keep your friendship strong with no strings attached.

Instead of answering, you take it upon yourself to wrap your fingers just above his around his length, gently pulling it closer to your core, ultimately forcing him on top of you. Peter easily catches himself, his hands landing on the pillow that rests underneath your head. He would have teased you for your impatience if it weren’t for the sudden doe eyes catching him off guard.

Of course, you knew he would melt and have to oblige.

You gently guide the tip to your folds, your eyes never once leaving his as he watches your lips gradually part open the more he fills you.

Fuck, Peter thought, though his facial expression remained clear. He knew you had him wrapped, and you knew too.

It wasn’t long before...

“I know,” Peter fake pouts, dipping his thumb between your teeth, feeling your tongue wrap around the pad of his thumb, along with a vibration of a muffled moan. His hips worked at a deep, meaningful pace. He wanted to make sure he felt all of you with each thrust, loving the way your eyes would cross ever so slightly when he’d bottom out, but yet he still managed to keep his pace slow and calculated. One side of his lips gently quirked into a smug smirk before it quickly fell back into focus. Peter softly pulls his thumb down, dragging your bottom lip with it.

The look of your swollen lips along with your gently furrowed brows was enough for him to start fastening his pace, each deep thrust of his hips against yours forcing your legs to lose balance around his waist. He feels your heels desperately digging into him, trying to stay in place but his force was nonetheless causing your legs to drop further with each movement.

“-m slipping,” you softly whine, your fingernails absentmindedly digging into his shoulders. The feeling of them combined with your heels in his sides were a clear representation of your attachment to him; no matter the challenge, you continue to hold on. Peter was always a challenge, and who were you to ever turn that down?

Sure, you were cold and reserved on the outside, preferring to preserve yourself for only those you wanted let in. Peter was, and has been, one of the few people to make your walls dishevel in such a way that he could have you this vulnerable in front of him. This vulnerable for him.

At first, it was hard getting him to open up to you, especially about the fact that he’s fucking spider-man. It seemed to only bring you closer — very close.

“I gotcha,” Peter softly whispers, assuring you that no matter how weak you become, he will be able to hold your weight. He wraps his hands around your underthighs, pushing them to force your knees to your shoulders as much as you could withstand. The angle was electrifying, unlike anything you had experienced before. He’s so fucking strong. The sounds of your cunt, along with your pitiful moans grew stronger the longer he held your thighs against your chest.

“G-onna cum… m’gonna cum,” you breathlessly manage to gasp as he rams into you, your cunt practically splashing against his bare thighs with each thrust. It was pretty obvious, but he loved when you’d tell him. The thought of feeling you cum around him made his skin feel hot, his grip on your thighs tightening so much you thought he might crush you beneath his fingertips.

“Oh yeah?” he softly instigates your orgasm, keeping his pace the same as to not disturb it. “I don’t know… I think you can hold on longer than that.”

A pitiful, desperate cry falls from your lips at his response, as you know fully well that he would be just as satisfied if you couldn’t hold out, but you wanted to try for him.

“F-fuck,” your chest heaves with a whine, your eyes screwing shut. “I don’t know if I can.”

Your moans continue with no particular end, your slick walls tightly clenching around him as you try to hold back, the rippling sensations gradually growing stronger. Your heart pounds in your chest as your eyebrows furrow tighter, your mouth hanging open and jaw trembling as you attempt to control yourself.

“You’re doing so good,” you hear Peter praise, intently watching your facial expressions and tightly closed eyes as your thighs tremble around him. Peter suddenly deepens his next thrust, ramming your sweet spot that was sure to send you over the edge. Your eyes fly open, landing right on him as you felt yourself begin to unravel.

“O-oh god,” you huff before warning, “I’m-i’m c—“

Quickly, Peter pulls his hips back, disconnecting from you. This was a complete surprise to you, since Peter had never ruined a climax for you before. Before you can protest, he firmly grabs your hips, twisting his wrists to easily flip you over. A whimper falls from your lips at the sudden change, falling into the bed with a ruffled thud, but you ultimately lift yourself onto your knees, lifting your ass just enough for him.

“My god,” Peter groans deeply but quietly, his grip on your waist tightening before he presses numerous wet kisses on the plushy skin on the edge of your lower back. Despite being frustrated, you knew he wouldn’t leave you like this, patiently anticipating his next move.

While your body continues to tremble in his hold, he rolls over onto his back, moving up the bed as to fit his face underneath your dripping slit, yanking your thighs down. You land perfectly on his tongue, with which he wastes no time swirling through your lips, collecting your arousal with a muffled groan. Although your face is further away than before, he can still hear your unfiltered moaning and whimpering as the trembling in your body grows worse.

You grip the pillow in front of you for slight stabilization, your knuckles turning white as they curl around the cotton. You couldn’t speak, overwhelmed with pleasure to the point where you were ready to start begging.

The room was otherwise quiet, the only light illuminating the room coming from the lamp next to Peter’s bed, and the city lights from the large windows.

“Can’t take it,” you manage in a weak whisper between your incoherent mumbles, knowing he wasn't able to hear you. “c-can’t take it.”

Peter could hear that you were speaking, but he couldn’t make out your words. Withdrawing his tongue from your clit, he asks, “What was that, baby?”

Baby. You shiver at the feeling of his breath against your swollen cunt. You try, you really do, to answer, but you couldn’t properly take control of your thoughts just yet, mustering a muffled moan in return. Peter hums, his cold fingers slipping up the sides of your bare thighs before landing on your waist. His tongue gently swipes up your folds one more time before firmly gripping your waist, lifting you to allow himself to slip further up the bed.

“Sit up,” he gently demands. You weakly push your arms off the mattress to sit up, your knees continuing to dig into the bed as you watch him move up into his new position. Now, you're straddling his lap, his cock resting against your inner thigh as he sits up with you, his mouth inches from yours.

He wastes no time connecting his lips with yours, sharing the taste of you on his tongue as it dips onto your mouth. His hands remain busy, gripping your waist with one hand as he uses the other to wrap his fingers around his cock. The unspoken action results in you lifting yourself up, his only focus now being on what you want most.

He gently pushes the tip past your folds, your desperate cunt practically sucking it in as you easily slip down, filling yourself completely as he watches. You begin to softly roll your hips, bouncing gently so that all that could be heard was his shaky breath, your desperate moans, and the sounds of your slick cunt accepting him inch by inch.

“Can’t even let me take my time,” he softly murmurs to himself with a raised brow, his sarcastic, blank eyes staring into yours. He wants more than anything to throw you back into your previous position and fuck you senseless into the mattress, but this moment is for you. Your grip on his shoulders tighten, your movements becoming faster as you feel your high building once again, desperately chasing it. He takes note of this. “Mm, getting close…”

To him, you’re an open fucking book. You couldn’t hear him, and if you could, you weren't paying attention. Your mind was lost in the feeling of him, the feeling that you only allow him to provide you.

Your whimpers and whiny moans grow louder, and you desperately wrap your arms around him as if you were seeing him for the first time in years. Raw cries escape your lips as you roll your hips faster, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer. Peter does the same, wrapping his arms around your frame, bear hugging you. Weakly, your chin takes place on his shoulder to rest, though your hips continue to move. Peter’s arms tighten around you and he lifts you slightly, his strength and the shift in position allowing him much more stabilization to start moving his own hips, thrusting them up to meet your movements.

“Oh fuck.. oh fuck,” you ramble in his ear, your muscles spasming. He feels the additional grip of your pussy as it tightens around him, your climax barreling into you. You don't warn him, your eyes rolling back, nails digging into him, desperately grabbing at his skin to hold onto him as he thrusts up into you. Your body jolts as you hit your peak, a string of pretty, pitiful moans falling from your lips as your orgasm strikes and slowly dissipates. Peter knows your body well enough to know you were cumming, that rhythmic flutter of your cunt quite familiar by now… but that didn’t stop him from thrusting even deeper.

His strength felt stronger, if it were even possible. More purposeful. You couldn’t see it, the way his eyes clouded with darkness, a darkness that had only started occurring just recently and would especially happen whenever you’d have sex. The feeling of you cumming around him was so overwhelming, so electrifying, that his arachnid levels would skyrocket. Peter’s sweet, coffee brown eyes were gone, now entirely jet black. It was as if black ink had spilled and spread so quickly, so effortlessly, that it would be impossible to fix the stain.

“Pete… Peter…” you weakly moan, chin still planted on his shoulder. “I can’t.. s’enough.. babe!”

You moan desperately, measly pushing his waist back as a reflex in response to the overwhelming sensations as he continues to hold you in a bear hug, thrusting into your wet cunt that’s practically oozing around him. Peter unwraps an arm from around you, using his hand to grab both of yours and plant them against your lower back.

thwip!

You tug, it’s not budging. Peter practically handcuffed you against yourself with his webbing, the wet strings giving slightly before becoming tighter the more you fight it. Your eyes roll back completely, your body shaking uncontrollably as he takes full control of you. You were fucked out. You knew fully well that you could use the safe word you’d made, but deep down, you didn’t want to. All you wanted was to keep feeling this fucking good.

You feel his arms wrap around you once again, the heat of his breath tickling your neck,

“You’re done when I think you are,” Peter grunts, his cock pulsing as your pussy continues to suck him in with greed. You feel your heart thud in your chest, his sudden gravely tone sending a shockwave down your spine. It’s happening.

With his arms still wrapped around you, he reaches up with one hand to grab the back of your neck, his long fingers making it to the sides of your throat. Pressing his fingers against the right spots, your moans grow louder and more pornographic than before.

“Listen to yourself… you really wanna stop?” Peter fake pouts in your ear, and at this point, a small dribble of drool is spilling from your lips, down your chin and onto his shoulder. He feels it instantly.

“You’re fuckin drooling,” he growls, his grip tightening around you, but not tight enough to completely restrict your breathing. You had never felt this fucked used before. The overstimulation was insane, sending shocks through your entire body, and you fucking loved it.

“More.”

Peter smirks to himself, gripping your throat tighter as your fingernails dig into his skin. “Like that?”

You whine, to which he mutters, “More what?”

Unable to respond, you roll your hips with his, chasing more friction. Getting the hint, he reaches down and yanks your hands off your back, ripping the webs with ease before he flips you onto your back, his right arm remaining underneath you while his other hand moves to tighten around the front of your throat. With the new position making it much easier for him to move, he lifts your lower back with his arm, angling you to aim much deeper than before, the pillow for that purpose before being knocked off the bed a long time ago.

You felt yourself gush around him at the sight of his eyes, at the sight of him taking you like a man starved. They were like a black hole you could get lost in over, and over. You felt as if the wind was being knocked out of you each time his tip would ram your cervix. You have not been this vocal before, not this loud. Peter didn’t mind it though, no. It surprised him.

“Please… can I—”

“I want you to,” he shuts down your inquiry with his answer before you have to muster your thoughts. Nearly instantly, your back arches, forcing your hips onto his to close any gap as your peak crashes. Your eyes blow wide and glisten with tears as you cum again, your mouth agape as your pussy spasms around him.

You squeak when Peter suddenly fastens his pace, teetering on the edge himself. Your nails grip at his biceps, taut and tense as he finally cums with a strained, pitiful grunt of your name. You feel him pulse inside you, each rope of cum gradually filling you as your eyes struggle to stay open. The sight of you is fucking intoxicating.

Peter shows you mercy, gently holding your hips and slowing his thrusts as you both ride it out, your body jolting in his hold. That sweet feeling of you cumming around him is torturous. He just couldn’t help himself.

Through hooded lids, you watch the black in his eyes dissipate, replaced by the usual warm brown you’re used to. Soft gasps fall with each jerk of your body, your focus slowly growing steady. Peter slowly pulls his hips back, his dick coated in his thick, viscous cum as he watches it leak out of you. Without another thought, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your mound before trailing upward. Feeling the featherlight kisses he places on your stomach, Peter unravels his arm from underneath you.

You look up at him, lashes fluttering as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You want to speak, but your mouth fails you, resulting in a huff instead. Peter smiles at you,

It was all getting too much for him so he quickly calmed himself down and swung over to your place, beyond desperate for a distraction before his brain exploded.

You jumped when you heard the knock at your fire escape but you quickly walked over, opening it when you saw his familiar face.

You couldn’t even open your mouth to speak when Peter quickly went in, mask in hand, and smashed his lips onto yours.

You gasped as his hands pulled you towards him, keeping you as close as possible to his body. You didn’t have time to think so you kissed back making him moan and reach down to lift you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he made his way straight to your bedroom, as if he knew your place like the back of his hand.

His tongue slipped into your mouth expertly and fast, your hands reached up to his hair to tug on his curls. He groaned into your mouth and within seconds your back was met with your mattress.

You had never seen him this eager before, with his hands tearing through every item of clothing, and his teeth nipping at your skin.

There was no time to ask why the hurry as he got in between your legs and started eating your pussy like there was no tomorrow.

You moaned, letting your hands go down to run through his curls. Instead of taking his time and teasing you like he loved doing, he was the complete opposite.

His head was moving up and down as his mouth worked overtime, sucking and licking every crevice of your pussy.

Somehow with just those few seconds of excitement it was enough for you body to get wet for him.

Wouldn’t be the first nor last time that happened.

“Fuck Peter-“ you moan, instantly making him moan against you.

It sent a shiver down your spine and before you could blink, he was off and climbing on top of you. You sat up a bit as he moved towards you and you instinctively opened your mouth.

He didn’t hesitate and instantly thrusted his hard cock all the way then held your head to keep you there. His hairs tickled your nose and you felt your eyes well up with tears already before he let you go and his cock slipped out.

You took a deep breath only for him to thrust himself down your throat again. Right when you were about to move your head, he pulled out once again then got off the bed.

His strong arms then pulled you to the edge of the bed before lifting your legs up high. They were spread as he slapped his cock on your dripping cunt, the noises being more obscene than usual.

He looked down where your bodies were about to meet, damn near salivating before he locked up and locked eyes with you.

You could have sworn his eyes looked completely black but right when you were going to take a closer look, he slammed inside you.

You whimpered as he bottomed out, putting your legs on his shoulders before he started to move. His thrusts were instantly hard and fast, which caught you by surprise.

But you weren’t opposed to it.

Not when every inch of him was bullying its way inside you like never before.

He was grunting and groaning with every thrust as if you weren’t even there.

As if you were just a hole he needed to fuck and fill.

You always told him this was something you’d be up for but now that he was actually doing it, you felt so needy.

His eyes were rolled back as he held your legs up, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. You moaned along with him as he continued his brutal pace, using your poor pussy like a toy.

You felt so dirty.

But couldn’t help getting wetter.

If this was how he was going to be then it was definitely something you could get used to.

And his dirty words were only making you worse with every passing second.

“Fits me so perfectly.”

“Take it like that, baby.”

“I love this fucking pussy.”

You whimpered out and he moaned your name, squeezing your skin — you decided to hold your legs for him so he pushed them down and he moved down as well.

You cried out when he thrusted his hips into yours, giving you no mercy whatsoever as he pounded his cock into you.

With the slight change his cock now reached deeper inside you and his thrusts didn’t slow down, no they were even worse.

It felt so good and you didn’t have words to say, his cock leaving you dumb and whiny.

You really did try to think of something smart to say but nothing came up besides broken sobs and pleas for more.

He listened and leaned down a little more, his head above yours as you locked eyes while he pounded into you. His curls were falling and some were already stuck to his forehead because of the sweat.

You let go of your legs and grab onto his arms which were by your side. You squeezed his arms as he kept his relentless pace, making you both moan at the same time.

Your eyes were fluttering but his were right on you, watching your every reaction and moaning louder.

Suddenly he slowed down, almost pulling all the way out before slamming right back in.

You whimpered and gave him a pout while he repeated the action again.

He had a devious grin on his face as he did it again, grunting your name under his breath.

Your nails dug into his skin making him groan and it was like activating a switch because he stopped. He pulled back and brought your legs down before just spreading them wide and hovering over you.

Your hands went up to the back of his neck, playing with his hair when he went back to his rough thrusts.

“God- you’re so tight.” He groans, making you whimper, “J-Just for y-you Peter.”

“Good girl.” He moans, bringing a hand to cup your jaw.

You bite your lip and his eyes go down to it, before leaning down and kissing you. You kissed back and he slipped his tongue inside, clearly impatient.

Your tongue glided against his messily and he gave the same beefy back. He moaned in your mouth which earned himself a needy whimper from you.

You were so focused on the kiss you almost forgot how he was fucking your brains out.

His hips were pressed flush against yours, with every deep push he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release.

And he could feel that you were the same.

You were clenching against him more, your walls entrapping his cock and almost throbbing in need.

He pulled back and pressed his forehead against yours, “tell me what you want.”

He rammed into you hard, making you cry out then whine, unable to think.

He was pleased with himself and whispered, “c’mon you can do it.”

You stubbornly shook your head making him groan, “fine.”

Right when you thought he was going to pull out his movements were somehow even faster than before.

“I’ll just take what I needed from you-“ he grunts instantly making you whimper.

He chuckles then murmurs, “Mm dirty girl.. fuck I needed you so bad baby.”

“Peter!”

“Tell me you want me to make this needy pussy come.” He whispers, his dark eyes on yours.

Your vision was so hazy but they were so clearly different but you couldn’t focus on that when you felt your orgasm being right there.

“Please make us cum. Please, please!” You plead, followed by a loud cry.

He groaned and with a final deep thrust he spilled his load and you felt yourself explode on his cock. Your body shook as you came with him and your lips collided with his as he tried to drown out both your cries and moans.

You lazily kissed him back as your legs shook and your poor pussy was clenching against him. But he wasn’t pulling out.

And he was still cumming.

You suddenly felt very full and tried to push him off but he didn’t budge and slid his tongue inside your mouth to distract you.

You whimpered, shivering as he just kept pumping more and more cum inside you. Never in your life have you ever felt so full and he just wasn’t stopping.

But it was like he couldn’t, not that he didn’t want to.

He pulled away from you, eyes tired as he pulled out and came on your clit. Two seconds later it finally stopped and his load was spilling out all at once, dripping down to your asshole and straight onto your bed cover.

You looked down and watched in shock as he did the same but he had a look in his eye that had you guessing what he wanted to do.

In a blink of an eye he dropped to his knees and he was slurping up his cum. He was eating it out of you, with no care if you were sensitive or not, just swallowing drop after drop.

When it finally felt like it all came out he slipped two fingers in and started fingering you slow.

Then the rest of the cum came out slowly but surely and he licked it all off you.

When he finished, he climbed up, and you joined him, quickly getting comfortable in his arms as he calmed his breathing and wiped his mouth.