tina𑣲🕷️࿔!!

Once your body sunk into your bed, there was no getting out of it. It took you about two minutes of scrolling on your phone when the urge to touch yourself came in.

You wasted no time to take out your vibrator to do the job for the night so you could knock out fast.

You moved to the far right corner of the bed by the wall and got comfortable laying against a big pillow before bringing the vibrator down.

It turned on with a simple click and was in a lowish setting so you just placed it over your panties, slowly moving it up and down.

You sighed and moved it up, leaving it on your clit and the sensation instantly made you moan.

You upped the setting and the vibrations were a bit faster. It was just the thing you needed, obvious by the way your body was reacting to it already,

Your panties also getting soaked was a big sign.

You pressed it down a little, teasing your clothed entrance and you couldn’t help but let out another moan.

Usually you wouldn’t make a peep but you were a corner apartment and you noticed that your next door neighbor was usually never home.

So you figured you’d just let all your noises out because the odds of him being home were low.

You upped the vibrator once again and moved your panties to the side. At the first contact of the toy on your bare cunt, you whimpered.

Your legs almost clasped together, wanting to trap the toy there because it felt too good but you stopped yourself.

Instead you moved your hips back and forth, attempting to ride it. You closed your eyes and imagine you weren’t there by yourself but someone was doing this to you.

On the other side of the wall was a Peter who just slipped into his place to get some shut eye because he’s been awake too many hours.

At least that was until he got right into bed and he heard something through the wall.

And with his heightened hearing it was practically crystal clear.

His eyes grew wide and he gulped, moving to the top left corner of his bed and sure enough the moans were yours.

He kinda froze, staying in place and listening. He felt like a perv but in his defense, it was right by his bed.

That wasn’t his fault.

Nor would he blame you for doing this..

This was probably the most action he’s gotten in years which was beyond sad because it wasn’t even anything.

Yet he couldn’t help how hard he got.

It was starting to become painful against his boxers so he quickly took it off.

Normally he’d take it slow and be patient but right now with how loud and needy you sounded, there wasn’t time for that.

He quietly made himself comfortable before spitting on it then stroking it.

He kept his mouth shut, focusing on your moans and imagining you in your bed.

You were fairly attractive and sure he’s checked you out before, the few times he’s come across you but your moans alone made you ten times better.

He could hear the buzz of your vibrator and it painted an even prettier picture of you, probably with your legs wide and the toy between your legs.

He stroked himself faster, trying to guess how close you were based off your noises.

You let out a whimper and his cock twitched in his hand. He bit his lip hard, really not wanting to give himself away and he did a decent job.

Until you upped the setting even higher and you were letting cries out.

You let out a loud “fuck” and a louder groan slipped from his lips. You thought you imagined it, a groan followed by yours didn’t sound right.

Another moan came out of you and you quickly kept quiet to listen and sure enough there was a moan from the other side of the wall.

Your eyes widen and your face got hot, first in embarrassment that Peter had caught you. But then your body reacted and it turned you on that he heard you and decided to join.

You took a deep breath and moved closer to the wall, your right shoulder gently on it as you continued to moan.

There was something about the fact that you can count the amount of words you’ve shared with him with a hand yet you were doing this with him.

He was a complete stranger.

A cute one at that.

With very, very nice moans.

It was easy to imagine him jerking himself off, probably as close to his wall as he can be just like you were.

You didn’t think the walls were so thin but his moans were so clear, so audible, it was like he was in the room with you.

You swapped the vibe to your left hand and reached down, wanting something inside you.

You slipped two fingers in and whimpered, instantly fucking yourself.

At this point you were beyond wet and you kinda hoped he could hear that too.

And boy could he.

He stroked himself faster and his moans matched up with yours. It sounded like you were right in his ear and he was close to sprinting over but he controlled himself.

He was so turned on he was leaking and groaning as if you two were the only two people in the building. He was already throbbing and all he could think of was how tight you’d feel.

You were so wet, it was as if he was right next to you. That combined with your moans were all music to his ears.

He made sure he moaned loud enough for you to hear as well because he had a feeling you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

You were practically bucking your hips back and forth, quickly becoming so desperate for more. Yet at the same time you were feeling yourself getting closer, that knot in your stomach forming.

You stopped fingering yourself, sticking your fingers in your mouth to have a taste while grinding on your vibrator.

Your bed slightly creaked after each movement but you were too fucked out to care and too turned on at the thought of making Peter come.

Your legs were starting to shake and your eyes were rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss — your moans coming out so much needier.

At that point you weren’t even thinking just chasing your orgasm, wanting to come so bad and to make Peter do the same.

You weren’t thinking so when you let out an accidental “Peter” he instantly came, the strings of his load shooting out as he moaned your name right back. Your orgasm quickly hit you hard just from hearing him and when your name came out, you cried out oh so desperately.

Your body had never shaken so badly and you couldn’t get yourself to be quiet, barely able to pull your toy away as you whimpered his name more times.

He moaned and made sure every drop of cum came out as he pictured the mess you must’ve made. He had never felt so dirty but deep down there was nothing more he wanted than to already do it again.

He practically was on the verge of passing out but he didn’t let himself do so until he heard you get cleaned up then go back to bed.

After that, the late-night crossings became a pattern neither of you acknowledged at first. Peter came home somewhere between one and two in the morning, and you left your friend’s place around the same time. The first few times you crossed paths, it was just tired nods from two people too exhausted, even though he could have swung in through the window every single time, and later you’d realize that some nights he deliberately chose the long way, the ‘normal’ way. One night, the elevator simply never came, and the call light stayed dark, so you both stared at it for a solid thirty seconds before Peter sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and muttered, “Stairs?”

You shrugged and said, “Guess so,” before heading into the stairwell that smelled like old paint, your footsteps echoing while his were quieter. Halfway up, you asked, “Long night?” mostly to fill the silence, and he huffed a tired almost-laugh as he answered, “You could say something like that. You?” and when you told him about your friend’s crisis involving a guy where you’d been emotional support, it earned a quiet reply, “Noble work you’re doing there.” By the time you reached the level where your paths usually split, the silence felt less heavy, and you said goodnight while he said it back, neither of you lingering, but the next time, the nods came with quiet “hey’s.”

Weeks blurred, and small talk got longer until one night you both ended up sitting on the floor across from each other in the hallway, your back against one wall and his against the other with knees drawn up. The conversation drifted from the ridiculous cost of laundry detergent to whether pineapple belonged on pizza (he was firmly for it), to the conversation that having a car in the city feels more useless than helpful, and thirty minutes passed by in a heartbeat while your eyes grew heavy and his did too, neither of you wanting to be the first to stand until he started, voice rough with exhaustion, “I should…” and you pushed yourself up with a quiet “Yeah…” He smiled softly, “Same time tomorrow, probably?” Which you couldn’t help but smile at him as you answered, “Probably.”

Peter started looking forward to those hallway hours more than he wanted to admit, because you were the first person in a long time who talked to him like he was just a guy who lived in a normal day-to-day life and came home late. It wasn’t conversations relating to his line of work or a detective, law enforcement, criminals. It was just him, Peter Parker, and that scared the hell out of him even as he told himself it was temporary and that getting close to anyone again was a risk he couldn’t take, enemies having long memories and people he cared about tending to end up hurt or worse. The spell already having taken so much that the idea of letting someone new in only to lose them felt like asking for another kind of erasure. Still, the conversations between you two kept happening, and you never questioned why you always talked in the hall instead of inviting you in; one night he apologized for it anyway, some guilt in his voice, saying, “My place isn’t anything special. But it’s really important I don’t share my work stuff,” and you just nodded and answered, “Hey, I promise, it’s not something to worry about. I don’t blame you either, honestly. I also have…” you motion with your hand “..w-work stuff too. At home—Back at my home. Sort of.” You playfully lied and he could tell what you were doing, laughing endearing at the reassurance.

Then came the night someone followed you home late, footsteps behind you stopping, matching the casual rhythm of other late walkers until your spine felt a presence. You picked up speed only for them to match it, cutting through an alley you usually avoided with your heart hammering until there was a sharp thwip sound and a startled shout, and the sudden footsteps disappeared. Later, when you were still shaking a little in the hallway, Peter found you looking tired than usual, though his eyes were sharp until he took in your face, and his expression softened. He asked quietly, “You okay?” You told him in a frantic whisper so you wouldn’t wake anyone up, bringing up the random weirdo following you, hiding behind an alley, the sudden intervention, your voice still a little high with leftover adrenaline but something almost enthusiastic under it, the way people talk when they’ve just survived something and the fear is turning into a story. Peter just listened without pushing for more information, saying when you finished, “Well, I’m really glad you’re here and safe,” in a way that sounded like he really meant it rather than just the default response you usually hear from others.

The next few days, you started playfully flirting, nothing heavy, just the kind of teasing that made his ears go pink and made you feel warm all over when you went home. Somewhere in the middle of all those hours accumulated in the hallway, Peter began fantasizing about you when he was alone in that sparse apartment. He’d be sitting behind the desk covered in tech with the sewing machine nearby, wondering how he would ever get the courage to tell you he was really interested while his mind drifted to the way your voice sounded when you were teasing him or the firm way you’d look at him when he tried to brush something off. More than once, the thought of your hands on him, imagining what it would feel like if you told him what to do instead of the other way around, guiltily thinking about your thighs around his head and the way you’d probably laugh at how desperate he got, only to stop before he finished because the fantasy felt too real and too dangerous, and he was convinced it would make you run.

Then came the night he came home later than usual, moving carefully. Traditional by then, you were already in the hallway leaning against the wall on your phone when he tried to brush past with a quiet “hey,” but this was unlike him. You saw the way he held his side, the slight limp, and the way his head stayed down, so you asked, “Hey, you okay?” and he froze before forcing a cough of a laugh and answering, “Yeah, of course—of course I am. You?” only for you to push back with, “Yeah right, dude, you’re literally limping in front of me. C’mere, let me help and call someone—” “No!” The word came out sharper than he meant before softening into a plea of “Please… Don’t call anyone.” You didn’t like it, but you didn’t argue either, getting under his arm and taking some of his weight to help him the short distance to his door. The second it opened, you already felt like you saw too much of his sanctuary. The first-aid kit on the table clearly overused a hundred times, the work desk covered in tech and monitors and tools, sparse furniture, a sewing machine with red and blue fabric still under the needle, and without you realizing: bruises on his ribs already fading faster than they should have under his hoodie. He sat on the edge of the couch in pain and kept his head down, “I-I’m fine. I swear. Nothing happened, I just need to sleep it off.” You grabbed the kit without thinking nor asking before kneeling in front of him, and when he tried to brush you off, you gave him the kind of look that was slightly threatening. Dryly, you say, “You’re being stubborn is what’s happening. Look at me,” tipping his chin up with careful fingers to check for bruising on his face until his eyes really met yours for the first time that night. He looked exhausted, a little scared of what you were seeing, and he admitted in a quiet voice that something felt wrong with him, that he didn’t know what, something was just wrong.

He felt stronger some nights and angrier with his senses too heightened, and that the only time it quieted was when he was near you.

You cleaned him up while he eventually fell asleep on the couch before you finished, and you left a sticky note on the outside of his door before you left that read: Drink lots of water. Stay away from anything that can harm you. See you at the same spot as usual?

After that night, touching him seemed to make the wrongness worse when he was alone, because in fights his eyes went black around the edges while he thought about you and the way your voice sounded when you were teasing him. This thing, this feeling, made him stronger and angrier whereas when he’s around you he went soft, almost puppy-like, complimenting your hair even on the days you hadn’t done anything with it and lingering in the hallway to watch you leave. Sometimes he would talk in a voice that turned a little needy under your jokes. “N-No, please, we need to talk more about this Itadori character you’re comparing me to—!” he said one night, and you shoved his shoulder lightly while answering, “I’ve said enough because you need to watch the show. It’s peak, please Peter!” which made his laugh get louder until someone down the hall eventually opened a door and shushed you both, leaving Peter looking mortified and delighted at the same time.

Eventually he invited you in and apologized for how long it took him to bring you in, though you didn’t mind, and you never forced the truth out of him. He was too careful and too eager not to scare you off. He told you one quiet night that he didn’t really have friends or family anymore, that he’d lost them in an accident and left it at that, and you didn’t pry or pity, just treated him like a person who needed care and the kind of assertiveness that kept him grounded.

One night while you cleaned a cut on his forearm, he said in a low voice, “Whatever happens, do what you need to do to keep me calm,please? Anything…” and you kept that in the back of your mind while the fantasies continued to calm him down for now when he was alone. The memory of your hands checking his face for bruises, imagining you telling him to look at you the way you already had, calling him a good boy or worse.

The night it finally broke, he came home later than the usual time frame, the door slamming open hard enough to rattle the furniture around, and you were already inside—habit by then—and on your feet in a second as he stood there with the suit torn at the shoulder and ribs, mask and gloves gone, eyes completely black and veins standing out along his arms like he was half a second from changing shape. “Peter?!” you said, and he answered in a broken voice, “H-Help me… I don’t know… what’s… god it hurts—” so you moved closer and told him, “I’m here. Tell me what you need,” until he looked up with those black eyes locked on yours. “Shit, those are real…” you mumbled before he said, “You. I need you.” For half a second you almost laughed—contacts, costume, some stupid joke—but then his arms flexed and he nearly went to his knees and the laugh died, and you remembered what he’d said about doing anything as you got him to the couch and stood between his legs while he fisted his hands at his sides trying not to hurt you, his head aching and breathing wrong, until you slapped him hard enough that he sucked in a breath that turned into an angry growl layered with a deep and higher tone.

You slapped him again and softly fisted a hand in his curls to pull his head back as you said, “Listen. You need to come back to me right now. You hear me?” and he arched a little with his hips shifting as a broken whimper-growl overlapped itself again and he answered, “N-No… I can’t… it hurts—” so you slapped him once more, gripped his face, and leaned in close with your voice low and soft as you murmured, “Where’s my pretty boy?” Something in him twitched but the black fog in his eyes didn’t go away, angry and pent-up with hunger, while you continued to run your fingers through his curls off of his face and shushed him as he nearly snarled, trying to peel the suit off only for him to resist until you said, “C’mon, Pete. We need to take this off or you’ll overheat—” and he leaned in, interrupting you with a rough, “Y-You smell so good…” only for you to lean back and answer firmly, “And it’s not for you.” “Says who—” he started, and you cut him off with a stern “Me” before another slap that made him laugh dark and wrong, his arms coming up to grab your waist until you stopped them.

The push-and-pull went on for a few seconds until he won, pinning you down to the couch with his body hovering over yours and your wrists trapped above your head in one of his hands as he dragged his nose from your throat to your jaw, inhaling like he was starving. The deeper, cleaner voice without the overlap murmured, “You smell like you’ve been craving me too…” while you grunted stubbornly, “No,” and he smiled against your skin before asking, “Then what’s this?” as his free hand slid under the hem of your sweatshorts and his thumb found your clit through the fabric to press slow circles that made your hips jerk and your eyes flutter and your lips part. He watched every second of it with curls falling into his face and pure lust in the back until you let him think he had you. You kissed him hard with tongues sliding against each other while he rubbed faster and the fabric under his thumb went damp. He flipped you easily so your knees were on the seat and your chest against the back of the couch with your ass poking out. His hands shoving up under your shirt to find bare skin and chuckling low when he realized no bra, then putting his mouth at your ear with his hard length pressing against your shorts as he whispered, “I want you so much it hurts. I can’t be without you…” and you pushed back against him until the sound he made was both voices again at once—deep moan and high whimper tangled.

He stood properly with his hands on your hips and began grinding against you, and when you tried to speak, he covered your mouth and slipped a finger past your lips while moaning, “I’m in charge,” before yanking your shorts and underwear down and tossing them aside, freeing his cock from the suit to stroke it once and then rub the length between your folds until you were dripping on him. He pushed the head against your entrance with his voice cracking on the words, “I’ve been craving you for so long…” as he sank himself slowly at first, sensitive and overwhelmed because this was the first real thing he’d felt in years that wasn’t his own hand or a fistfight. You felt warm and tight, perfect around him as he kept going until he was almost fully seated and you muffled a broken “you’re so big, wait Pete—” against his hand. He shifted so one hand moved from your mouth to your throat and the other arm locked one of yours back before thrusting the rest of the way in hard enough to make you cry out. He moved slowly and deep at first while watching the way your body took him and the way your ass bounced on every stroke, moaning with you as he felt already close, but you weren’t built to just take it so easily. You shoved your hips back and started rolling them, using your knees to ride him from below until his grip loosened and his eyes relaxed with soft little “mhm… mhm…” sounds that belonged to the Peter you knew, and you smiled as you arched and carefully pulled off of him while he winced, taking the second of vulnerability to turn and pull him down to sit before straddling him.

His dark eyes still present, he tried to flip you with a rough “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you for interrupting me,” but you grabbed his cock behind you, lined him up, and sank down in one smooth motion that made both of you moan. You started riding him properly while watching his hands stutter and slap his face as you said, “Who are you to tell me what to do? Hm? You listen to me,” putting a hand on the back of his head to tug it back harshly so you could whisper against his ear, “You ever try manhandling me again and I’ll tie your body up with a vibrator tied against your cock so you’re just a milking machine,” which made his ears turn slightly red and a layered moan spill out of him as he turned his head to look down at your lips.

“You think you deserve to cum after behaving like this?” you asked while lifting your hips up and down and watching his eyes closely, and Peter was almost too speechless with his mouth parted open, moaning without words coming out as you kept eye contact with each other. You lifted one knee and set your heel next to his thigh to help your bounces slam harder all the way down until he didn’t know what to grab, looking up at you full of rage and desperate need while you looked down at him grinding your hips, holding his chin forcefully up to keep eye contact as you ordered, “Eyes on me, okay?…Mhm,” and he moaned and repeated little “mhm’s…” until you praised him with “That’s right… good boy… just like that,” and that was when the black eyes started to slowly dissipate as he strayed from eye contact and looked around confused and almost in a panic, breathing growing rapid as he looked at you and around you and choked out, “Oh my god… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” while gulping and not knowing what to do.

You calmed him down and dropped to both knees again, moving your hips in a soft, steady motion while asking, “Is this… is this okay? Are you okay?” and he couldn’t even morph out a full sentence as he looked down and admitted in a small voice, “I’ve never… am I doing okay?” which made you giggle to yourself and nod before guiding him with a soft, “Just put your hands on my hips… yeah, like that… don’t be afraid to grab my ass, okay? I’ll do all the work,” leaning into his ear to speak softly while he listened and tried, “L-like this?—oh…I-Im sor..mmphh” and you moved your hips harder as he followed your orders, telling him “Just like that… yeah…” until he grunted and whimpered and moaned with sounds that came out of him like it was truly his first time, unable to help letting every filthy little noise spill free, and when he noticed and tried quieting them into soft, held-back whimpers. You licked the side of his neck and trailed it up to his bottom lip, taking it between your teeth to bite down gently and suck and tug before whispering, “I wanna hear you,” which made him nod frantically and get even more aroused at how thoroughly you took over, because he’d known you were direct and assertive but he hadn’t known the extreme until now, and all those nights alone behind the desk thinking about you and getting hard and wondering if you’d run away if he ever admitted how much he wanted this. Peter suddenly felt small compared to the reality of your wet pussy sliding hot around his cock.

He winced and moaned out for you with soft little “yes… yes… yes, Mommy” slipping out of his mouth before he could stop and notice, and when you smiled, impressed, and asked “Mommy, huh?” he flustered hard because he couldn’t admit that in his fantasies he’d already been moaning that exact word to you while touching himself, and the sight of your expression only made him throb inside you while your pussy leaked from how wet you were. Both of you were able to feel the way it dripped down his cock and onto the thigh area of the suit every time your hips met, the thought of it making you even wetter and creamier. You made hazy eye contact with him while smiling lazily and said, “My turn to do this…” before moving one hand off his shoulder to push a finger into his mouth with a demand of “Suck,” and he did so immediately, sucking on your finger while your wet pussy bounced up and down and back and forth on his cock. Peter moaned against the digit as his eyes fluttered shut and he felt himself getting close, instinctively wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you closer until your hard nipples showed through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and brushed against his broad muscular chest, looking so desperate underneath you that it only spurred you on. You pulled your fingers out and wrapped both arms around his neck while both of his arms went around your waist, pulling you tighter as he started thrusting up against you, whimpering against your shoulder while you moaned out loud against his ear, and he broke with a wrecked, “I-I’m close… I-I think I’m cumming… I think… oh my god. Mommy, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—cum!” until you managed to respond, “It’s okay, be Mommy’s good boy. Cum for me, Peter. I know you want to,” and he pulled you up and off his dick so you could rest yourself against his hip line while he came in a big, messy load that painted your back and his suit, moaning through it like he was falling apart, “Ohh… my—mmp. oh my god…” Before he could even put his hands beside his body both of his wrists shot upward on pure instinct and released webs that stuck hard to the ceiling, and embarrassed Peter’s ears went red as he stammered, “S-sorry…” which made you giggle at the sheer cuteness of it before carefully climbing off him and saying, “Come on, let’s get ourselves cleaned up.” you carefully got up and he followed you to the bathroom like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

Once the door was shut behind you and the only sound was the quiet rush of the faucet, he stood there for a second staring at the floor, then cleared his throat and said in a voice that was almost too soft, “There’s something I need to tell you…”

You glanced at him over your shoulder while the water warmed. “Hm? What is it, Peter?”

He took a breath, “I’m Spider-Man.”

You let out a short, private laugh under your breath, eyes drifting deliberately around the tiny bathroom, in a smile you respond, “No shit. I already figured that out, Peter.”

“What!—How?”

Your eyes were blurry, but even in your half-asleep state, nerves danced in your stomach. Was he asking you on a date?

You quickly tapped on his message and responded, before responding to your friend.

You: yes i’d love to! :)

You: *picture sent*

You set your phone aside, settling back into your covers. You anxiously waited for a response from both, so you opened up TikTok to occupy your brain until one of them responded.

Evelyn: uh ok?? then send the pic?

You looked at her message, confused. You clicked on it and your stomach, once fluttering, now felt sick.

You: oh my god oh my god oh my god

You: i accidentally sent the photo to peter parker

You: oh my god i’m going to fucking die

Evelyn: what?? how did u even do that bro

You: you both texted me at the same time and i was literally ab to fall asleep

Evelyn: wait he texted u? what’d he say?!

You: HE ASKED ME ON A DATE AND I RESPONDED BY SENDING HIM A PICTURE OF ME IN A BIKINI

You: NOT EVEN JUST A PICTURE ACTUALLY, TWO PICTURES. ONE WAS JUST MY ASS.

Evelyn: girl did u tell him it was an accident?

You didn’t. You immediately started panicking, you didn’t even think to message again and apologize. Before you could, you got a message from Peter. 

Peter: is that a yes? lol

Peter: i’m assuming that was an accident

Peter: but either way you look really hot

Peter: i mean pretty

Peter: beautiful. you look really beautiful. 

Peter: i’m sorry

You: no im sorry!! you and my friend texted me at the same time and i sent you both the wrong message

You: but thank you for the compliment 

You: i feel so stupid rn i’m sorry again

Peter: you send your friends pictures like that? lol

You: yes she wanted to see my new bikini :(

Peter: oh ok. i deleted them, just so you know. 

“But that’s exactly why I love whatever you make. I could devour it all. The food, the plate and most definitely the chef.”

Peter rambled on, giggling in your ear. You turned your head, shooting him a scandalized look. He feigned innocence.

“Are you playing music?” you asked, wondering where the soft beats were coming from. It filled the atmosphere with a pleasant background noise.

“It’s the least I could do for you. Didn’t like seeing you standing in the kitchen silently. So here I am, at your service.”

He mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist affectionately. Quietly watching from over your shoulder, as you threw in a handful of chopped peppers.

“At my service?” There was amusement in my voice and he nuzzled closer.

“Offering hugs, kisses and loving company. I’m even playing your list of songs. And if you want me to do anything, I ‘ll do it with no questions asked, baby.”

You smiled like an idiot, pushing back onto him. Beyond flustered at his unabashed confessions.

“I’ll do the dishes, set the movie up on the tv, pour two glasses of a fizzy drink and if you want more, I’ll give you more.”

Peter pressed a kiss on your shoulderblade. It was pleasantly calm as he swayed you to the music, still back hugging you even when you had to take a few steps to grab a glass lid to cover the dish.  

It was silent for a total of three tracks and you grew suspicious. Unusual of Peter to be so quiet. It was almost as if he was distracted.

“Peter? What’s up?”

He shook his head, his chin was no longer on you, but you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. His left hand moved up to gently fiddle with the sleeve of your oversized shirt.

You nudged him, trying to pay attention to him and the food I was desperately trying not to burn accidently.

“You’re…wearing..uhm”

“Yes? I’m wearing your shirt. I thought you noticed?”

“No. I mean, yes. I know you’re wearing my shirt but…”

His voice trailed off as he pulled the sleeve down to reveal the red lacey bralette. It was just a glimpse but his fingers danced on the strap.

“Hm?”

“You’re wearing my colours…”

He muttered, and you could practically hear him gulp. You shrugged, glancing over your shoulder to see the tips of his ears turn a deep red.

“Yes? I wanted to have your colours on my body.”

“…or did you want to have me on you.”

Peter whispered, his teeth grazed over the fabric.

"you're so pretty. i'm going to combust right here right now."

You lightly pushed him away, mumbling something about how you needed more salt. When in reality your cheeks were heating up from all his attention.

Reaching up to the topmost cabinet intentionally. So, you could reveal the bottom half of the matching set.

Peter gasped dramatically.

It was so loud, you physically jolted. Turning to look at him with fear. Instead, he was pointing at you with an outstretched arm and an expression of pure shock.

“What?! What?!” you screamed, looking around me, thinking he had seen a bug or worse a cockroach.

“You! You’re wearing…uhm. There’s lace webs on...baby!”

Peter stuttered, his voice raising in pitch. You stared at him in disbelief.

His hands found your sides, pushing the shirt up so he could shamelessly admire the intricate details of your panties. Beautiful lace webs stitched into the thin material with a cute jeweled spider at the center of the waistband.

You sighed, amused and entirely happy with his reaction. Intrigued with his soft sounds of awe and appreciation.

“You’re matching me! You’re spiderman coded!”

“Yes, Peter. I am matching my boyfriend Peter Parker, who also happens to be Spiderman.”

“My meal is served.”

“Peter Parker!”

.

.

.

hahahhahahahha i love him