🍰SUMMARY: It’s a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake !! — You thought a birthday cake would be the perfect gift for your boyfriend, only to find out there’s something else he’s been craving.
ⓘ CONTENT WARNINGS: peter parker is not okay, wrong use of spider webs, slight horror (I tried) fem!reader, unprotected sex, aunt may is dead but tony is alive just for this fic dub con, altered mental state, spider dna posession. MINORS DNI.
You’d woken up at exactly six in the morning, your eyes drifting to Peter beside you. He was still lying next to you, breathing softly, his chest rising and falling. It gave you just enough time to run to the store for the ingredients you’d need for his cake. Today was his birthday. Ever since Aunt May died, he hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate, but this year you’d insisted, and he’d agreed—reluctantly, but he’d agreed.
So when you hurried back to Peter’s apartment, you found it strangely empty. He’d been asleep beside you only moments ago, his breathing soft and steady, so the absence of him unsettled you. You couldn’t have been gone that long. Your gaze swept across the vacant room before settling on a small note left behind.
‘Got an urgent call, I’ll be back as soon as I can, love you. -P.’
You couldn’t stay upset—not when he’d left a note, and not when his absence gave you the perfect chance to turn the birthday cake into a surprise. Peter loved your baking; he’d made that abundantly clear the first time you’d made him a batch of gooey brownies. Afterward, he couldn’t stop asking for them. Whenever you were preparing a savoury dinner, his arms would slide around your waist, his head nestling into the curve of your neck as he whined in your ear.
“Can you bake me something sweet instead?” was what he always asked when he grew mopey like that. It wasn’t that you disliked baking for him—you loved it nearly as much as he loved eating it—but baking took time, and you had precious little of it since starting that shitty office job. Besides, you’d always been more of a savoury person yourself.
You unpack the groceries, setting the ingredients beside the baking pans and arranging everything else you’ll need within easy reach.
Today is going to be a good day. It has to be—for Peter. You admire that he would still rush off to save the world, even on his birthday, even when the day is supposed to belong to him. It’s one of the things you love most about him, and one of the things you hate: the way he can be so completely, maddeningly selfless.
Of course, you love watching him on the screen as the news reports yet another brave solo rescue. But sometimes, it upsets you how much he puts the world before himself. You do have a selfish little side, and you tell yourself it’s healthy to admit that.
Your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. You slid the cake into the oven, then, once it had baked and cooled, tucked it into the fridge for a couple of hours to set. When you finally began decorating, you wavered between colours and designs before settling on the white and red theme you’d originally planned..
Peter hadn’t been back, you’d called him, twenty unanswered calls, so you’d called Tony, who of course didn’t pick up, classic, Steve — with a I haven’t seen him all day.
Your thoughts race in frantic circles. Peter wouldn’t disappear somewhere to cheat on you—that wasn’t who he was. Was it?
So then why hasn’t he picked up, why had he left the vaguest note on his own special day with no sign nor sight of him the entire day?
At some point, you arrive at the conclusion that Peter is avoiding his own birthday altogether. It wouldn’t surprise you; he’s made it clear, time and again, that celebrating is the last thing he looks forward to.
Yet you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he’d told you straight up. You drag your feet back to the kitchen, slice a piece of cake, and begin eating it on your own.
By twelve worries creeped in again, your eyes softly shutting as you twist and turn on the bed.
It was no longer Peter’s birthday and time had passed with no sign of him, you begin to think back to all his previous birthdays, Peter did have a tendency of avoiding it, but you assumed it was because of Aunt May and everything else that’d been going on in his life, but then you think more and more, every year, something ‘urgent’ came up.
Peter Parker is definitely cheating on you.
You can’t keep ignoring it. It’s the only conclusion your spiraling mind can reach: Peter is cheating on you, slipping away to spend his birthday with the secret lover your fear has conjured from nothing.
“Fuck this.” You mutter out as your bare feet hit the cold floor, making your way to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Why would Peter cheat on you? Not to fill your own head but you weren’t exactly the worst person to be dating.
A small sigh escaped your lips as water gathered along your jaw and fell into the sink. You lifted your head to study your reflection, trying to quiet the frantic thoughts clawing through your mind. Instead, the mirror revealed a figure standing in the bathroom doorway behind you. Your heart seemed to drop straight through the floor. The soft breath caught in your throat and burst into a scream so sharp and loud you were certain it had roused the entire building. You spun around, one hand flying to your chest, but the figure remained motionless in the darkness.
Only when your vision unblurs do you stop screaming.
Your heart still threatening to fall out of your body through whatever hole it sees fit.
“Oh, my fucking— Jesus, Peter.” You go up to clench your chest with your left hand. “You scared the crap out of me, what the hell are you doing just standing there?”
Peter doesn’t respond, the hallway is too dark to mask out what sort of face he’s making. And for some reason all your instincts are telling you to run, but why would you run away from your own boyfriend?
Is what you ask yourself.
Yet your heart won’t ease, and your arm hairs are rising.
“Peter… baby? Are you okay?”
Why isn’t he responding? And why are you so scared right now?
You’re not sure whether to feel relieved when he takes a step toward you. The uncertainty barely lasts a second before worry claims it, tightening around your heart. Your gaze rises to meet the eyes that should have been brown, only to find two bottomless pools of black staring back at you.
Red stains spatter his lips, stark against the pallor of his face. You can’t miss the restless twitch of his fingers at his sides, flexing and curling as though they’re straining for something to touch.
Your gaze drifts slowly back to his face, catching on the pale smear at the corner of his mouth. You tell yourself it’s white frosting—the same kind you’d used on his cake.
For the sake of trying to be normal and act like nothing was wrong, you sputter out the only question you can think of.
“Sweet.” His voice comes out low, his eyes still haven’t peeled from you, and you seriously cannot believe this is happening. Peter is being extremely weird right now, and indeed really creepy.
“Peter if this is like a prank I don’t like it, you’re creeping me out.” You match his tone of voice, only difference is yours doesn’t sound as precise or as confident.
Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. “Peter, I don’t understand, what you want— you’re really creeping me out okay? I’m… I think I’ll call Steve.”
You watch him pause, and as a result so do you. It sadly starts dawning on you that this isn’t some form of twisted joke that Peter might be pulling.
It’s his turn to narrow his eyebrows, his are infuriated, you can tell by the tight knit in between them. “What.”
The saliva in your throat bobbing down as you watch Peter take another step forward.
“… I want to, go to bed if that’s okay? Let’s talk in the morning, okay?”
You couldn’t stop yourself from looking away, your heart is practically threatening to vomit itself out of your mouth. Desperately hating the idea that this was real life.
Peter has never acted like this.
You inhale before reluctantly stepping forward. Muttering a small excuse me. He doesn’t move, “Peter please, I’m tired I want to sleep.”
“I don’t know what you want, and you’re seriously scaring me, Peter.” You finally build up courage to push him back, unfortunately your strength against his doesn’t do much. You can’t help but wonder how long this is going to go on for, it’s not like he’s harming you, but he’s seriously scaring the shit out of you.
“What Peter! What do you want, what more do you want from me!”
His hand tightens around your wrist, pulling you closer, and you can’t help but notice the stench of blood. Before you can fully process it, he drags you toward the bedroom and shoves you onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and your eyes widen at the sudden aggression as you attempt to move away from him. Yet Peter’s webs trap your wrists together.
He looms over you, and something warm and wet spatters your cheek. It takes a heartbeat to understand blood is slipping from his lips, trailing down his chin before falling onto your face.
You struggled, your wrists straining against the adhesive bonds, but the webs only tightened, pinning you flat on your back.
"P-Peter! Please! What's happening to you?!" you sobbed, your voice trembling and high-pitched.
He didn’t answer. He lunged, his weight driving you into the mattress. His teeth tore into the side of your neck with a savage snap, ripping through skin as you shrieked, terror ripping raw from your throat. Warm blood spread beneath your collar. He didn’t pull away. He lingered at the wound, drawing from it with a wet, hungry sound, his tongue sweeping over the copper on your skin before he crushed his bloodied mouth against yours.
The kiss was a collision. He forced his tongue deep into your throat, tasting of your own blood and a raw, starving hunger. You whimpered, your body shaking, your hands clawing uselessly at the webbing holding you down.
"Stop... please, just stop! Peter!" you wailed, your voice breaking into a stutter.
He ignored your pleas, driven by a predatory instinct. He fired more webs, the sticky white strands wrapping tightly around your thighs and yanking them wide apart, anchoring your legs to the corners of the bed. You were completely exposed, your pussy bared and vulnerable to his manic gaze.
Peter dropped his head between your legs, his blacked-out eyes locked onto yours. He dove in, his tongue lashing out in long, wet strokes that coated your clit in thick saliva.
"Ah! Oh god... P-Peter!" you cried out, your head tossing back against the pillows.
While his tongue continued to hammer against your nub, he clamped his teeth down on your clit, biting hard. You shrieked, a mixture of pain and an electric jolt of pleasure shooting through your spine. He ground his teeth against the sensitive flesh, drawing a bead of blood that he immediately licked away with a loud, wet slurp.
"Please... I can't... it's too much! Stop biting me!" you begged, your voice a fragmented mess of moans and sobs.
He went back to eating you with a feral intensity, his tongue swirling and stabbing into your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth and pulling hard. He treated you like prey, his breathing heavy and ragged, the sound of his wet tongue slapping against your folds filling the bedroom.
He stood up abruptly, his cock rock hard and leaking pre-cum, throbbing with a violent pulse. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like claws, leaving deep bruises. With one brutal, animalistic thrust, he slammed his cock deep into your pussy.
"Fuck!" you screamed, your body arching violently. He bottomed out in one go, stretching you to the absolute limit. “Ngh—… peterrr n-yes! Fuck!”
He began to fuck you with a raw, primal speed, his hips slamming into yours with a wet, meaty thud. He hammered into you, his cock hitting your cervix with every single strike.
"P-please! Slow down! You're... you're hurting me!" you sobbed, your voice breaking. "P-Peter, please... stop... ah! Ahhh!"
He let out a guttural roar, his teeth sinking into your collarbone again, drawing more blood as he accelerated. He fucked you like he wanted to break you, his movements fast and erratic. The sound of your pussy being pummelled was loud and disgusting, a squelching noise that echoed in the room.
He reached down, firing a strand of web directly onto your clit, the sticky substance vibrating with every thrust, adding a friction that pushed you toward a jagged, painful peak. He leaned in, his blood-stained lips brushing your ear.
"Mine," he growled, the word sounding more like a beast than a man.
He gripped your throat, squeezing just enough to let you know he owned you. He increased the pace, his cock blurring as he rammed himself into you. You were crying now, genuine tears streaming down your face, but your pussy clamped around him in tight, desperate spasms.
"I... I'm... oh god, I'm coming! Peter! P-Please!" you wailed, your voice peaking in a high-pitched scream as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.
He pushed through your climax, his own release hitting him with the force of a landslide. He let out a final, animalistic howl, his body stiffening as he blasted hot, thick loads of cum deep into your womb. He kept slamming into you even as he finished, forcing every last drop of seed inside you, his teeth locked onto your skin.
Peter lifts his head toward you, his blood-streaked mouth pressing against your cheeks as his tongue gathers the tears spilling down your face. "so sweet."
ⓘ KITTENLITTER 𑄝੭ : warning this writer is a weirdo, and quite frankly a really strange person , this will reflect a lot in their fics. All the fics you see here belong to me, yay.
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