olive

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,

He just has to know what he was doing by posting this one of Jeremy shirtless while doing crunches

@carmenberzattosgf @j4ckr4bbits @deansdeer @0-n-1-x

First-degree, it ain't that bad. Slap a Band-Aid on it. Keep going. Can’t risk holding up the line, can’t fucking complain because everyone around you has at least ten of these fuckers on them at any point, and you ain’t no bitch.

Second-degree, you'll probably get a scar. It hurts like a motherfucker. Like hellfire’s opening a portal to this world, and it happens to be right through your skin, like Satan himself is trying to crawl out of your flesh and blood. He’s smiling at you with bloodied teeth, saying “look at me, you sad bitch, I'm right fucking here." You gotta do the same. Slap a bandage on it, get through service. Bite your tongue through the pain. Focus on the pain somewhere else to take your mind off it. It’s a problem to examine later, when you’re home, when the smell of onions and garlic and pepper, when particles of a full spice rack are so fucking deep in your lungs that you’re half-convinced you’ll cough up a whole three-course meal.

Third-degree burns are scary. It’s a problem when you can see a wound and it doesn’t hurt. Something about all your nerves being fried to fuck. Satan’s already here, he took a chunk of you as penance for your past crimes. You ain’t getting it back. Fuck you.

Grief has degrees. Like burns.

And like burns, it hurts less the worse it is. It’s good if you feel pain when you get news that your brother died. It means the damage left enough of you intact enough to feel the hurt. They say grief hurts less over time, but maybe that just means it gets deeper. It destroys more things. Mikey’s death fucking hurt at first. He might as well have put that bullet in my chest. But it’s how it goes in this fucking life, doesn’t it? God chooses favorites, and if you’re not one of them, he gives you all of their pain. Mikey’s asleep under 6 feet of dirt, none the wiser to what demons he unleashed on me, free from cold, heat, pain, he don’t gotta listen to Ma scream, he doesn’t have to look at the news. He’s free. God liked him. I got monsters in a cage tied to my ankles, and it’s taking all my strength to take a single step. And I gotta keep doing this. Why? Because Sugar don’t deserve to lose two brothers. Because God likes her, too.

Because Darling doesn’t deserve any grief. I love her.

It hasn’t been that long, but it doesn’t hurt that much. It took time for the burns to get bad enough. Maybe it should’ve bothered me. But that’s the thing about grief.

Third-degree grief doesn't even hurt anymore.

Third-degree grief doesn't feel like anything. It takes all the feelings with it. Pulls them into a garbage disposal, grinds them up into nothing, leaves you with an amorphous sludge that is supposed to be emotions. Third-degree grief doesn’t fucking hurt. Nothing fucking hurts. It's the only time you can think clearly, is when it gets so bad that you don't feel the chokehold, you don't feel it drown you, you don't feel it pouring down your throat or in your eyes or your ears. Third degree grief just kills some part of you, doesn't it? And when the part of you that feels dies, the part of you that thinks has nothing in the way anymore. Maybe it’s better that way. I don’t know yet. I can’t know yet.

You fucking killed me, Mikey. Gun to your head, brains flying out of mine. You ripped my heart out of my chest and feasted on it like a pomegranate while I continued slicing fucking onions, while I got on the L in the morning, while I walked the garbage out behind The Bear, while I crushed cigarette butts under my heels. Darling keeps asking me if something’s wrong; how the fuck do I tell her everything’s wrong, but I honestly feel great without sounding like a fucking nutcase?

Whatever.