♡ aki.

bnd!peter who makes you hold your own stomach while he cums, trapping your hand beneath his so you can feel the subtle swelling yourself. he keeps thrusting in short, rough movements as each fresh rope joins the rest, making you feel the pressure build until you’re sobbing from fullness and clenching helplessly around his twitching cock.

bnd!peter who loves fucking you from behind because he can watch your belly move, one hand under your stomach while the other grips your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. every deep thrust makes the rounded fullness shift against his palm, and he becomes increasingly frantic when he realises he can feel his own cum sloshing inside you while he adds another load.

bnd!peter who who keeps detailed measurements of how much he produces, collecting his release in a marked glass after edging himself for hours. he watches the level rise with shameless fascination, stroking himself through every prolonged pulse until thick white strands coat the inside of the container and slide down so slowly that they barely move.

bnd!peter who who makes you drink the entire glass while sitting naked in his lap, his cock hard against your thigh as he holds the rim to your mouth. the cum is so thick that it clings to your tongue and coats the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow repeatedly while peter watches every movement of your neck with dark, possessive eyes.

bnd!peter who insists you show him your mouth afterward, gripping your chin and making you open wide so he can check whether you swallowed every drop. if he finds even a small streak left on your tongue, he pushes two fingers into your mouth, scrapes it forward, and makes you suck them clean while praising you for taking everything he made.

bnd!peter who pours his cum through a funnel directly into your mouth, keeping you lying beneath him with your wrists webbed apart. he lets the thick release slide down in slow ropes, pausing whenever you struggle so he can watch it pool across your tongue before telling you to swallow and opening the funnel again.

bnd!peter who freezes portions of his cum into small cubes, then presses one against your clit and watches it melt over your swollen folds. the contrast between the cold cube and the heat of your pussy makes you jerk against the webbing while he slowly rubs the slippery mess over your entrance with his thumb.

bnd!peter who uses a clear dildo after filling you, pushing it slowly into your cunt so he can watch thick white cum smear across the toy from the inside. he films every inch disappearing into you, especially the moment the base presses against your soaked folds and forces his release to spill around it in creamy waves.

bnd!peter who records close-up videos of his cock stretching your cum-filled pussy, positioning his phone between your spread thighs while he thrusts slowly enough for the camera to catch every detail. the footage shows his shaft emerging coated in thick white streaks before plunging back inside and dragging the mess deeper with every stroke.

bnd!peter who takes photographs of your stomach immediately after breeding you, making you lie flat while the low bulge remains visible. he places his hand beside it for scale, then takes another picture with his fingers pressing lightly into the curve while your pussy leaks between your legs below.

bnd!peter who keeps a private folder devoted entirely to your creampies, organised by date, position, number of loads, and how long it took for his cum to begin spilling out. he remembers every video perfectly and can tell which one he wants just from the sound of your moans in the opening seconds.

bnd!peter who webs a vibrator directly over your clit and makes you watch those recordings, keeping your thighs spread so widely that you can’t close them around the sensation. he plays footage of himself filling you while the toy buzzes relentlessly against your swollen clit, increasing the setting each time the recorded version of his cock starts pulsing inside you.

bnd!peter who makes you narrate the videos aloud, forcing you to describe the way your cunt stretches, how much cum is dripping from you, and exactly what you felt when your stomach began to swell. whenever you become too embarrassed to continue, he turns the vibrator higher and waits until desperation loosens your tongue.

bnd!peter who pauses the video on the filthiest frame, usually the moment his thick release gushes around the base of his cock or spills from your open pussy. he makes you stare at the frozen image while he rubs your clit with two fingers, quietly asking whether you think your cunt can hold even more next time.

bnd!peter who uses his webbing to secure two vibrators at once, one pressed against your clit and another held firmly against your filled entrance. the vibrations travel through the plug and stir the cum packed inside you, leaving your lower stomach aching pleasantly while thick droplets gradually tremble free around the toy.

bnd!peter who makes you wear a glass plug after he fills your ass, fascinated by the sight of his cum visible through the transparent base. he keeps your pussy stuffed separately with his cock, alternating between watching the cloudy glass and staring at the bulge forming low in your stomach from the load he’s pumping into your cunt.

bnd!peter who loves double-filling you with saved cum and a fresh load, first pouring an entire glass slowly into your pussy while holding your hips elevated. once the last sticky strand slides from the rim, he pushes his cock inside and cums on top of it, packing you with so much that the combined pressure leaves your belly visibly rounded.

bnd!peter who collects the cum that spills from you afterward, holding a clean glass beneath your pussy while he presses carefully against your lower stomach. thick streams slide from your entrance in slow pulses, and he watches the container refill with the mixture before bringing it to your lips and telling you not to waste what your cunt couldn’t keep.

bnd!peter who masturbates over your spread pussy without touching you, ordering you to remain completely still while he strokes his cock above your entrance. when he finally cums, the first ropes land across your clit and folds, but the later spurts fall directly into your open cunt, gradually pooling inside while you’re forbidden from closing your legs.

bnd!peter who ejaculates so forcefully during oral that his cum floods your mouth faster than you can swallow, thick spurts coating your tongue, cheeks, and throat while his cock continues pulsing between your lips. he holds the back of your head without forcing you deeper, groaning as each swallow draws another release from his oversensitive body.

bnd!peter who loves watching his cum stretch between your mouth and his cock, withdrawing slowly after finishing so sticky strands remain connected to your lips. he gathers them against the head with his thumb, smears the mess over your tongue, and pushes his cock back into your mouth so you can clean every remaining drop from his slit.

bnd!peter who smears one load over your breasts before producing another for you to drink, coating your nipples in thick white ropes that cling instead of running off. he sucks the cum from your skin, lets it gather on his tongue, then kisses it into your mouth before handing you the full glass waiting beside him.

bnd!peter who makes you kneel between his legs while he fills a glass, keeping his eyes fixed on your face as he strokes himself. you have to watch each heavy spurt strike the bottom, listen to the wet sound of it accumulating, and wait until he’s completely empty before he finally allows you to lift the glass and taste it.

bnd!peter who becomes obsessed with seeing how long his cum remains inside you, taking timed photographs over several hours while you wear nothing beneath an oversized shirt. whenever a thick drip finally slides down your inner thigh, he records it, catches it on his fingers, and pushes it back into your pussy to restart the timer.

bnd!peter who webs your thighs tightly against your chest after breeding you, folding you open so gravity forces every drop deeper instead of letting it escape. he sits in front of you and watches your stuffed cunt contract around nothing, occasionally pressing a finger over your entrance whenever the first creamy bead tries to push through.

bnd!peter who uses his enhanced hearing to track every internal sound, pressing his ear against your lower stomach after filling you. he listens to the faint movement of his cum inside you, then looks up with a filthy grin and tells you that he can hear how full he’s made you.

bnd!peter who becomes painfully hard from the smell of his cum on your skin, his heightened senses picking it up even after you’ve cleaned yourself. he follows the scent beneath your clothes, finds the last sticky traces between your thighs, and licks them away before deciding your pussy smells too empty and needs to be filled again.

bnd!peter who makes you wear his cum beneath your clothes in public, filling your pussy before securing a plug with thin strands of webbing. throughout the day, he texts you still images from the video he took that morning, reminding you exactly what’s trapped inside your cunt while your stomach remains faintly swollen beneath your outfit.

bnd!peter who remotely activates the vibrator webbed under your underwear, increasing it whenever you try to behave normally around other people. the vibration shakes the cum around the plug, leaving you struggling to keep your expression neutral while peter watches from across the room and sends you clips of your pussy being filled.

bnd!peter who makes you choose where every load goes, offering you three options in that falsely sweet voice of his: your mouth, your pussy, or the waiting glass. whatever you choose first only determines the order because his mutated body can produce enough to fill all three before the night is over.

bnd!peter who deliberately edges himself for days to make the eventual release even larger, refusing to cum no matter how desperately his cock throbs. by the time he finally sinks into you, his balls are so heavy and sensitive that the first clench of your cunt triggers a load strong enough to leave your stomach visibly protruding beneath his hand.

bnd!peter who gets off on the contrast between his sweetness and the obscene mess he makes, kissing your forehead and calling you his good girl while his cock continues flooding your pussy. his voice remains gentle even as he tells you he’s going to breed every coherent thought out of your head and leave you too full of cum to close your legs.

bnd!peter who combines everything into one carefully planned night, filming your belly swelling as he breeds you, webbing a vibrator against your clit, and placing a full glass of saved cum in your hands. he makes you drink while watching the live recording on a screen beside the bed, the vibrator forcing your stuffed cunt to spasm around his cock as he adds another thick, prolonged load.

bnd!peter who ends every session by documenting the aftermath, recording the empty glass, your cum-coated lips, the low swell of your stomach, and the thick release still leaking around the plug in your pussy. he finishes with a close-up of his hand resting possessively over the bulge while he quietly promises that next time he’ll make it even bigger.

At the end, you had decided never to speak a word about it. Telling him you had read his deeply personal letter to the love of his life wasn’t an option. Besides the fact that he still had the letter was a good sign. It meant that he hadn’t given it to her. It meant that he was not in contact with MJ and that was all you needed.

But watching him walk in that evening with two cups of coffee from the same café, from mj’s café had destroyed all resolve you had spent all day building.

“Do you still love her?” the words rolled off your lips before you could stop them.

Peter knew who you were talking about. It also wasn’t difficult to figure out how you found out. Knuckles whitening around the cups he slowly turned to face you.

He had looked at you with utter disgust and disbelief. He couldn’t believe you would betray his trust like that; how could you intrude on the very last piece of MJ he was allowed to keep?

What followed was an ugly fight full of bitter accusations and shouts over tears until he decided he has had enough of you and stormed out shutting the door behind him in a loud rattling bang.

Fwb!Peter who wouldn’t pick up your calls, who didn’t read your texts. No matter how hard you tried to apologize he just wouldn’t let you; it was like he had suddenly decided that you were not worth his time, like he was done with you for good.

Guilt and regret were mixing venomously inside you. You never should have found that letter. You never should have said anything to Peter. Memories of that night haunted you, soiling every thought you had, following you everywhere you went.

Deciding to drown in alcohol induced amnesia you walked in the first frat party you could spot.

The music was so loud it rolled off the walls. The beats pulsed down your spine in their rhythm as you stood leaning against the corner you picked the moment you entered. Red cups were scattered in every hand. The crowd laughed and danced as if relaxing more and more with every passing second.

You couldn’t have felt more out of place if you tried

The guy who approached you had spent the last twenty minutes talking about the recent updates in his favorite video game.

Maybe under different circumstances you would have actually been interested in what he had to say. Maybe he wouldn’t be a faceless man hurling words like higher pixels and better ping and you wouldn’t be having a hard time remembering his name or how he ended up here.

A decent person would have politely excused themselves from the one sided conversation and left. But you couldn’t do that. Not when you could still picture the look of disgust on Peter’s face.

You desperately needed the distraction. Without thinking much, in the deafening crowd you leaned in to whisper in the guy’s ear, asking him to bring a refill. Before you could finish the sentence cold fingers snaked around your elbow and jerked you off your spot.

At first you thought you were hallucinating when you turned and saw Peter’s face. Had the drinks finally caught up to you? Was this just your life now? Pathetically thinking of Peter even when you were wasted?

With every passing second that he didn’t vanish again you assured it really was him. You tried to release your arm but he wouldn't budge.

Peter was here, standing right next to you refusing to let go of your arm. Everything instantly dissolved in an unfocused blur around you. You wanted to reach up and trace a finger along his eyebrow. You had spent the last two weeks wishing for a chance to see his pretty face again.  

Before you could start your apologies, you were being pulled away from the scene towards the stairs.

Fwb!Peter who couldn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like something was taking control over him. He couldn’t even remember why he was walking in this party when there was so much he had to do.

But when he saw you corned along with some guy, making no efforts to push him off, it was like something had snapped.

Watching you lean into his ear, he could feel the anger pulsating and boiling his blood. He didn’t think twice before crossing over and snatching you physically off of that man who clearly wanted nothing more than to get inside your pants.

Fwb!Peter who pushed you inside the first empty room he could find. You knew this was your chance to say everything you had in your mind before he decided to shut you out of his life again.

“I really shouldn’t have read your letter, I should have left it alone. I’m so sorry Peter” You blurted out. When he stayed silent you continued.

“You were right; we shouldn’t care about what the other person does. What you do with other people is none of my business, it was wrong of me interrupt.”

His nose flared. “Is that what was happening out there?” the words spat out like the taste of it nauseated him.

Confused you shook your head “No what?”

He started slowly walking towards you “Did I interrupt you guys? Would you be here with him instead of me if I hadn’t walked in and stopped you?”

Animosity waved off with every livid step he took. Alarmed by his sudden behavior, you started pacing back in defense till you hit the wall. “Peter I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled when had you positively cornered he asked in mock whisper “Now you want to play dumb. Is that how you got his attention by playing the lost little whore?”  

Heat flooded your cheeks. Gone was the sunny warmth radiating Peter who had helped you with your jammed car door the first time you met him. Heart hammering in your ribs, you placed a hesitant palm on his chest half hoping it would stop him.

“Two weeks and you’re running off with the first man that talks to you. I mean I knew you were needy but acting like this?” His breath fanned the shell of your ear, hoarse voice shooting straight down your spine.

Impatience colored his eyes black when you didn’t respond. He bent down till his teeth grazed the smooth skin of you neck and sucked on the familiar spot. Hovering there with his lips brushing near your collarbone he murmured a quiet I missed you so much.

Fwb!Peter who clawed the base of your skull, pushing your face as deep as he could into his face like he could finally breathe.

Fwb!Peter who frantically lifts you on his hips against the wall. “I know you want someone to catch us like this.”

Fwb!Peter who clamps your mouth with his hand, every thrust making it difficult to be quiet. “I missed this”

Fwb!Peter who takes his sweet time as if wanting to memorize every micro second with you.

Fwb!Peter who kisses your forehead when he is done and makes a mental promise to never let you go again. He won’t make that mistake ever again; even if you get on your knees and start begging.

two years ago, your neighbor, you supposed, moved in to the apartment's storage loft right above you. peter parker, he had introduced himself as, was a rather shy, reserved guy for someone who created an entire new list of expectations for the upstairs neighbor archetype.

a year and ten months ago, peter parker was a frequent weekly guest for tuesday dinner and switch tournaments. what had started as a knock on his door and some of your grandmother's brownies had evolved into peter spending hours losing to you on mario kart over bowls of bland spaghetti and spongebob mac and cheese.

a year and eight months ago, spider-man swan-dove through your window instead of his on accident, mask stripped before he knew better.

a year and a half ago, peter parker had managed to become the person you trusted most in this life. and in a measly six months, you had become that for peter in return. he opened up to you about the deaths of his aunt and tony, how he'd lost his friends - fuck, his whole life - to the spell.

and after about a year, though he'd never admit it, you could tell he was happy to have a "guy in the chair" again. to have someone in his headset, someone to patch him up after a rough night with scorpion. suddenly, peter wasn't so alone. he had someone who knew him as well as he knew himself, someone who - while you didn't get it necessarily - was the only one in the world who finally knew he fucking existed again.

which is exactly why you also knew about the headache's peter had been getting more and more over the past few months.

you were the first person he ran to when they started, collapsing on your bedroom floor in tears as he tugged at his curls for relief from the pounding. he was begging you to make it stop, curled in on himself like, well... a spider.

the first time was the worst of them, mostly due to not knowing what was going on. but after decorating your room in a thick layer of web (despite not having his web-shooters), it was clear this was outside your basic first-aid training. that didn't stop you from helping how you could. in that moment, and beyond.

you attended professor banner's lectures with him, taking whatever notes you could understand. you stayed up late into the night with him, acting as his assistant as peter worked up in his loft on getting to the bottom of whatever the fuck was happening with his own DNA. he jokingly called you "Dum-E" once, and was quick to backtrack as he saw bewilderment flash across your face. he apologized and rambled on that it was a good thing, tripping over his words to explain himself, though the hurt in his eyes when telling the story told you it wasn't a time to push.

all of this to say, you knew that something about the arachnid DNA was evolving, and going fucking haywire in the process. which is exactly why, when you heard a thunderous crash and sharp curses from peter in the loft above you, worry immediately flooded your system.

you bolted up the stairs, the obscene noises coming from peter's apartment growing louder as you approached his door. you knocked rapidly, calling out his name as you did.

another loud crash sounded, and you heard peter howl. "uhh, not right now! not a good time!"

you huffed. "yeah it doesn't seem like a good time! let me in, parker!"

peter went to respond, but was cut off by his own pained groan, and a worried whine left your own lips in reply. he deserved his privacy, hell, he deserved his own autonomy, but your concern overrode all ethical dilemma as you heard his knees hit the floor. hard.

thank fuck peter never locked his door.

you crashed into the loft, stopping dead in your tracks as you took in the state of peter's apartment. there was webbing everywhere. it covered the ceiling and his furniture, splattered over the windows which caused the light to scatter in awkwardly. you could only describe the state of his webbed bed as a nest. there was a PC monitor on the ground next to his desk that looked like it had been torn in fucking half. in the left most corner, there were handprints in the exposed brick on the wall from where peter had tried to catch himself before hitting the ground below where you saw him now.

peter was hunched over in a similar position you had seen him in that first time, limbs curled in on himself as he gripped his head, no doubt pounding like a motherfucker. he was facing away from you, but his shirt was ripped off, showing off just how pale he looked. a thin layer of sweat glistened off his skin, droplets forming and almost looking sticky. peter was shaking and breathing heavy as you approached him.

you had seen him like this before. it hadn't been this bad in a while, but you had been there for peter through it before and you could do it again. you had seen him when everything got too loud and he started to shut down, something else fighting to take over. that was the entire point of the inhibitor he had been working on. to suppress whatever the fuck this was.

you had pushed back initially, playing devil's advocate to encourage him to let it happen. to let the spider in. prove to himself that he was still peter parker when spider-man took over. after seeing him in this much pain and discomfort enough times, you stopped entertaining the notion.

because seeing him like this? was heartbreaking. you knew just how much everything was hitting him right now. how every sense was stabbing at him individually, how each breath you took was a knife to his eardrums. so you approached cautiously, keeping a step or two away and knowing not to touch him right now.

you met him with a hushed voice. "peter, hey. it's just me."

he flinched at your whispers and you cringed, feeling nauseated knowing it was your voice that hurt him. "let me help, okay? how can i help right now? do you need me to grab your-"

"no," he rasped out. his voice was deep, in a tone you hadn't heard from him before. "no, i'm not kidding. you need to fucking go."

"pete, i'm not-"

"no!" peter's voice boomed throughout the loft as he screamed your name. "i don't fucking care what you think right now!"

"parker," you went to scold, but he cut you off.

"i cannot get this fucking inhibitor to calibrate, and i-i.. fuck, i'm not myself right now. you need to go." his voice cracked on the last word, like he was trying to hold back tears. a moment ago, his voice literally shook the building. now, it just sounded broken.

you stood your ground. "peter, i'm not leaving you. don't do this alone."

his fist slammed into the floor in front of him, shattering the hardwood. as if it were fucking glass, splinters flew around him like shards of glass snowing in the air. peter held onto the edge of the newfound hole in the ground while trying to recenter himself, his grip on the floorboard literally causing the wood to disintegrate into dust in his hands.

you heard him fucking growl at you, and while you still weren't afraid of him, part of you was a little grateful peter was still facing the other way as you felt your cheeks heat up at the outburst.

"do you not see that i fucking have to?!" peter screamed into the corner, dust and loose grout crumbling from the ceiling at the sheer strength of his voice. you could see his back expanding and inflating as he desperately tried to suck in breaths, his many muscles flexing around his ribcage, and-

okay jesus, maybe not the time.

you sighed, shaking your head and taking another step closer. "peter-"

"fuck, get out of here! i don't want to hurt you!" he pleaded, still trembling and pulling at his hair.

you took a step back to look over at his computer, noticing his vitals freaking out on one monitor as the other was hooked up to some homemade tech he had running sequences on the inhibitor. EVIE was working with the same desperation that peter was oozing, already on trial #392. you looked back to the corner where he was still hunched in pain, and decided with unwavering finality that you were not leaving him alone during this.

walking back over, you crouched down to brush his shoulder with your fingertips, hoping to ground him with a singular sensation. he caught your wrist before you could even bother.

"i said. don't."

peter finally looked up at you for the first time, and your heart dropped to your stomach.

a lot about peter had begun to change during his "molting process" (as you referred to it). his strength had grown expotentially -- so had his spidey-sense. even the organic webbing, which was brand fucking new.

you hadn't seen his eyes go black like that before.

you stared into his fully darkened eyes, hoping the shock wasn't as evident in your own as you knew it was. hoping the tinge of something else in your eyes wasn't as evident as you thought it was. you flicked between his deep glare and his hand on your wrist as you regained your composure.

"peter. i'm not leaving you. i'm not scared of you."

he laughed. peter parker honest to god laughed at you, as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist and held your gaze.

"you fucking should be."

before you could blink, peter launched upwards, fucking jumping from his spot on the ground as shoved you against the wall. hard. despite the aggressive action and your back slamming against the brick, his hand landed behind your head to cushion the impact. the rest of you still hit with enough force that the wall cracked behind you, dust from the concrete swirling in the air.

you coughed hard, though, whether that was a result of the dust or the grip of peter's hand on the base of your fucking neck, it was hard to tell. he stared at you for a moment, black eyes darting up and down your body as he tracked your every movement. every rise of your chest, every twitch of your lip as you wheezed through his grip.

peter looked at you like you were his prey. like you were a fly that had been caught in his fucking web. you tried not to be as turned on as you were.

his eyes flickered slightly towards his hand on your neck and he loosened the grip, though still not letting you go. he regained a bit more of himself, a bit more of peter, as his shaking hand kept you pined to the wall. his voice betrayed the stone cold look on his face, trembling as he told you: "clearly, you should be".

peter didn't miss how your eyes jut down to his lips before hitting him with a rattled but firm: "well, i'm fucking not."

he smirked at you and let you go fully, stepping back to analyze as you took a moment to catch your breath. he drank you in, sizing you up before letting out a deep chuckle. before you could look up at him, both of your wrists were webbed to the wall behind you, pinned over your head as your back was once again pressed against the hard brick. peter closed in on you, boxing your frame in against his own. he pressed against you, getting in your face. literally breathing down your neck.

"no, you are. just a little," he growled in your ear. "but i think you like it."

you felt how fucking hard peter was through his juicy sweatpants, felt just how fucking big he was pressed against your hip. this was not a side effect of the arachnid DNA that either of you had seen in the last few months. or at least, nothing that peter had mentioned. come to think of it, why would he? it's not like he felt the same way.

you were snapped out of your thoughts as peter fucked sniffed you. you shook off the self-doubt as you took stock of the man in front of you, restricting himself to the point of physical pain right now as he caught whiff of your arousal. consequences to the friendship be damned, you were determined to stay at his side through this as his inhibitor kept running sequences on the computer, red flashing from the screen every few minutes to signal yet another failed attempt.

and, well. he exactly wasn't wrong.

you fought to hold contact with his deep, piercing eyes. "maybe i do, spider-man. what are you going to do about it?"

those were the magic words.

he ripped you off the wall, webbing still hanging from your wrists as he picked you up like you were nothing. a scream escaped your lips as you were airborne suddenly, flying through the air shortly before your back hit peter's bed.

his bed. oh fuck, you hadn't expected that to work so easily.

it was starting to become crystal clear that you were in fact going to have whiplash and possibly even a concussion tomorrow, but you were too fucking wet to care. you'd analyze what that meant about your psyche later. for now? you were simply too excited to see what the fuck he was going to do to you.

you watched as he stalked, taking in your frame as you laid hopelessly in his bed. his bed, which, was covered in webbing that extended down to the floor where peter was standing. you shifted with hesitation and watched peter's head flick towards you, almost like...

almost like he could feel your fucking vibrations against the webbing. like a fucking prey caught in his web, writhing for help and sending vibrations up this silk to signal the spider.

the spider, who was watching you through his black-hooded eyes, like he was fucking hungry.

peter started to squat down, and you sat up in turn, instantly worried his headache was consuming him again.

you didn't even get to meet his eyes.

peter pounced forward, a hydraulic explosion coming from his legs as he fucking jumped you on the bed, using his limbs to pin your own underneath him. your breath had initially hitched, but all air was taken from you as peter's hands were on your clothes, tearing the garments from your body like you'd only been in a paper fucking bag. shreds of cotton stuck to the webs around you as peter stared down at your mostly naked body.

he straddled you properly, using his hands to hold down your own again as he leaned close, breathing you in heavy. no doubt catching the pheromones in your sweat, a downright villainous smirk creeping on his lips as he got confirmation of just how turned on you were.

peter pulled back to see your eyes, and was taken aback to see the fear in them. regardless of every other emotion you were feeling right now, you were also scared.

and fuck, he did that.

he sat up straight, the black around his sclera retreating slightly as his breathing picked back up. you could feel him start to tremble over you again as peter buried his face in his hands for a moment.

"fuck, i don't- that's not," he choked out. "fuck, i'm so sorry. you need to get out of here, i fucking meant it earlier."

you could tell the headache was back as his grip tightened in his curls, a pained groan escaping from deep in his chest. he was fighting himself, trying to use the strength he had just minutes ago to lift himself off of your lap. you grabbed his hips to hold him down.

"peter, listen to me."

"please, i-i can't, i shouldn't have-"

"peter." he shook his head, refusing to look at you.

"i can't believe i put you in this position, oh my god. i-i, fuck i can't even begin to apologize..." he rambled. you tried to fight back, to tell him that it was okay, to let it happen.

you had been a firm supporter this entire time of the notion that peter just needed to let the spider in and see what the fuck happened. obviously, he had never wanted to do that. too afraid of what would happen. at this point, you were afraid of what would happen to him if he didn't submit to what was desperately trying to crawl out of him. this had seemed like as good time as any to test your theory, as peter's monitor still continued to flash red, the trial number now surpassing five hundred.

besides, if you died because spider-man ripped you in half from fucking you too hard? that was a fine way to go out, in your opinion.

so you antagonized him. just... a little.

"spider-man!" you yelled in his face, and your voice rang out alongside the CRACK! of your palm across his cheek.

peter looked back at you, slight shock on his flashing on face before his eyes went fully black again. he locked sight on you, eyes twitching as he analyzed each minute movement your body made. and there was that fucking smirk again.

"oh i see. you want this, don't you?" peter rasped in your ear as he leaned back down, his breath hot against your skin. "fine. but don't be mad at me when it gets to be too much."

in a split second, your hands were whipped high above your head, warm and sticky webs encasing your wrists once again. this time, attached to peter parker's headboard. fuck.

you squirmed in his grasp, fighting the webbing even though you knew it was no use. you were there when he discovered just how fucking strong his organic web was in comparison to the lab-designed. you couldn't move, and you knew it. he knew it too.

peter's hands were on you in a frenzy, ripping your bra clean from your body in a single motion. you gasped as he stared down at your chest, vibrating with restraint. restraint that peter didn't have right now.

perfect.

his hands weren't off your body for long, quickly lunging to wrap around your exposed breast. he squeezed the soft tissue, hard enough to elicit a scream that ripped straight from your throat. he growled at your response, loosening his grip and focusing on pinching your erect nipples instead. he leaned down to bite one, earning another piercing scream.

peter pulled back to admire his work, and you looked down to see the instant handprint that was bruising over your left tit. it made you dizzy, seeing peter spider-man mark you with such a primal fucking desire. blood rushed back to comfort the sore area, leaving your chest feeling warm and fuzzy. you weren't allowed much of a reprieve, however.

peter manhandled you exactly how he wanted you, crawling out of his hold on you to spread your legs and raise your knees. once he had you positioned, you felt the warm rush of webbing cover your feet as well. oh, you were so fucked.

his fingers trailed up your legs, starting at your feet and working their way towards your aching core. you shivered against his touch, and noticed how he relished in the way it caused his webbing around you to vibrate. you were but a bug in his web, caught and waiting to be eaten.

you let out a moan as he grabbed at your inner thighs, no doubt leaving matching handprints to the one on your chest. peter just snarled in response.

"so fucking desperate for it. is this why you've been helping me all along? just waiting to get fucked by spider-man?"

he stared up at you from where he was in between your legs, hot breath teasing against your damp underwear. "so desperate i bet you don't even need any prep, am i right?"

peter reached his hand towards your core, fingertips trembling with constraint as he could feel just how wet you were for him. he hissed, retracting his hand as though he had been burnt. within seconds, your underwear had been ripped off your body like the rest of your clothes, leaving you fully naked in front of peter parker.

in front of spider-man.

you stared into the black void of his eyes as he repeated the same action to himself, shredding the infamous juicy sweatpants in the process. you were pretty sure your eyes were as dark as his were, pupils blown to shit as you stared at the fucking greek statue in front of you.

did spiders have insanely large dicks, or was that just a peter thing?

not now, jesus.

as he promised, there was no goddamn prep. no easing into it. peter climbed back on top of you, his limbs stalking over yours as his webbing held you firmly in place. you tried to struggle against it, even if just for the show of it. definitely for the show of it.

"just a dumb. fucking. bug. aren't you? landed right where i fucking wanted you to."

peter gave no warning as he thrust all of himself inside you, a sharp cry punching from your chest as he bottomed out in one go. the line between pain and pleasure was a fine one as he set a disgustingly rough pace, pistoning in and out of you like it would literally kill him to go any slower.

maybe it would. you weren't here to find out.

you squirmed against him on a particularly heavy thrust, only to be met with a hand at the base of your throat again.

"no, hold still. you fucking wanted this."

oh, you were so gone. you weren't even sure you were going to remember enough of this to be able to psychoanalyze these newfound kinks, you were too fucking cock-drunk off peter. he was still relentlessly forcing his way into you, but you seemed almost distant from your body now. as though the pleasure was so good, you had started floating.

peter noticed and it only drove him crazier, watching your limp body move in time with his thrusts as he milked you dry, a creamy ring around his cock each time he pulled out.

"is this why you've been so against the fucking inhibitor? been wanting me to lose my goddamn mind like this?"

you weren't sure when you had started crying, but warm tears were now flooding down your rosy cheeks. peter mock cooed at the sight.

"don't cry now, baby. this is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? this is exactly what you fucking asked for."

you moaned at his words, too lost to form your own. peter only held you tighter. "such a pretty fucking crier. taking me so well."

peter dropped his head in the crook of your neck as he kept going, reaching new levels of overstimulation. and for the first time, the overstimulation wasn't destroying him. it was consuming, driving his every movement and decision -- but it didn't hurt anymore. it almost felt... good. natural.

he had never had sex like this before. sure, in the past, the physical intimacy of it all had been overwhelming, feeling each sensation of the other person as if it were also his own. but something about this was different. peter could feel your heartbeat inside of his own body, each time you pulsed around him sent an electrical current through his system that was, well... electrifying.

peter could feel you getting close, the constrictions of your muscles changing every so slightly to signal to him that you were on the edge. not only that, but he could fucking smell the hormonal change in your body before you even knew it yourself, soft moans falling from your lips in a desperate attempt to let him know.

like he didn't already fucking know.

"i know, that's it. come for me, baby. i want you to feel me for weeks. i want you to hurt so bad that no one else can fuck you. only me. you're fucking mine," peter snarled possessively in your ear.

that was all it took for you to fall over the edge, weightless as you screamed through the orgasm. the feeling of your cunt tightening around him, your juices slicking his cock even more, the sounds of it all: it was beyond lewd. peter was immediately behind you, the sensations coming from you enough to reset his entire system. it was a sensory overload in the best way possible, his vision going white as he came the hardest he ever had.

peter flooded you with his warmth, and you had come back to earth just enough to notice how similar his cum inside of you felt like his webs against your wrists. he gave one final thrust before collapsing on top of you, using his remaining strength to rip the webbing from your hands and feet. his breathing was heavy again as he pulled his head up to look at you, and you noticed that his eyes had returned to the soft brown rings of peter parker.

he flickered his gaze around you and where you both were, confusion flashing across his face as he fought everything in his body telling him to sleep.

"what... oh my god, what happened?"

peter barely slurred it out before he passed out on top of you. still inside of you.

you fought against your own haze, still on cloud nine as you caught a green glow from the corner of your eyes. thank god for his loft set up -- his desk being tucked next to his bed, allowing you to close access to his tech in this moment. sometime in the last god knew how long, EVIE had run a successful trial, signified by the incandescent green radiating from his monitor.

you reached out as far as peter's weight over you had allowed, just barely catching the inhibitor in your fingertips. you guided the small machine around his sleeping frame, connecting it to the spot on the back of his neck. you were already out of breath, fucked dumb and on the verge of passing out, but this was about peter. it had been since the beginning.

with the inhibitor finally latched and active with a soft chrip!, you let out a sigh of relief watching peter's vitals and DNA level back out on the computer monitor. you could feel peter further relax on top of you, and it was enough to give you a final sense of accomplishment before you let the lull wash over you too, pulling you under with peter into a blissful slumber.

you woke up hours later, tucked into the covers, still on peter's stiff mattress. the webbing around his bed was gone, leaving you to wake up on fresh sheets. the scent was overwhelming peter, causing a smile to graze your lips before you even opened your eyes. he must've moved you in your sleep, as both the bedding and you were cleaned off.

you opened your eyes slowly, a dull headache settling behind your eyes and confirming your whiplash/concussion hypothesis from earlier. you saw the evening light coming through the loft windows, which had also been cleared of the previous webbing, and noted that it had in fact been hours that you'd been sleeping. it was now that you also noticed you were still naked while wrapped in peter's comforter, and a blush settled over your cheeks.

you went to sit up, but your entire body screamed protest as you moved. only a soft grunt left your lips, but it was enough to alert peter that you were awake again. he was at your side in an instant.

"oh my god, you're awake. thank fucking god, i was so worried that-"

you cut off his rambling with a hand to his chest, grateful to feel his heart beat almost at a normal rate again. normal for anxious peter, at least.

"pete, i'm okay." you gave him a soft smile, but it was the comfort that sent him over the edge. he quivered next to you as tears fought to fall from his eyes, physical proof of just how sorry he was.

there was your peter parker.

"no, listen. i'm so fucking sorry. i can't actually describe to you how sorry i am, there's no words for it. i-i'm a fucking monster, i can't believe that i... fuck, oh my god- i'm going to fucking throw up. i-i have the cops on speed dial, you know that, right? i'll call them. i swear to god, i will turn myself in right fucking now-"

"peter," you tried again, sitting up to meet his eye level more. to stop his spiraling.

the opposite happened as the blanket fell slightly in your adjustment, revealing a bit of your chest where he had left a handprint. peter's eyes locked onto the bruise, and he looked moments away from throwing himself off the building. his nervous shaking had turned to violent, full body tremors as tears finally slipped down his cheeks. he opened his mouth, surely to apologize more, but you weren't having it.

you pulled him in for a kiss, ignoring how tender your wrists were as you grabbed onto his sweatshirt. peter was hesitant at first, but soon melted into the kiss, feeling something deep and primal within him relax.

you broke the kiss to look at him again, and peter was beyond confused. "but i-"

"peter, i wanted it. all of it." you held his gaze firmly, one hand holding his comforter over your bare chest, the other tightly holding his own trembling palm. "i wanted to push you and see what would happen. to help you prove to yourself that you aren't a fucking monster, even if you don't know what the fuck is taking over. you're still my peter parker. you're still good."

peter let out a relieved huff of air, pulling you in for a gentle and cautious hug as happy tears landed against your bare back. he held you, thanking you profusely for trusting him. for helping him trust himself.

"do you feel better, pete?" you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

he choked on a laugh, and you felt a soft nod against your cheek. "yeah. yeah, fuck, i guess i do."

peter pulled back, concern laced in his eyebrows once again. "but you-"

"but i nothing, parker. i'm okay, really. think i can't handle a good fucking? being hurt a little?"

peter's cheeks lit on fire, a red flush extending down under the collar of his shirt. he laughed nervously, absentmindedly reaching up to graze his fingertips over the bruise blooming over your breasts. "good, huh? you're not too hurt?"

"oh i'm definitely hurt," you smirked at how quickly his face fell, your hand cupping his over your chest. "dare i say, hurt so bad that no one but you can fuck me?"

maybe it wasn't so bad if peter let the spider take over every now and then.

main masterlist

You didn’t even look up at first. You just felt the shift in the air, the way the room suddenly got smaller.

Peter Parker stepped inside like the place had been waiting for him. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little damp like he’d just come from the gym or a shower or someone else’s bed—hard to tell with him. He kicked the door shut with his heel and tossed his keys onto the counter without looking. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, and that familiar, lazy half-smile curved his mouth.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and deliberately amused. “Look who finally crawled out of their hole. Didn’t think you still knew where this place was.”

You kept your gaze on the TV, even though nothing interesting was happening on it. “Didn’t think you’d be back so early. Figured you’d still be making your rounds through the second floor.”

Harry made a quiet, warning sound under his breath. Peter just laughed, soft and unbothered, and dropped his backpack by the wall.

“Second floor’s overrated,” he said, walking past the couch close enough that his shin brushed your ankle. He didn’t apologize. “Third floor’s where the real talent is this semester. You’d know if you ever left your room for anything other than this one and judging me.”

You finally turned your head to look at him. He was leaning against the kitchen counter now, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d just been called a campus-wide whore.

“Judgment’s free,” you said. “Unlike whatever STD panel you’re probably due for.”

Peter’s grin widened, all teeth and zero shame. “Ouch. That almost hurt. You practicing those lines in the mirror, or do they just come naturally when you’re this sexually frustrated?”

Harry closed his textbook with a soft thud. “Can we not—”

“No, it’s fine,” you cut in, still locked on Peter. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone who treats the entire dorm like a revolving door still has a roommate who defends him like he’s actually a person.”

Peter pushed off the counter and took a few slow steps closer, stopping just short of the couch. He looked down at you, head tilted, that cocky little spark in his eyes that made it very clear he was enjoying this.

“Maybe because I’m fun,” he said, voice dropping a fraction. “And you’re… what, exactly? The dorm’s resident wet blanket who keeps score of who I fuck like it’s a personal insult?”

You sat up straighter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. “It’s not an insult. It’s a public service announcement. People should know the risks before they make the same mistake half the building already has.”

He laughed again—quiet, almost fond, which somehow made it worse. “You keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out. It’s cute. Really. But if you’re so disgusted, why do you keep showing up here?”

“Because some of us actually care about our friends,” you shot back. “Not just who we can get horizontal with before the weekend’s over.”

Peter’s gaze flicked, just for a second, to Harry—who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him —then back to you. Something sharper settled behind his easy expression.

“Careful,” he said, softer now. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You scoffed, but the sound came out thinner than you wanted. “Of you? Please. I’d rather chew glass.”

“Mm.” He rocked back on his heels, studying you like he was deciding whether the argument was still entertaining. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll even believe it.”

Harry finally stood up, hands raised in surrender. “Okay. Both of you. Enough. Peter, go shower or something. You smell like ass. And you—” he pointed at you—“stop poking the bear. He’s already insufferable when he’s in a good mood.”

Peter raised both hands in mock innocence, already backing toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Hey, I was just saying hi. Not my fault your friend can’t handle a little honesty.”

He disappeared around the corner, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder — like he already knew this wasn’t over.

The bathroom door clicked shut a second later. The water started running.

Harry dropped back onto the couch with a long, exhausted sigh and muttered, “I genuinely don’t know why I let you two exist in the same space.”

You stared at the empty hallway, jaw tight, pulse a little too loud in your ears.

Neither did you.

The dorm hallway was quieter than you’d ever heard it. No bass thudding through walls, no laughter spilling out of open doors, no one arguing about whose turn it was to buy more Red Bull. Thanksgiving break had hollowed the whole building out. Most people had scattered home the second classes ended. You were supposed to be one of them. The ticket price had laughed in your face, so you’d stayed, claiming the silence like it was a prize.

You were already dressed when you remembered the necklace. Black dress that hit mid-thigh, the kind that made you feel like you had somewhere better to be than an empty campus. Heels that clicked too loud in the stairwell. Hair done. Makeup sharp. You’d left the necklace at Harry’s place weeks ago after the clasp snapped during a night that ended with too much cheap wine and you insisting it was fine, you’d just leave it. He'd fixed it the next morning and texted you to come grab it whenever. You never had.

Tonight felt like the perfect window. Peter would be gone. Everyone would be gone. In and out, necklace in hand, then you’d hit the one bar still open near campus and pretend the holiday didn’t sting.

You used the spare key Harry had given you months ago and pushed the door open without knocking.

The living room lights were on.

Peter Parker was in the kitchen, barefoot, leaning against the counter with a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and his phone in the other. He was wearing a tight black crop top that stopped just above the sharp cut of his hips and a pair of black Juicy Couture velour sweatpants that sat low on his waist. The fabric clung in places it had no business clinging. His stomach was flat, a faint trail of hair disappearing under the waistband, and the crop top left zero room for interpretation about how much time he spent in the gym when he wasn’t busy being a walking cautionary tale.

He looked up the second the door shut behind you.

For half a second he just stared. Then that slow, filthy little smile pulled at his mouth.

“Holy shit,” he said, voice low and delighted. “Did hell freeze over or did you actually get dressed up for once?”

You froze in the doorway, keys still in your hand. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Peter took another bite of the protein bar, chewed, and shrugged one shoulder. The crop top rode up a fraction higher. “Could ask you the same thing, princess. Thought you’d be halfway across the country by now, crying into your mom’s stuffing.”

“Ticket was too expensive.” You hated how defensive it sounded. “I came for my necklace. HarryHarry fixed it.”

“Ah.” He set the protein bar down and pushed off the counter, walking toward you with that lazy, cocky gait that always made it feel like he owned the floor. “The little silver one. Yeah, it’s in my room. I moved it so it wouldn’t get lost in the chaos of his packing.”

You stayed by the door. “Of course it’s in your room. Because nothing can just be simple with you.”

Peter stopped a few feet away, eyes dragging down your dress in a way that felt deliberate and completely unapologetic. “You’re the one who showed up looking like that. Don’t act shocked that I’m looking. Most of the dorm’s gone. Campus is a ghost town. And here you are, all done up, standing in my doorway like you expected the place to be empty.”

“I did expect it to be empty,” you shot back. “I expected the campus whore to be off somewhere, ruining someone else’s holiday.”

He laughed, soft and mean. “There she is. Miss High Horse. Miss I-Would-Rather-Chew-Glass. You keep talking about me like that and people might start thinking you care.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure.” He tilted his head, studying the way the dress sat on your body. “Where were you even going dressed like that? Don’t tell me you had plans. On Thanksgiving. Alone.”

You clenched your jaw. “None of your business.”

“Everything in this dorm is my business when you’re standing in it looking like that.” He took another step closer. The sweatpants shifted with the movement, the soft fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the outline of him. “You came here thinking I’d be gone. You wanted the place to yourself. Necklace, quiet, maybe a little victory dance that you didn’t have to deal with me. And instead you get this.” He gestured vaguely at his own torso, at the crop top, at the ridiculous Juicy pants. “Disappointed?”

“Disgusted, mostly.”

Peter’s smile widened, all sharp edges and zero shame. “Liar. You’re staring.”

You forced your eyes back up to his face. “I’m staring because I can’t believe you own Juicy Couture sweatpants.”

“Laundry day” he said easily. “Found them in the clean basket. Thought they were yours honestly.” He reached out and plucked the keys from your hand before you could react, tossing them onto the counter behind him. “Necklace’s on my desk. You can come get it, or you can stand there in that dress pretending you don’t want to know why I’m still here either.”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you still here?”

Peter’s expression flickered—just for a second—before the cocky mask slid back into place. “Same reason as you, probably. Money. Or lack of it. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like explaining to my aunt why I wasn’t coming home this year.” He shrugged again, but it was tighter this time. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re here. I’m here. The building’s empty.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself.

He beat you to it.

“Necklace’s this way,” he said, already turning toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. The crop top rode up again when he lifted one arm to push his hair back. “Try not to trip over your own judgment on the way.”

You hesitated for exactly three seconds.

Then you followed him.

Peter’s room was… normal.

You stopped just inside the doorway, the words dying in your throat. You’d expected a mess—empty condom wrappers, a rotating door of half-forgotten names written on a whiteboard, the smell of sex and cheap cologne baked into the walls. Instead the bed was made. The desk was organized. A few textbooks were stacked neatly beside a closed laptop. There was a framed photo of an older woman who had to be his aunt, a poster of some indie band you’d never heard of, and a single hoodie draped over the back of the desk chair. It looked like he was actually put together. Not the lair of the dorm’s most prolific problem.

He noticed you staring.

“What?” he asked, already moving toward the desk. “Expecting a red room and a list of conquests on the wall?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Peter huffed a quiet laugh and opened the top drawer. “Sorry to disappoint. I keep the list on my phone.” He pulled out the silver necklace, the clasp fixed and gleaming, and held it up between two fingers. “Here. All yours.”

You stepped closer to take it. That was your first mistake.

The crop top left his arms completely exposed, and under the soft overhead light they looked unfairly good—hard muscle, the kind that came from actual work instead of just showing up at the gym for the mirror. Veins faintly visible when he flexed to reach something. Your eyes dragged over them before your brain could stop it, and something low and traitorous in your stomach twisted.

Peter went still.

You looked up and found him watching you, that slow, knowing smile already spreading across his face.

“There it is,” he said softly. “Knew it was only a matter of time.”

You snatched the necklace out of his hand a little too fast. “I was looking at the room.”

“No you weren’t.” He leaned back against the desk, arms crossing over his chest in a way that only made the muscles in his biceps stand out more. The crop top rode higher. “You were looking at me. Specifically at these.” He flexed once, deliberately, just enough to be an asshole about it. “Don’t worry. Happens a lot. Usually people are better at hiding it, though.”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” Peter’s voice dropped into something smoother, warmer, the cocky edge still there but now wrapped in deliberate charm. “Because you’ve been throwing insults at me for months, but the second you see a little skin you’re staring like you’ve never seen arms before. It’s cute. Really. All that judgment and you’re still human underneath it.”

You turned the necklace over in your fingers, refusing to meet his eyes. “I came for this. That’s it.”

“Then why are you still standing there?” He pushed off the desk and took one slow step closer. Then another. The Juicy sweatpants sat low enough that the cut of his hips was impossible to ignore. “You could’ve grabbed the necklace and left. Instead you’re lingering in my room looking at me like that. So either you’re about to call me a whore again for sport, or you’re starting to realize the problem isn’t that I’ve slept with half the dorm.”

Your pulse was too loud. “What’s the problem, then?”

Peter’s smile turned sharper, almost fond. “The problem is you want to know what all the fuss is about.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.” He reached out and gently took the necklace from your hand again, fingers brushing yours longer than necessary. “You’ve spent so much time deciding I’m disgusting that you never let yourself admit you like what you see.” He stepped into your space, close enough that you could smell whatever clean, expensive soap he’d used. “Say it.”

You swallowed. “No.”

“Coward.” The word was soft, almost teasing. He lifted the necklace and, without asking, reached around your neck to clasp it himself. His knuckles brushed the side of your throat. Warm. Steady. “You’ve got that hungry look on your face. And still you won’t just say you think I look good.”

His hands lingered at the back of your neck after the clasp clicked shut. You could feel the heat of his palms, the quiet strength in his fingers.

“I don’t think you look good,” you managed.

Peter leaned in just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “Liar. Your eyes already told on you the second you walked in here. So either keep lying and leave, or stay right here and admit it.” His voice dropped lower, velvet and filthy at the edges. “Tell me you like what you see, and maybe I’ll stop being such an asshole about it.”

You should have shoved him back. Should have taken the necklace and walked out while you still could.

Instead you stayed exactly where you were, pulse hammering, the quiet of the empty dorm pressing in around both of you.

Peter waited, patient and infuriatingly sure of himself, thumbs brushing once along the sides of your neck like he already knew the answer.

“You look good,” he said, quiet enough that it felt private. “Really fucking good. That dress is doing things it has no right to do on a night like this. And the heels? Dangerous. You walked in here looking like you were ready to ruin someone’s entire holiday, and I’m starting to think that someone was supposed to be me.”

You stayed silent. Admitting anything felt like handing him the win on a silver platter, and you refused to give him that satisfaction.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Still nothing?” His mouth curved, soft and wicked. “Alright. Let’s try again.” He shifted closer, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of the crop top. “You’re beautiful when you’re trying this hard not to want me. All that fire, all that attitude… and still you can’t stop staring at my mouth.”

Your breath hitched. Traitorous.

Peter’s hands slid from your neck to your jaw, tilting your face up with careful, deliberate pressure. “There it is. That little crack. You hate that you like how I look in this shirt. You hate that the sweatpants are doing it for you. You hate that I’m standing this close— your pulse is going crazy under my fingers.” His voice dropped lower, coaxing, almost gentle. “Just say it. One sentence. ‘You look good, Peter.’ That’s all. I’ll even pretend I didn’t already know.”

You clenched your teeth. “I’m not giving you that.”

“Then I’ll keep talking until you do.” He leaned in another inch. His breath brushed your lips. “You smell expensive tonight. Like you actually tried. For who? Some stranger at a half-empty bar? Or did some part of you hope I’d still be here to see it?”

Your hands had somehow found the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hips, fingers curling without permission. He felt it. His smile turned sharper.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Hold on to me if you need to. I don’t mind.” Another step closer and your chests nearly touched. The crop top left almost nothing between you. “You’re shaking a little. Did you notice? Because I did. Your body’s already answering for you. It’s just waiting for your mouth to catch up.”

He was so close now that every word brushed against your lips. His hands tightened just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you—tilted up, open, trapped in the quiet gravity of him.

“Say it,” he whispered, the words a soft command against your mouth. “Tell me you like what you see. Tell me the judgment was bullshit. Tell me you’ve been thinking about this longer than you’ll ever admit.”

You tried to form a denial. Something sharp. Something safe.

What came out instead was a broken little sound—half protest, half surrender—as your body finally betrayed you completely. A quiet, helpless whine slipped past your lips and straight into his.

Peter’s control snapped.

He closed the last fraction of space and kissed you like he’d been waiting months for the exact sound you just made. His mouth was hot, sure, and filthy with intent—lips parting yours immediately, tongue sliding against yours in a slow, claiming stroke that made your knees weak. One hand stayed locked on your jaw, the other sliding down to the small of your back to haul you flush against him. The hard line of his body pressed into yours and he kissed you deeper, hungrier, like he was determined to swallow every last scrap of resistance you still had.

When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was rough and satisfied.

“There she is,” he breathed against your mouth. “Knew you’d taste as mean as you talk.”

Peter didn’t pull away after the words left his mouth. He stayed right there, lips brushing yours, breathing you in like he’d already won something. The hard line of his cock pressed against your lower stomach through the thin fabric of the velour sweatpants, thick and unmistakable, and the second you felt it your brain short-circuited.

He kissed that good. Filthy and controlled and just a little mean, like he knew exactly how to make you melt and was doing it on purpose. Your hands tightened on his hips without thinking. Your body moved before your pride could catch up. You rolled your hips once, slow and deliberate, grinding against the heavy length of him, and the quiet, punched-out sound he made against your mouth went straight between your legs.

Peter’s grin was pure sin when he pulled back just enough to speak.

“There it is,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Knew you’d start rubbing on it the second you felt how hard I got for you. Look at you. All that talk and now you’re grinding on my cock like you’ve been waiting for permission.”

Heat flooded your face. “Shut up.”

“Make me.” He rolled his hips back into yours, dragging the thick ridge of his cock against you, letting you feel every inch. “Go on. Tell me you don’t want it. Tell me that little grind was an accident. I dare you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin. Hated that your stupid brain had flipped from get out of here to please him in the span of one kiss. You shoved at his chest—hard enough to make him take a step back—and he went willingly, still smiling that cocky, knowing smile like this was exactly the reaction he’d been angling for.

The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. You pushed again and he dropped down onto the mattress, catching himself on his elbows, crop top riding up to show the sharp cut of his abs and the dark trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of those ridiculous sweatpants. His cock strained against the soft fabric, thick and obvious, the head of it already leaving an impression near the waistband.

You dropped to your knees between his spread legs before you could talk yourself out of it.

Peter’s eyes went dark and hungry. He looked down at you like you were the best Thanksgiving present he could’ve asked for.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, voice thick with satisfaction. “Look at that. On your knees already. Didn’t even have to ask.” He reached down and brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, slow and lazy. “You gonna keep glaring at me while you do it, or are you finally gonna admit you want my cock in your mouth?”

You glared up at him, hands already sliding up his thighs. “I want you to shut the fuck up.”

Peter laughed, low and filthy, and leaned back on one hand so he could watch you better. The other hand stayed on your face, thumb pressing gently against your mouth.

“Not a chance, baby. You’re about to put that pretty mouth to work and I’m gonna talk the entire time. You’re gonna hear every single filthy thing I think while you suck me. That’s the deal.” His fingers slid into your hair, not pulling yet—just resting there, possessive. “Now take it out. Show me how bad you’ve actually wanted this.”

The air in the room felt thicker. Your heart was slamming against your ribs. And still, kneeling between Peter Parker’s legs with his cock hard and waiting inches from your face, all your brain wanted was to make him sound as wrecked as he was making you feel.

You tugged the soft waistband of the Juicy sweatpants down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out with a soft thud against his stomach. Heavy and flushed, the thick head already shiny at the tip. The scent of clean skin and arousal hit you immediately. You wrapped your fingers around the base and felt him throb against your palm, hot and solid.

Peter’s breath left him in a low, satisfied sound.

“Look at that,” he murmured, eyes locked on your face. “Finally got your hands on it. You gonna keep staring or are you actually gonna do something?”

You ignored the dig and leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of the head. Slow. Deliberate. You dragged your tongue in a lazy circle around the ridge, tasting the faint salt of precome that had already gathered there. His thighs tensed under your free hand.

“Fuck—” His voice had gone rougher. “Cute. Real cute. You think taking your time is gonna make me lose it?”

You hummed against the sensitive skin just beneath the head and felt the vibration travel through him. Another slow lick, this time from the base all the way up, flattening your tongue so you could feel every ridge and vein. His cock twitched hard against your mouth.

Peter’s hand shot into your hair.

He didn’t ask. He just gripped a fistful and guided the swollen tip past your lips in one smooth push. The head of him filled the front of your mouth—hot, smooth, already leaking. You tasted more of that salt-sweet precome the second it hit your tongue.

“That’s better,” he said, voice low and smug. “Just the tip for now. Look at you. Mouth stretched around me and still trying to pretend you’re in control.” His fingers flexed in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted. “Suck. Nice and slow. I want to feel that tongue working.”

You hollowed your cheeks around the head, sucking gently, swirling your tongue under the sensitive ridge the way you knew would make him react. He exhaled hard through his nose, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Fuck, that’s good. Messy little thing already.” He rocked his hips the smallest amount, pushing the tip a fraction deeper before easing back. “You look filthy like this. On your knees in that dress with my cock in your mouth. All that attitude and here you are, letting me use your face.”

You glared up at him, the expression ruined by the stretch of your lips and the wet shine already coating the head of his cock every time he pulled back. He just smirked down at you, completely unbothered.

“Don’t give me that look. You started grinding on me first. You dropped to your knees. Now you’re sucking the tip like you've dreamed about this before.” His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth where it was stretched around him. “Tell me how it tastes.”

The constant stream of cocky, filthy commentary was starting to get under your skin in the worst way. Every smug word made the heat between your legs worse. You wanted him quiet. You wanted him wrecked.

So you stopped teasing.

You braced both hands on his thighs, took a breath through your nose, and sank down.

The thick head pushed past your tongue, over the soft palate, and kept going. Inch after hot, heavy inch filled your mouth until your lips met the base and your nose brushed the soft skin of his lower stomach. Your throat fluttered hard around him. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the stretch. Spit welled up and spilled past your lips, dripping down his shaft and onto the waistband of the sweatpants still shoved low on his hips.

Peter’s entire body went rigid.

“Jesus—fuck—” The cocky drawl cracked for the first time. His hand tightened almost painfully in your hair, but he didn’t pull you off. He held you there, buried to the hilt, while your throat worked around the thick intrusion. “Oh my god. You just—took all of it. Look at you. F-fucking look at you.”

You stayed down, swallowing around him on purpose, letting your throat ripple and squeeze. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the quiet room. When you finally needed air you pulled back only far enough to breathe, spit connecting your lips to his cock in a shiny string, then immediately sank down again—slower this time, dragging every inch along your tongue until he was lodged deep once more.

Peter’s head dropped back for half a second before he forced himself to look down again. His voice had gone wrecked and mean at the same time.

“Best fucking mouth I’ve ever had. You hear me? Best. A-and you’re still trying to shut me up by deepthroating me like a professional.” He rolled his hips up in a short, controlled thrust, fucking into the tight heat of your throat. “Not gonna work, baby. Gonna tell you exactly how perfect your throat feels while you choke on me.”

You moaned around the thick length of him, the sound vibrating straight up his cock, and watched his abs flex hard under the crop top. Spit was everywhere now—your chin, his shaft, the soft black velour of the sweatpants. Your eyes watered freely. Your jaw ached in the best way. And still you kept taking him to the base, determined to turn every smug word into a broken sound.

Peter’s grip in your hair stayed firm, guiding the pace just enough to remind you who was actually in charge even while you tried to ruin him.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice thick and filthy. “Take it. Show me how bad you wanted this cock. Swallow around it again—yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep being such a good girl.”

You pulled off him with a wet, filthy gasp, a thick string of spit still connecting your bottom lip to the flushed head of his cock. Your voice came out ruined already—hoarse and low from how deep you’d taken him.

“Look at you,” you rasped, stroking the slick length with one hand while you caught your breath. “Sitting there being such a good boy for me.”

Peter’s eyes flashed. His fingers flexed hard in your hair, but the next cocky remark never made it out of his mouth.

You didn’t give him time to recover. You sank back down in one smooth motion, taking him straight to the base again until your throat closed tight around the head and your nose pressed into his skin. The wet sounds of it was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Spit flooded past your lips and ran down his shaft in warm rivulets. Your eyes watered instantly from the stretch. You held there, swallowing hard around him on purpose, letting your throat flutter and squeeze.

When you pulled up again it was only far enough to speak, lips still brushing the shiny head.

“That’s it,” you breathed, voice thick with spit. “Just like that. Letting me choke on this thick cock like a good boy. You’re being so fucking patient for me.”

You dove back down before he could answer. Deeper this time. Your throat convulsed around the intrusion and a broken gag tore out of you, wet and raw. Tears slipped free and tracked down your cheeks. You didn’t stop. You stayed buried, swallowing repeatedly, the muscles of your throat working him in tight, rhythmic pulses while more spit dripped onto the soft black fabric of his sweatpants.

Peter’s free hand had fisted in the sheets. His abs were clenched hard under the crop top. The only sound he managed was a low, punched-out groan.

You pulled off again, panting, chin shiny and dripping. Your hand kept stroking him in long, tight twists, spreading the mess you’d made.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well,” you praised, voice wrecked and filthy. “Letting me use your cock like this. Sitting there all pretty while I gag on it. Such a good boy for me, Peter. Look how hard you are. Look how much you’re leaking just from my mouth.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, gathering the fresh precome that had beaded at the tip, then took him deep once more. The stretch burned in the best way. Your throat bulged visibly for a second before you forced yourself farther, until your lips were sealed tight around the base again. Another wet gag spilled out of you, the sound filthy and helpless. Spit poured down his balls. Your mascara was definitely ruined.

Peter’s hips jerked once—short, controlled, like he was fighting not to fuck up into your throat. His breathing had gone ragged. The constant stream of smug commentary had dried up into broken little sounds he couldn’t quite swallow.

You pulled back just enough to speak against the head of him, lips dragging over the sensitive ridge with every word.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmured, the praise low and dirty. “Staying so still while I choke myself on this cock. Letting me take every inch. You’re doing so well for me. So fucking well.”

You sank down again, slower this time, letting him feel every inch of tight, wet heat as your throat opened and accepted him. The wet sounds were constant now—obscene, rhythmic, mixed with the soft wet gasps you made every time he bottomed out. Your jaw ached. Your eyes kept watering. Spit soaked the front of his sweatpants. The insides of your thighs were damp where you’d started shifting restlessly against nothing.

Peter’s hand in your hair had gone almost tender despite the firm grip, guiding you in short, shallow rocks while you kept him buried. He wasn’t talking anymore. Just breathing hard and watching you with dark, blown-out eyes like he couldn’t quite believe what you were doing to him.

You moaned around the thick length of him on purpose, the vibration making his thighs tense under your palms, and kept going—choking, gagging, praising him in wrecked little scraps of voice every time you came up for air.

You felt it the second his control started to slip.

Peter’s thighs were shaking under your hands. His cock throbbed harder against your tongue, the thick vein along the underside pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Precome was leaking steadily now, salty and constant, mixing with the spit that already coated everything. His breathing had gone short and rough. The hand in your hair tightened until it bordered on painful.

He was close.

You doubled down.

Instead of pulling up to breathe you stayed buried, nose pressed to his skin, and forced your throat to relax around him. The stretch burned. Tears kept slipping down your cheeks. Spit poured freely past your lips. You swallowed hard around the head of him—once, twice—then moaned low and long so the vibration traveled straight through his cock.

Peter’s hips jerked.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” His voice cracked back into existence, rough and mean and desperate all at once. “You’re gonna make me come. Look at you. Throat stuffed full and still trying to milk it out of me. Such a greedy little mouth.”

You didn’t pull off. You let him take over.

Peter’s grip in your hair shifted from guiding to outright using. He held you down and started fucking up into your throat in short, filthy thrusts—shallow at first, then deeper, using your mouth like it belonged to him. The wet, choked sounds you made every time he bottomed out were obscene. Your eyes watered freely. Your mascara was a complete disaster. Spit and precome ran down your chin in shiny strings and dripped onto the floor between your knees.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice wrecked and cocky even as his rhythm got more frantic. “Take it. Take every fucking inch. You’re gonna swallow all of it, aren’t you? Gonna let me pump this throat full.” His hips snapped up harder. “Fuck, you feel perfect. Best throat I’ve ever fucked. Knew you’d be this good the second you dropped to your knees.”

You didn’t care anymore. The constant stream of filthy praise and arrogance only made you wetter. You kept your hands braced on his thighs and let him use you, throat fluttering and convulsing around every thrust. When he pushed especially deep a broken gag tore out of you, wet and helpless, and Peter groaned like the sound alone was going to finish him.

“Gonna come,” he warned, voice low and strained. “Gonna come right down this pretty throat. Stay open for me—fuck—just like that. Don’t you dare pull off.”

His rhythm stuttered. His cock swelled even thicker against your tongue. The hand in your hair locked you in place as his hips snapped up one last time and stayed there, buried to the hilt.

Peter came hard.

Hot, thick pulses flooded your throat in heavy spurts. You swallowed instinctively around him, the muscles working to take every drop while he kept you pinned. More came—another strong pulse, then another—until your throat felt coated and warm and full. Some of it still managed to spill past the tight seal of your lips, mixing with the spit already dripping down his shaft. His thighs shook violently under your hands. A low, punched-out groan tore out of him as the last weaker pulses spilled across your tongue.

He held you there through every second of it, hips pressed tight to your face, cock still twitching in the back of your throat while he rode it out.

When he finally loosened his grip you pulled off slowly, gasping, a thick string of come and spit connecting your swollen lips to the head of his cock. Your voice was completely destroyed. Your chin and chest were a mess. Tears and mascara streaked your cheeks.

Peter looked down at you like he’d just found religion and lost it in the same breath—eyes dark, chest heaving, cock softening against his stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, thumb dragging through the mess on your bottom lip. “You really just let me do that.”

You stayed on your knees for a few more seconds, just long enough to watch Peter’s chest rise and fall like he’d run a marathon. His eyes were hazy. His mouth hung open just a little. For once, the constant stream of cocky commentary had been fucked right out of him.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, smearing the mess of spit and come, and stood up on slightly unsteady legs.

Peter’s gaze tracked you slowly, like his brain was still buffering.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped.

You didn’t answer. You smoothed the bottom of your dress once, then turned and walked out of his room without another word.

The bathroom was right across the hall. You flicked the light on, locked the door, and finally looked at yourself in the mirror.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks. Your lips were swollen and shiny. You looked thoroughly used and completely unbothered about it. You turned on the faucet, wet a clean washcloth, and methodically wiped your face clean—chin, cheeks, the corner of your mouth. You fixed your smudged liner as best you could, smoothed your dress back into place, and stepped back out into the quiet apartment.

Peter was still on the bed when you passed his open doorway. He’d managed to shove himself up onto his elbows, sweatpants still tugged low. He looked wrecked and confused and a little pissed that you were no longer on your knees.

“Hey.” His voice was still rough. “What the fuck? You’re just leaving?”

You paused in the living room long enough to slip your heels back on and grab your keys from the counter.

“Yep.”

Peter pushed himself fully upright, running a hand through his messy hair. “You can’t be serious. You just—come back here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, one hand already on the front door. The necklace sat cool and perfect against your collarbone. Your voice came out light, almost sweet.

“Bye, Peter.”

You opened the door, stepped into the empty hallway, and let it click shut behind you before he could get another word out.

The silence of the dorm building swallowed the sound of your heels as you walked toward the stairwell, the faint taste of him still lingering on your tongue and a small, private smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

spiderman will return in "my spidey senses are tingling pt 2"

Peter Parker who gets off on praising you. He ruts into you in controlled thrusts, holding back his superhuman strength so he doesn't hurt you all while his mouth is making you forget your very existence.

“You're so good, sweetie. Taking me so well” he would say, kissing you mid thrust. When you moan in approval he takes it up a notch “That feels good? You think you can take more, my good girl?”

Peter Parker who always asks first “This okay baby?” He would ask when he tries something new. Never willing to take more than you offer.

“Did I go too hard on you?” He would ask afterwards when you’re laying on his chest all blissed out and sleepy. When you shake your head, mumbling a sleepy no while tucking your face in the crook of his neck, he smiles to himslef, proud as he presses sloppy kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

Arachnid Peter who is completely opposite of your sweet nerdy boy.

The first time you see a glimpse of him is during one your usual friday night escapades. Peter has been suffering from headaches for a few days so you’re all prepared do the only thing you know would make him feel better.

You see his eyes darken in a way you have never seen before when he finds you on your knees against his desk, eyes spitting mischief as your mouth yearns to take care of him.

Arachnid peter who threatens to overpower your lovely boyfriend when your warm wet mouth closes around him. His hand in your hair is tighter than usual and you think its just because he’s strung too tight that he’s so tense. Unaware that he’s trying to hold himself back so he won’t hurt you.

You feel it when one of his thrust comes harder than usual. Generally, he would let you work his cock the way you want, sit there patiently and take what you give him. But the change in his demeanor is apparent this time.

Arachnid Peter who takes over him completely, somewhere between him losing himself inside you and you fluttering around him. You see it happening in his eyes. In the way the Arachnid hormones swallow all the white in his sclera. You feel it happening in the way his hold tightens on you, holding your hips down as his thrusts grow rough and punishing.

Arachnid Peter who can't hold himself back. Doesn't want to. He is unforgiving in the way he fucks. A hand pushing your legs up toward your chest while other works tight merciless cirlces on your clit.

Arachnid Peter who revels in the fact that the moans and gasps spilling out of you are endless when he's rough with you “Yes. Just like that, baby. Sing for me.” He would say, encouraging more of the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth.

Arachnid Peter who has an absolutely filthy mouth on him. It is nothing like your sweet nerdy boy who praises you for taking him so well. No. This one whispers filthy things in your ear “Louder, baby. Let the neighbours know who's being fucked so good” He would say, nipping at your earlobe.

“That's it. Look at you, sweetie. All dumb and drunk on my cock”

“Is it too big for you, love?”

“Aw look at those tears. I bet that's never happened before.” And when you shake your head, he only gets more smug “No? Nobody fucked you this good?"

Arachnid Peter who knows how much you can take, how far he can push you. Because even when the hormones are on a high, his body knows you, his mind knows you and in no way will he go rough enough to actually hurt you.

Arachnid Peter who is loud when he comes. Unlike your nerdy boyfriend who gives you delicious little grunts when he’s spilling inside you, this one moans your name loud enough to summon the entire building.

Arachnid Peter who slowly fades back into your loving sweet nerd as the afterglow of his climax slowly phases out.

Peter parker who still has the remnants from the black of arachnid hormones in his eyes when he realises what he has done. And he’s immediately up amd apologising. He’s kissing all over your face, checking everywhere for signs of injury.

“You sure you’re okay, love?” he would ask, eyes glistening as he looks like he would cry if you’re anything but okay. It’s only when you nod and confirm again and again that you’re very much fine that he finally settles.

Arachnid Peter whose eyes go wide as dinnerplates when you swiftly turn him over, straddling him before you lay down on his chest, resting your entire body weight on him. And press a chaste little kiss on his chest and say “We’re doing that again”

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tagging my bucky girls just because : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @star-yawnznn, @buckybsdoll

He’s always playing the good guy; is the good guy, the best guy. This doesn’t make him a bad guy, the worst guy…he didn’t even mean for it to happen. This hadn’t been his intention when he had asked you over tonight.

A simple movie date with his best friend turning into something else entirely.

Something out of his control.

And it wasn’t really his fault. His powers were ever changing, new things being discovered, his body mutating and becoming more insect than man.

Simple interests becoming urges. Simple thoughts and kind acts finished with an ‘but what do I get in return, shouldn’t I be rewarded for saving lives?’ In those newly dark parts of his mind.

He had thought it was just exhaustion. Saving the city, getting his G.E.D and trying to make money to stay in a cheap apartment was easier envisioned than exercised.

He had thought these new dark feelings were nothing a drink at the bar a couple of blocks down, or hanging out with you—his only friend and neighbor—couldn’t fix.

But now he’s realizing that was furthest from the truth, as those dark thoughts have his knee bouncing, fingers tingling for all the wrong reasons; to reach out and touch parts of you he’s only dreamt about. Fantasized about late at night.

One minute you were looking into his eyes laughing at the rom com on his cheap tv, and the next you were still as a board, expression slack, unresponsive. Body compliant as Peter easily shook you to get you to come too.

It was as if you were hypnotized.

As if his thought—as the two of you held eye contact—dark and bitter had manifested itself into his eyes going dark, mind buzzing. Peter coming to to you in this state.

A state that sends him in a panic; until it doesn’t.

Until the dark thoughts win and he’s thinking perverse thoughts that make his cheeks burn hot and cock grow hard against his jeans. Thoughts he shouldn’t be having, shouldn’t be entertaining.

But he’s wanted you for so long.

Longed for you even longer; watching you through his peephole when he was too scared to say hi, cheesy jokes exchanged as the two of you got your mail, both elements soon forming into a tight friendship he doesn’t know what he would do without. He’s already lost so much.

There had been many times he could have confessed his feelings, professed his crush that quickly turned into something stronger—something aching and dreadful each time you didn’t see it. Didn’t get the hint. Ignored all the signs. Dated other people; guys who were no good and only hurt you.

Peter would never hurt you.

He’d treat you the way you deserved to be treated: like a damn goddess.

If only you’d give him a chance.

But maybe he was done waiting. Waiting for something that may never come. Maybe this was his only way of having you. Maybe this was a sign that he should at least know what it’s like to be with you, this way, any way.

Peter tries to make a con list in his head. A list of why he shouldn’t be thinking like this—why he shouldn’t do this.

He really tries to ignore those dark thoughts, fighting tooth and nail against his mind….but you look so pretty in that dress, the dip in the summer fabric showing just the right amount of cleavage.

And it’s like a moth to a flame because the next thing he knows his palm his cupping you. The pad of his thumb running over your nipple, his eyes flashing to yours to see if you react but there’s nothing. No signal or indication that lets him know you’re coherent.

It should stop him, but it does the opposite.

As he pulls down the top of your dress, your bra going with it. Putting your chest on full display to him. A hard swallow bobbing his throat as he stares, mouth watering. Jaw ticking in want, driving him to lean forward and wrap his lips around your nipple. To moan and suck and bite at the sensitive flesh, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he kneads your other breast with his palm. Switching back and forth between the two.

Your skin feeling so soft and delicate against his tongue.

He leaves stray kisses and saliva covered bruises along them. Doesn’t care that you’ll come too later and see them. He wants you to see them, to wonder, to think that they could be from him.

The thought of you walking around carrying marks from him making his cock throb even more; to the point of pain.

That’s why he lays you down on the couch. That’s why he pulls your dress up, why he presses his nose to your underwear and inhales, runs his tongue against the outside of them. Hooks a finger in them and pulls them to the side to reveal your pussy.

A hungry noise hitting the back of his throat when he dives into you, letting his mouth and tongue eat you out with vigor. Memorizing the way you feel against him, the way you taste, the way he groans each time he swallows you down.

When he feels your entrance clench around the tip of his tongue, he has to move back from your body, has to make sure you’re still out of it.

Smirking with the knowledge that he can still make your body come like this. That the two of you can still be connected this way, even with you in this state. Your body still gives yourself over to him. Still opens for him when he pushes his fingers inside of you, your walls quivering around them.

He could get addicted to this. To having his mouth on your pussy, to finger fucking you hard as he runs his throbbing cock against the seam of his jeans, as he makes you come without you even stirring.

And as Peter sits up, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring down at your body; open legs, thighs covered in your own wetness, underwear thrown to the side, dress pushed up and pulled down, your boobs still on display for him—how could he not fuck you?

He has to. Needs to.

Thinks he might go insane if he doesn’t. If he doesn’t live out his fantasies and finally know what you feel like. Finally fuck you instead of his fist.

So with hesitation still the farthest from his being, he makes quick work with unbutton his pants, pulling himself out and giving himself a few deft strokes before he lets the tip of his cock run through your lips. Mouth hung open at how beautiful the sound is.

A gasp torn from his lungs when he finally pushes inside of you, when your warmth finally engulfs him.

“Oh my god,” you’re so tight, so warm, so wet. He can barely stand it. Can barely catch his breath as he presses his face into your neck, trying to breathe. Trying to not come inside of you so soon. How can something feel this good?

How can something look this beautiful with his cock inside of it and it be wrong?

It can’t. It just can’t.

With his fingers digging into the couch cushion, breaths heavy and groans tumbling from them; he starts to move. Can’t restraint himself from setting a hard rhythm of his hips slapping the insides of your thighs as he fucks you. Your tits bouncing against his chest, body perfect and pliant against him.

“You feel so good, oh my–“ Peter whimpers. Presses his mouth to yours, finally kissing you after all these years. Finally pushing his tongue inside of your mouth, moaning against it, taking another part of you. Making it his. Marking you with bites left on your lower lip, and sucks on the side of your neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s chanting. As if you can hear him, as if you’ll ever know he’s fucking you. Losing complete control inside of you, your walls gripping him so deliciously he wants to scream. Wants to fill every one of your holes. To not let you leave his apartment until you’re dripping his come from all of them; until you’re stretched and raw from him going so many rounds with your comatose body. “Forgive me.” He kisses your lips, runs his tongue along yours, “I love you, I need it–couldn’t control it. It’s,” he swallows, “it’s too good.”

He wants to hold off longer. To keep fucking you until his cock is raw, but he’s coming before he knows it.

A strangled sob against your cheek as he fills you up. As he continues slow languid thrusts even after he’s spent, the sensitivity only adding to the darkness of the weight of what he just did. The squelch of his come and your wetness louder than his heavy breaths.

Once his breath finally goes back to normal, once his thrusts stop, he pushes himself up to look down at you; to see his come leaking from your pussy and staining his couch. Your chest and neck marred by him, lip having the smallest of cuts on it from how hard he bit you in his lust fueled fury.

You look just as beautiful as ever, if not more now that there’s remnants of him inside and outside of you.

He got what he needed. Finally fucked his best friend, finally showed you how much he loves you.

But…his cock is still hard, and you’re still unresponsive.

There’s no reason why he shouldn’t get his fill of you. You have two other holes that need his attention.

but there was one other person you spent a lot of time with.

peter parker.

you were basically the same age as him, both the same generation and shared the exact same humour. your friendship with peter was nothing like the ones you possessed with the other, older avengers.

your texts between each other consisted of memes and spammed word vomit. peter spilled his secrets and his fears to you while you comforted him and listened. he didn’t see you any differently despite being aware of your hidden relation to his boss, respecting you enough to never bring it up.

there were times where you’d catch him staring at you for too long or you’d accidentally touch each other and he’d linger… just a little bit. you only brushed it off that he was clingy and touch starved.

alas, peter knew sometimes you would feel embarrassed of the fact you were tony’s kid especially when tony never liked to share details about himself to his coworkers. a few of them had been told too but treated you like you weren’t the daughter of one of the most narcissistic men they knew.

another reason you got along well with everyone. so much that you had been silently promoted to aiding in missions and able to train side by side with peter and the rest of the avengers.

when sparing with peter, he’d purposefully sweep your legs out from under you, only to collect your wrist in both of his hands and slam them to the mat, his thighs locked on either side of your hips and his face unnecessarily lowered to hover over yours.

you found most of your sessions under him and while it frustrated you that he beat you every single time, you couldn’t help but notice the look on peter’s face when he did trap you to the floor.

you also noticed how as soon as he got off of you, peter was quick to end the sparring match- practically running out of the gym, his pace fast and posture hunched over. maybe peter was just weird in general?

but he couldn’t help it. seeing you under him, looking vulnerable and so damn pretty like that… his cock swelled with blood and his balls ached with the need to breed you. every. single. time.

the feeling didn’t go away, even after may had died. despite the fact peter had become a mess, you were right there, picking up the pieces that used to be him and taping them back together as best as you could.

that’s when tony had made the executive decision to take peter in. he reasoned that he was already like a father figure to the poor boy, nothing would change. tony obviously had a soft spot for him.

at least, that’s what he said to convince you. and you couldn’t turn peter away when everyone he loved was no longer in his life.

so he moved into the building, took all of his belongings and clothes with him. peter put university on hold while he figured things out. you were understanding and tony- supportive. that’s when he could see the resemblance between you two. you both cared for him. and he suggested to become apart of your family.

of course tony took it the wrong way and surprised peter by adopting him, not even telling you beforehand. you were both speechless but for different reasons.

when peter stroked his leaking dick at night, giving into his fantasies of pushing your head down and dragging his red sensitive tip across your slit and deep inside your soaked walls; he could do so freely. now? now he couldn’t.

he couldn’t have you the way he wanted. peter was definitely frustrated at the new dynamic between you and him but he found it as an excuse to freely walk into your room whenever he wanted. why not? he was your step brother now.

it creeped you out at first, how he would sometimes silently slip past your doorway and make himself at home, occasionally starting up random conversations as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.

eventually you got used to it. sometimes leaving your room to grab a snack or go to the bathroom. you could trust peter not to break anything. he was such a sweet and quiet guy.

and that’s when he would take his chance, going through your drawers and stealing little things of yours.

the sheer panties your best friend from high school had given you for your birthday. a photo of you in a revealing bikini from a trip to the beach when you used to live with your mom. one of the many bottles of body spray that littered your vanity. lotion that you used all the time. another pair of underwear that were less appealing but you wore all the time when you wanted to dress comfortably.

peter even started to lay on your bed on his stomach as soon as you left the room and grind his hips down, rubbing his jean clad bulge against the soft blanket you slept under. he’d stick his face down into your pillow and hump your mattress, veiny hands fisting any fabric he could grab and pulling it closer to his nose, smelling you while he thought of raw dogging your puffy pussy in your own bed.

just when he was on the verge of cumming in his pants, you’d always walk in and he’d feign innocence. pretending he wasn’t just dry humping your bed like a greedy rabbit. you were never the wiser.

you noticed certain things of yours started to go missing little by little until you barely had things to wear or use. you assumed it was the dryer eating your entire wardrobe so you complained to tony and he gave you his card to buy an entire new one.

he didn’t want you going alone though so he made peter go with you. you weren’t entirely thrilled since had he had been glued to your hip almost constantly as of recently but you went along with it, knowing that if you didn’t agree, tony wouldn’t let you go at all.

so when you get to the small shop on the busy corner, peter wouldn’t stop suggesting pieces for you to buy or even try on. you found that they were either way too revealing or borderline inappropriate for him to request. but he wouldn’t stop insisting, going as far as to shove a whole armful of things into you and pushing you to the changing room very eagerly.

“i’m just trying to help.” he told you before closing the door behind you once you fully stepped inside. it didn’t help that every two minutes he’d knock and ask if you had finished, that he wanted to see what they looked like on you.

you obliged, feeling a bit uncomfortable. you were exposed- not to mention in front of peter. your step brother.

you left the small room in the first thing he had shown you, a size too small t-shirt and extremely tiny booty shorts. but peter seemed to hype you up, smiling enthusiastically. his eyes held a glossed over look while his gaze slowly went down your body, taking in how your skin would stick out and show where it probably shouldn’t be.

“okay turn around.” he spoke abruptly, making your face twist into one of uncertainty. he shook his head and merely spoke down to you like you were playing dumb; “come on, i just wanna see what the back looks like.”

huffing out a sigh, you reluctantly shifted your weight and spun to show your backside.

when you did though- you swore you heard a camera clicking but when you whipped your head around to catch whoever had taken your picture without consent.. no one was there.

“peter..?” you meekly stared around, looking for the boy but he had disappeared as if in thin air. the only other people you saw were two employees reorganizing hangers across the wall.

your stomach twisted and you shrunk back into the changing room, not bothering to try the other pieces on and put your own clothes back on, feeling anxious that someone was watching you.

as soon as you went to open the door, peter was standing right in front of the entrance- making you jump and drop the large pile of things you were holding.

“woah, sis. calm down. it’s just me.” he laughed it off, giving you that boyish smile, peter’s eyes never leaving yours. you felt your face flush and apologized- pushing past him to put the exposing clothes back on the racks where he had gotten them from.

ever since then, you felt violated. you avoided peter. you started to ask FRIDAY to lock your door with an access code. you weren’t entirely sure it had been him but he was starting to freak you out even after that day.

you’d wake up multiple nights in a row, in a cold sweat, absolutely sure you could feel someone else had been inside your room besides yourself.

you’d place your hoodie down on the couch to grab a drink, coming back to find it gone.

peter would stay up for two hours after you went to bed, wanting to be certain you had fallen asleep before typing in the access code to your room- watching you put it in while he stuck to the ceiling one day.

he’d quietly shuffle in and see your phone beside your pillow and your face scrunched up while you dreamt. he’d whisper your name just to double check then crept over to your bed, hovering down to stare.

the next thing he knew, he was fucking hard- just by looking at you. that’s what you did to him and you didn’t even know it. his step sister always teasing him, purposefully taunting him with something that was forbidden for peter.

but he bottled up his frustration, struggling to push down his jeans as silently as possible. the slight sound of denim rubbing against itself was drowned out as his pants clung just below his knees. he hadn’t worn a belt for this very reason. wanted easy access while keeping you unaware of his presence.

peter bit his lip when his warm palm finally made contact with his cock, the angry tip already leaking and spilling down to weave through his fingers. “mmshit..” he choked out, careful not to be too loud when he started to stroke himself. his eyes were locked onto your sleeping face, his tongue darting out to drag across his bottom lip with desire. desire for you.

since he couldn’t have you, this was the best he could do, flicking his wrist to increase the speed that his hand jerked his dick, his cheeks wearing a dark flush the faster he went.

“yeah.. wanna breed my lil’sis.. make you mine, baby..” peter muttered, leaning forward so that his cock was right beside the pillow, the back of his hand almost ghosting your nose every time he moved up the entirety of his throbbing length.

he had only touched himself above you one other time but every single night since he saw how your ass looked in those small shorts- he couldn’t help but visit you while you were unconscious, whispering about how badly he wanted to feel your pretty cunt wrapped around his dick, about how good he bets you taste. but he was growing restless, as he confided in your passed out form- he needed more.

which lead to two nights ago. peter couldn’t help but jack off while sitting at the chair in front of your desk in the corner, listening to your soft breaths, one your previously used panties stuffed into his mouth to keep himself quiet - forcing peter to spurt cum all over his hand and bare thighs.

tonight was no different but he was feeling bolder, the aggressive animalistic demand his mind screamed at him to paint your face and mark you as his. to see how hot you looked while his warm sticky seed dripped down your lips and chin and onto your sheets, ruining them. ruining you.

a low groan rumbled in his chest when you shifted, your face now just under his slapping balls. peter almost came at the sight of your unconscious submission, your eyes fluttering and your lips just barely parted. ready to swallow the load he could feel about to explode from his swollen cock head.

his other hand not gripping his dick, shot out to claw at your head board to steady himself from falling on top of you, his body tingling with pure heat. he could barely stand, his knees buckling and the strong muscles in his pale thighs rippling with the effort to maintain his stance.

he was sure he could last another few minutes but when you moved your arms under your blanket, the sudden action pulled it down, revealing the loose tank top you had chosen to wear to bed.

peter’s eyes flitted down to your tits, and upon noticing you hadn’t worn a bra, your nipples stiff and pressing into the fabric- he let out a loud moan, massive ropes of white cum pouring out of his cock.

a few spurts hit your bare collarbones, your chest, the soft blanket draped over you and of course your pretty face. he watched as the thick goo caught on the tip of your nose and bottom lip- gravity causing it to run inside your mouth and down your cheeks onto the pillow.

“fuuuck.” peter cursed at the sight of his cum soaked step sister, all laid out for him.

when you felt something hot splatter your skin you flinched. it had made you stir. blinking your messy eyelids, trying to get whatever it was out of your eyes- you were fully awakened when you heard that familiar click of a camera.

rising your hand up to drag your numb fingers across your face, whatever was on it stuck to your digits and webbed between them. then you noticed it was also in your mouth so you leaned forward and let it drizzle out past your lips and land on your sheets. then you saw movement in the darkness and your unfocused gaze lifted to just barely be able to make out what it was. or who it was.

your body ran cold- you were first met with a cock that was still strikingly hard, leaking and pointing right at you, followed by hair framing the base of the shaft, accompanied by a small trail of the same hair up to below his bellybutton.. peter’s face above it all.

he lowered his phone with clouded eyes, panting heavily and cheeks flushed. his eyes on you.

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose only tell is the way the black of his pupils consume the white, a visual signal that pure instinct has taken over. that, and his uncanny silence.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who stalks you in the dead of night, often watching you sleep after he gets done with patrol. who sits in the corner of your bedroom, nestled in the dark crook of the goddamn ceiling, lying in wait.

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose every sense is focused solely on you. the way the scent of your shampoo and fabric softener intoxicates him, or how your voice would make his bones vibrate. the way he could hear the blood rushing under your fucking skin.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who often shows up unannounced and with zero hesitation to interrupt whatever you were doing before. who doesn't say a word as he bends you over the nearest surface, literally tearing the bottoms clean off your body.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to leave marks on you, a physical reminder that he had claimed you. that you were his.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who fucks you hard despite your cries and pleas for him to stop, who goes harder with the insatiable need to be inside of you. he can't stop once he starts, instinct consuming his every action as he feels the way your warm walls tremor around his painfully swollen cock.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who finally speaks, and it's even more of a shock than the unsettling silence he met you with before. who growls in your ear, telling you of what a fucking slut you are, jesus. praising you for how well you take him, because fuck you're s'perfect, baby. made for me to fuck whenever i want. nothing but a fucking toy for me to take my frustration out on.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to come inside of you over and over and over again, leaving you fucked out on the bed as he steps back to relish in the sight of you oozing his release. he loves watch as your quivering muscles push him out, proud to have claimed you inside and out with his fucking webbing.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who uses his organic webbing to his advantage, pinning your limbs down and gagging you. who traps your arms above your head until you've lost all feeling and your fingers have turned white. who fucking loves to use his webs as a plug to keep his come inside of you, especially after he's fucked you in the dead of night while you were asleep. who gets a kick out of knowing you'll wake up and have to feel what he did to you. what he left behind for you.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to see you cry, even if the sight of your tears pulls a bit more of peter parker to the front. whose blackened eyes retract a bit, showing a glimpse of white - a flash of remorse - as he holds you and fucks you harder.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who hears your cries, and whose dirty talk devolves from a rasped god, such a pretty fucking crier. so desperate for my cock, you're fucking crying for it, to soft apologies, incessant pleas of i'm sorry, i'm s'sorry baby, don't cry. i'm sorry, i can't stop. you know i can't stop. it'll be over soon, you're doing s'good.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who follows you through the city as you walk home from work or the library at night, swinging through the streets and tracking your every movement. who hunts you down and strategically times his stride to pull you down a dark alleyway where he webs your mouth shut to keep you quiet and has his way with you.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who sometimes likes to leave the mask on. just the mask.

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose same primal need to fuck you is matched with the innate drive to take care of you after he's violated you. who takes his time cleaning you up and redressing you, making sure you properly rehydrate and don't push yourself the rest of the day.

the lock clicked.

a grocery bag hung from peter’s wrist as he nudged the apartment door open with his shoulder, already bracing himself for the familiar creak of old hinges and the hum of overworked computers.

“you’re kidding.”

his apartment wasn’t empty, he wasn’t alone.

you sat comfortably in his chair, one boot hooked beneath the desk as it lazily spun from side to side. an energy drink rested in one hand while the other danced across his keyboard with practiced confidence. the glow of three monitors reflected in your eyes as lines of code scrolled faster than most people could read.

you didn’t even look at him. “you should really replace your front door.”

“you broke into my apartment.” peter slowly lowered the grocery bag.

“i picked the lock.”

“that’s still breaking in.”

“it sounds more impressive when you say it your way.”

he just stared. his apartment wasn’t much to look at, and he sort of hoped you didn't mind a cramped basement tucked beneath a crumbling brick building where the pipes rattled whenever someone upstairs flushed a toilet, exposed wiring hugged the ceiling, boxes of spare parts were stacked against one wall, and every flat surface had somehow become storage for unfinished prototypes and dismantled gadgets.

but he was amused you looked completely at home. “you left your wi-fi password written under the router.”

“uh, no, i didn’t.”

you pointed toward the underside of the shelf without looking.

“‘mayparker&tonystark99.’”

peter visibly deflated.

“i’m changing that.”

“you should.” finally, you glanced over your shoulder. “after you change the lock.”

his gaze drifted to the monitors. “you touched my computer.”

“i improved your computer.”

“i spent six months building that system.”

“and i spent six minutes finding seventeen vulnerabilities.”

“what…? seventeen?”

“eighteen.” you tapped another key.

“there. eighteen.”

peter blinked. “how?”

“i have siblings.”

“…that’s not an explanation.”

“it is if you’ve met jean.”

he sighed. “fair.” curiosity eventually won over whatever annoyance he was trying to hold onto. he stepped closer, setting the grocery bag on the workbench before leaning over your shoulder. “what are you doing?”

you took another sip of your drink before gesturing toward one of the monitors.

“i’m trying to understand why someone smart enough to engineer synthetic web fluid thought suppressing his own dna was a good idea.”

peter’s expression immediately hardened. “you looked at the inhibitor.”

“i reverse-engineered it.”

“you reverse-engineered it?”

“i got bored.”

“you got bored in my apartment.”

“it has terrible lighting.”

he rubbed a hand over his face. “you know, most people start with ‘thanks for letting me in.’”

“you didn’t.”

“i wasn’t given the option.”

“no, you weren’t.”

a schematic of the inhibitor rotated across the center monitor which made you frown, “this algorithm is compensating instead of regulating.”

peter folded his arms. “explain…?”

“you built a device that constantly fights your mutation.”

“it keeps it under control.”

“it keeps it suppressed.”

“same thing.”

“no.” you swiveled toward him. “control means understanding something well enough to work with it. suppression means pretending it doesn’t exist until it inevitably pushes back.”

you reached for the keyboard again. “if your arachnid physiology is part of your genetic baseline, forcing your body to overwrite it every second is biologically inefficient.” your fingers flew across the keys, watching as windows opened, graphs shifted, and simulation models recalculated.

“you’ve created a feedback loop.”

he leaned closer. “what feedback loop?”

“your inhibitor monitors arachnid activity.”

“right.”

“it detects a spike.”

“yeah.”

“so it suppresses it.”

“well… yeah.”

you looked at him like he was proving your point. “and what does every living organism do when you suppress a natural response?”

peter’s brow furrowed. “it…”

“…compensates,” you finished. “your body’s constantly trying to restore what you’re artificially pushing down. you’re wasting energy fighting yourself.”

he stared at the screen with squinted eyes, then at you, and back at the screen. “i never modeled it that way.”

“i noticed.”

“you noticed?”

“you labeled three variables wrong.”

“i absolutely did not.”

you silently turned one of the monitors toward him, where his own equations stared back at him and a single coefficient highlighted in red.

peter almost winced. “…that’s…”

“wrong.”

“…huh.”

you couldn’t help the small, smug smile that appeared, “i was wondering how long it’d take.”

“you’ve been waiting for me to notice?”

“i wanted to see if you’d argue first.”

“i really hate that you’re right.”

“i know.”

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he watched you effortlessly navigate software he’d spent years developing. “you know what’s bothering me?”

“hm?”

“you walked into my apartment…”

“picked the lock.”

“…picked the lock, insulted my security, hacked my computer, dismantled one of my biggest projects,”

“mhm.”

“and somehow you’ve convinced me to let you keep going.”

only then did you finally swivel the chair to face him completely, balancing the energy drink on one knee. “you could stop me.”

“i really couldn’t.” peter looked from you, to the monitors, to the corrected equations still rendering across the screens.

a satisfied grin spread across your face. “that’s what i thought.” you rose from the chair, the worn casters scraping softly against the concrete floor. the apartment suddenly felt smaller than it had moments ago. peter remained where he stood, one hand still resting against the edge of the desk, watching as you closed the distance between you.

neither of you spoke and the only sound came from the quiet whir of overworked computer fans and the rain tapping against the basement window.

you stopped just in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of citrus from the energy drink mixed with cold air from outside. close enough that you could make out the barely-healed scratches along his jaw, the exhaustion hidden behind eyes that had spent far too many nights without sleep.

peter didn’t move, and he knew he should’ve asked what you were doing, but instead, he found himself watching your gaze linger on his for a long moment before drifting behind his neck.

“you know,” you murmured, “for someone who’s supposed to be a genius…” a teasing smile tugged at your lips. “you make some incredibly questionable decisions.”

his brow lifted when your hand rose between you.

peter’s breath caught, not from fear, but from the certainty in your movements. your fingers brushed lightly against the nape of his neck, searching until they found the small device hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie.

the contact lasted only a second.

a soft click echoed through the apartment and you held the inhibitor between two fingers, examining it with quiet amusement before flicking it aside. it landed somewhere beneath his workbench with an insignificant clatter.

peter’s eyes instinctively followed the sound.

when he looked back, you were still standing there, impossibly close.

you held his gaze without hesitation, the confidence in your expression never wavering. then, barely above a whisper, you said,

“let loose, spiderman.”

peter staggered. his hand shot to the edge of the workbench, knuckles whitening against the metal as his breathing caught in his throat. every sound inside the apartment seemed to sharpen at once, the hum of the computer fans, rain striking the basement window, water rattling through ancient pipes somewhere overhead. even your heartbeat became impossible to ignore.

“peter.”

he squeezed his eyes shut. “don’t.” the word came through gritted teeth.

when he looked up again, the familiar warmth in his eyes had vanished, swallowed by an endless black that stretched from iris to sclera.

your expression never changed, instead, you studied him with the same quiet curiosity you’d shown his equations only moments earlier.

“so that’s what it looks like up close.”

he let out a humorless laugh. “you think this is funny?”

“i think you’re scared.”

his jaw tightened. “i’m angry.”

“no.” you took one measured step toward him. “you’re overwhelmed and you’re mistaking that for anger.”

his pulse hammered in his ears as every instinct screamed at him to leave. to put distance between himself and the one person who insisted on dismantling every wall he’d spent years building.

“you don’t know what this feels like.”

“i don’t.”

you stopped only when you stood within arm’s reach. “but i know what it looks like.”

his breathing remained uneven while your gaze never left those pitch-black eyes.

“they’re beautiful.”

peter’s composure cracked. in one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, one hand catching your wrist as the other braced itself against the wall beside your head. his breathing was ragged, his face inches from yours, every muscle taut as though he were fighting himself more than he was fighting you.

“you really don’t know when to stop.”

your lips curved into the faintest smile. “i told you.” you held his gaze without flinching.

“i usually stop only when i’m wrong.”

neither of you moved, then peter kissed you.

not carefully. it was months of restraint colliding with relief, frustration, fear, and something he’d buried for far too long. the kiss was firm, almost desperate in its urgency, before the realization of what he’d done cut through the haze.

when he pulled back abruptly, his breathing was still uneven.

“…i…”

the anger had already begun to fade, replaced by guilt.

“i’m sorry.”

you looked at him for a long moment before reaching up and resting your hand lightly against his cheek.

“i know.” your thumb brushed his jaw. “because you stopped.”

a quiet exhale escaped him which made you smile, just enough to soften the tension between you. “see?”

he frowned. “see what?”

“you were never losing yourself.” your fingers slipped into his hand.

“you were just afraid you would.”

peter lingered only inches away, his breathing still uneven. the black in his eyes hadn’t faded, but neither had the restraint he’d fought so hard to regain.

“you’re insufferable.”

“oh, i know.” a smug smile tugged at your lips.

his jaw tightened, because both of you knew you should’ve stepped away. but you held his gaze, unwavering, studying those inhuman eyes with the same curiosity that had driven you to tear the inhibitor from his neck in the first place. there was no fear in your expression. no hesitation, only quiet defiance.

the silence stretched.

peter searched your face for the slightest crack in your confidence. what frustrated him was that he found none. a dry laugh escaped him, almost disbelieving.

“you never back down.”

“neither do you.”

another beat passed, then he reached for you again. this time there was no anger behind the movement, only the stubborn refusal to let you have the last word. his hand settled lightly against your jaw, tilting your face toward his before he kissed you again.

you met him without hesitation. the endless arguments, the chase, and every reason the two of you had for standing on opposite sides disappeared into the quiet of the apartment.

when the kiss broke, neither of you moved very far.

but you looked up at him with the faintest smirk. “feel better?”

peter exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head once.

“you talk too much.”

“so i’ve been told.”

before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, cutting off whatever remark had been waiting on your tongue.

fuck. you cursed in your head.

feeling your back crashing onto the rumpled sheets in a heated scramble with peter, your breasts heaving against his chest as your lips moved together in a fierce, reluctant kiss, tongues battling with the same intensity as the first jabs and blows from each other a week ago.

your defiance cracked into a gasp when he deepened it, hands roaming your curves with ruthless intent, arousal thickening between the two of you.

he broke the kiss just enough to growl, “i told you i’d web and fuck the life out of you,” before shoving you down as silken webs coiled around your wrists like living handcuffs, binding your arms above your head to the headboard.

“don’t stop me,” peter loomed over you, his cock straining hard against his sweatpants as he tore at your clothes, exposing the slick heat of your pussy and the taut peaks of your breasts.

“wet already?”

with a lazy smirk, he began pressing between your thighs, grinding the thick head of his cock along your folds in deliberate, rough strokes that made your hips buck involuntarily, and the webs tightened around your wrists with every shift.

his eyes drinking in the sight of you in a reluctant ecstasy, the air thick with the scent of your mingled arousal and the promise of deeper violation. “warnings for a whore like you shouldn’t be given.”

tension coiled tighter in the space between the two of you as his body poised to thrust inside,

your defiant glare melting into desperate need without any release yet in sight, “peter, please.”

and he doesn't hesitate, he never does, driving his hips forward with brutal force to bury his thick cock fully inside your slick, clenching pussy in one deep thrust that stretched your walls and drew a ragged moan from your throat.

“f-fuck!”

you met his gaze with a slight nod, the webs coiled tighter around your bound wrists like a deliberate tie to the headboard, your body yielding beneath his while your defiance melted into hungry acceptance.

raw desire surged higher with every relentless stroke, his cock hitting the perfect spots deep within you that made your pussy spasm and flood with arousal, breasts jiggling against his chest as he lost all restraint, hips snapping wildly while you writhed and gasped in evident enjoyment, “you like that, baby?”

“mhmm..”

“fucking slut.”

he took note of your cheeks that were flushed with ecstasy, and how you repeatedly clenched around him each thrust. he swore he almost came after the first clench.

“you can come in me,” you panted, granting consent in a breathless rush, legs locking around him to pull him deeper as he pounded without mercy.

“yeah?”

shliiick, shliiick, shliiick

the wet sounds of him ramming himself into your pussy alongside your skins slapping echoed through his apartment amid the heavy scent of sweat and sex.

“come with me.”

“...god– shit!”

“peter’s my name, baby.”

his black eyes drank in every detail of you unraveling beneath him, observing the way your inner muscles milked his cock as your moans grew frantic, pushing him over the edge as his balls tightened and released roared through his veins.

“come.”

the hot pulse of his cum began to erupt inside the same time you felt yourself come hard, eliciting a loud moan from you as you mindlessly tugged at the webs that kept you bound to the headboard.

shortly, the apartment settled back into silence as rain tapped softly against the basement window, the steady rhythm filling the space between the hum of peter’s computers and the uneven sound of two people remembering how to breathe.

he stayed still for a moment, the darkness in his eyes began to recede.

slowly, almost imperceptibly, the endless black gave way to the familiar brown until there was nothing in them but exhaustion. his gaze dropped to your wrists.

the strands of webbing still held them loosely against the headboard, forgotten in the chaos of everything that had happened, and guilt crossed his face almost instantly.

“i’m sorry.”

his voice was quieter now— uncertain, almost hesitant. with a careful touch, he reached up and peeled the webbing away. the strands dissolved beneath his fingertips, breaking apart until your hands were free again.

he gently took one of your wrists, turning it over to make sure the webbing hadn’t left any marks, watching you flex your fingers before slapping his hand away which caused peter to roll his eyes after, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the ghost of a smile.

with a weary exhale, he shifted away just enough to give you space, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair before dropping back against the mattress. the tension that had filled the apartment earlier had settled into something quieter while peter reached for the blanket pooled near the foot of the bed and pulled it over both of you without ceremony.

“you know,” he said, staring up at the stained ceiling, “breaking into someone’s apartment is generally considered rude.”

you turned your head toward him. “and yet you still haven’t asked me to leave.”

“i’ve considered it.”

“liar.”

“…maybe.”

“is my pussy that good?” a satisfied smile crossed your face. “you know i could use another round with proper foreplay.”

he glanced sideways at you. “was it too fast?”

“i just felt like that should be considered an improper sex because you didn’t do foreplay. you just went straight into fucking me!”

“my bad, remind me to do it next time.”

“no next times, dipshit. do it now.”

peter let out a tired laugh, shaking his head.

“a spider has to rest before he takes a request.”

“oh, wow.”