no strings webs attached | (dark) arachnid!peter parker x reader
summary | you've been hooking up with peter for a few months, letting him use you and never asking for more. but after he goes through some... changes, you end up getting more after all; unfortunately, it might be more than you can handle.
word count | 5.4k
warnings | HEAVY DUBCON SMUT 18+ ONLY (starts consensual but he ignores the safeword but then she's lowkey having a good time so idk I'm on the fence with the noncon element), breeding kink, biting, overstimulation, choking, some hair pulling, possessiveness, angst!!, unrequited feelings, reader needed therapy before this but will definitely need therapy after this
does this count as brand new day spoilers? not really, it's hardly got any plot anyway but here it is, and yes I feel like a lot of people have done pretty similar things with this general premise but here's my take on it, enjoy ya filthy animals!
This thing you and Peter had, it was better left undefined. Maybe just because, no matter how you tried to define it, you always ended up looking like a slut.
You show up when he texts, he fucks you, you leave. That’s… it. No pillow talk, no dates, hardly any acknowledgement of your existence before or after; ‘fuckbuddies’ isn’t even the right word because at least they’re ostensibly ‘buddies.’
You honestly didn’t even know each other. You met once at a party, and it all followed from there. You had no relationship, you were nothing to each other… nothing with benefits. There, that’s the best effort you could make in trying to ‘define’ it, if that counts.
A lot of things went unsaid, but you knew more than you let on. For instance, whenever he blew you off or kicked you out after he made some excuse about ‘needing to work.’ You never asked about his work but you’d deduced it was something incredibly atypical— probably illegal. He said once he didn’t have time for anything ‘real’ because of it, and you decided not to be offended by the implication that you were, what, fictional? But you knew what he meant, of course. Whatever this work was, it seemed to take a toll. He’d told you not to ask about his bruises and cuts, no matter how bad they looked; they never seemed to bother him that much, actually, even when they looked… very bothersome.
Another thing you figured out was that he was in love. Not with you, obviously, Jesus— but he loved someone. Of course you had a lot less concrete evidence for that, it was just a vibe you got… but you could see it on his face sometimes, in his eyes. That heartbroken look, and more importantly the brave face trying to cover it up: you recognized it because you’d felt it a thousand times yourself. He probably assumed you weren’t a particularly emotional person considering your openness to such a cold arrangement, but who knows? Sometimes you felt like he knew more than he let on, too.
But it all was left unspoken, unaddressed, undefined. Like I said, it was better that way.
“Peter, fuck,” you choked out as he held tighter onto your hips, thrusting harder, faster, deeper all at once.
“Shh, I’m close,” he hissed; he liked you better silent when he came, but you had to bite your lip hard to try not to make too much noise. Actually, you had to grab hard onto his headboard just to keep yourself steady, your eyes rolling back far enough in your head that you could almost see how empty your brain was at that moment.
How could you think about anything right now, when he was slamming right into that spot that seemed to reset your entire system?
He was pretty quiet himself, sometimes you couldn’t even really get much of a reaction from him; though you occasionally dared to look back over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him with his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fallen shut, a loose curl sticking to his face from the thin layer of sweat on his skin…
It was only because you were trying your best to be quiet now that you could hear him, the suppressed grunt through his teeth as he finished; he thrusted just once more, sharply, before relaxing slightly with a heavy exhale through his nose.
It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face like this, or he’d probably notice how much even that little noise from him exhilarated you. Maybe he wouldn’t care, honestly.
When he pulled out, he quickly grabbed his shirt to catch the come that spilled out of you. Most of it stayed inside until you fell limply down onto the bed— then you felt it all start to leak out, comfortingly warm but annoyingly sticky.
You could’ve stood to lay there for much longer to enjoy the slight numb feeling, but you decided you’d better get to the bathroom quickly. You didn’t say anything as you ungracefully hopped up and held the shirt between your legs on your way to the toilet.
After cleaning up as best as you reasonably could in the stereotypically bare-bones bathroom of a single twenty-something guy, you cupped your hands in the sink to drink from them for a moment. Peter wasn’t necessarily cruel, moreso just neutral, but he wasn’t enough of a gentleman to consistently offer you a cup of water after.
When you emerged from the bathroom, he’d put his underwear back on but was still on the bed; this was notable since he was often already working on something when you returned, at which point he would tell you to let yourself out. But no, this time he was on the bed, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a glassy kind of look in his eyes.
You figured he would notice you and say something, but you watched him for a little while and he never did. It was kind of a nice moment, but you had to break the silence. “Tell me about her,” you requested, apparently feeling a bit more brave than usual.
He sat up slightly to look at you; it looked like it took him a moment to realize what you’d said, and he transitioned from a shocked expression to a dismissive laugh. “What?” he pretended not to know what you meant.
“Did you think I couldn’t tell?” you smiled back. “Seriously, I’m curious.”
“No,” he shook his head, laying down all the way again, “I… shouldn’t talk about that, with you.”
You shrugged a bit as you grabbed your shorts off the ground and slid them back on. (Yes, you’d skipped underwear when getting dressed, you knew why you were coming here.) “Why not?” you wondered.
A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he seemed like the answer was too obvious to verbalize, and you turned your shirt right-side-out before putting it on again. “Isn’t that, like… bad form?” he laughed, just a little.
This was the most you’d talked since you met him. It made your heartbeat speed up again, after only getting a moment of rest. “I don’t care,” you assured. “I mean— I do, I wanna know… I just mean I won’t be offended.”
He sighed a little and you thought he was just going to ignore you at first; the silence went on just a little too long to feel natural, but you let it ride. “She doesn’t know I exist,” he finally answered, speaking softly.
You smirked a bit, not sure if that was believable. “Don’t sell yourself short,” you encouraged, “I’m sure she—”
“No, literally,” he insisted. You still didn’t quite buy it but you decided to accept it if he was so sure.
Your eyes drifted over his body as he exhaled slowly, reaching up to rest his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like he was remembering something. You figured if he took his shirt off in front of this girl she’d notice him; he was… hard to ignore, when he wasn’t covering himself with baggy clothes like he seemed to normally.
Not that he spent all too long in clothes when you came over, but still.
“Good luck with that,” you broke the silence, and he seemed to come out of a daze; he’d already forgotten you were there, maybe. “Just text me when you’re free again?”
He watched you get off the bed and go towards the door where you’d left your shoes. “Y-yeah, sure,” he agreed— he sat up quickly, like maybe it was rude to just lay there while you left, but that was a bit out of character since you could remember plenty of times he hadn’t even looked at you…
Regardless, you left rather unceremoniously, feeling satisfied and yet already wondering how long it would be until you heard from him again.
The answer was, it turns out, longer than usual. Long enough that you felt a little weird about it but tried not to notice it; long enough that, when he did text you, you were much more relieved than you wanted to be.
Come over. A little abrupt after two weeks without any contact, but you weren’t too proud. You slipped on some sandals and headed for the subway; you probably should’ve taken the time to grab a light jacket, you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten since the sun went down, but the buzzy energy that filled you as you prepared to see him again kept you warm enough.
So, it was a bit of a let down when he seemed confused as he answered the door; “Um, hey?” you greeted hesitantly, wondering why he was staring at you and not just letting you in.
“Did I… text you?” he wondered.
“Uh… yeah?” you responded now with a confused look of your own. “Are you drunk?”
“No, I— sorry,” he sighed a little, “that was a mistake, I— now’s not a good time.”
You swallowed, trying not to take it personally— trying not to imagine why he changed his mind. He was shirtless already, did he have someone else coming over, was she already there? Oh, you really didn’t want to know— so why were you leaning to try to see past him into the apartment?
He shifted to try to block your view, leaning on the doorway, but you caught a glimpse— no girl that you could see, but the place looked like it had been turned upside down. Your fear shifted to concern.
“What happened, is everything okay?” you asked quickly. “Did you get robbed?”
You slipped in past him, and he stammered out a protest that he never really finished.
“Oh my god, Peter—” you began, but he turned you around to look at him.
“You need to go,” he insisted again, “I’m sorry, I— I’m really not trying to be a dick.”
You snorted a little, not really meaning to, and he exhaled.
“Okay, I know I’m already kind of a dick to you, but I’m… not myself right now.”
“If you’re normally a dick to me, and you’re not yourself right now, then isn’t that a good thing?” you mused, but Peter just shook his head in confusion.
“What?” he panted, but it definitely just wasn’t a confused look anymore— he reached up and put a hand to his head, his palm pressing above his eye and his fingers starting to curl tightly.
“A-are you okay?” you asked, all the playfulness lost from your tone.
He winced and bent over suddenly, grabbing his head tightly, making you look at him with wide eyes.
“Peter?” you continued, trying to lean down with him, but he reached up and pushed you back slightly.
“M’fine,” he choked out, but the whine of pain through his teeth seemed to prove him wrong.
You weren’t sure how to help, you couldn’t tell at all what was wrong, but you couldn’t just leave him like this even if he seemed to want you to. “How can I help?” you pleaded.
“You can’t help me!” he insisted.
He straightened up again, throwing his head back for a moment, the agony on his face perfectly visible now. His hands moved to cover his ears, his eyes shut tightly— maybe it was a migraine or something? You looked around for a lightswitch, hoping turning off anything too bright might make it better, but the second you tried to step away, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into him; you yelped a little and hurried to hold onto his shoulders, nearly losing your balance as he yanked you forward.
It seemed like he had changed his mind very suddenly about you being able to help him— and had a very different idea of how you could help than you’d originally imagined. His eyes were scanning your face, his nostrils flaring as they fell on your lips. You opened your mouth slightly just before he covered it in a rough, punishing kiss.
You couldn’t even remember the last time he kissed you— but he definitely never kissed you like this. It was hard and fast and dominating, his head forcing yours to tilt back, his tongue handily overpowering yours.
His hand wrapped around your neck and your knees wobbled for a second; fuck, if this was Peter not being himself, then you were starting to like this guy better.
He made quick work of your clothes, too quick actually, you were pretty sure you heard something ripping but you didn’t care at all. His hands grabbed you anywhere and everywhere they could reach, rough and eager until they all but shoved you onto the bed. You gasped but went along with it, you weren’t sure what was going on with him but you’d never questioned him before— you just gave him what he wanted. Even if you knew better than to take it personally, the way he was acting now… could he really want you this badly?
You tried to turn around to get on your hands and knees like usual, but he roughly turned you back to face him; he climbed over you and shed himself quickly of his sweats and underwear— god, when did he get that hard?
His hand pushed your thighs further apart, making you shudder a little just before he shoved his cock into you— all at once, no warning, making you choke on your own breath.
You couldn’t try to complain that you weren’t ready for it, even if you wanted to, because you were already plenty wet enough despite it all happening so suddenly. Maybe his new attitude just had that effect on you, maybe you’d been building anticipation since you got on the subway to meet him here; and, both could be true at once.
“Peter,” you whined as he filled you, back arching off the bed, but he pushed you back down at the hips to make sure you took it all.
He laid himself down over you, keeping his face close to yours as he thrusted fast but deep, holding you tight enough to make sure you couldn’t rock too far away and would be forced to take every inch.
You felt your face tighten up— actually, all of you, not just your face— in response to him going just a little too far, pushing on something a little too sensitive; you whined, some pain tinting the noise, but he only made sure to press his hips against you even more.
You groaned deeply, feeling pleasure grow from the intensity, though it still had a sharpness to it.
Overwhelmed by… everything, you tried to close your eyes just to focus on the feeling; “Look at me,” he demanded instantly, catching you off guard. You obeyed, of course, meeting his stare as he requested, though you definitely couldn’t match his intensity.
He grabbed your hips and tilted them up towards him slightly, forcing his cock to press against something that made you shake and grab the sheets under you. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, noticing the way he flexed his jaw as he watched you.
You weren’t proud of how quickly he was getting you there; but was there any room for pride in a situation like this? It’s not like you’d had much in the first place, when you were just coming over for quick thoughtless fucks, but at least then you didn’t say much or look at each other much and you could go through it all without acknowledging much of anything. Now he was staring right at you, watching your body respond to him so quickly, purposefully making you so desperate for him.
He let go of your hips to slide his hands up the back of your thighs, hooking them under your knees and pushing your legs up towards your chest. “God, yes,” you breathed, struggling to stop your eyes from rolling back. You watched him, too: the way his mouth fell slack to let his panting breaths through, his chest rising and falling, his muscles rippling as he fucked into you…
You heard the smallest chuckle and looked back at his face to see a smirk there; apparently he caught you gawking. Surely he knew already that he had a great body, so he couldn’t be surprised, right? He’d never seemed to really care that you were attracted to him, or take it as much of a compliment.
But now it made him fuck you harder, which made you whimper and shudder as you clutched handfuls of the sheets under you.
One hand let go of your leg to rest above where he was moving in you: at the same time, it pushed down right where the tip of him reached inside you, and his thumb circled over your clit.
The added pressure amped everything up and even the slightest touch on your bud made you realize how sensitive you’d become. You bit down on your lip to try to stop yourself from praising him endlessly— you didn’t need him getting an even bigger ego. But even still his effect on you was obvious, the way you were succumbing to the pleasure was obvious, though you still felt the need to announce it.
“I-I’m gonna come,” you warned, and he kept his movements and pace exact, eagerly pushing you closer to the edge.
It built up faster with each thrust, his fingers digging in harder under your knee, and you let your head fall limply to the side as it grew and grew within you.
One hand came down and took a tight grip of your face to turn it back up towards him.
“Look at me,” he reminded you, and you swallowed around a gasp but nodded quickly.
“Fuck,” you breathed, “fuck, I— ohh fuck yes—”
He watched you with darkened eyes as it hit you, a heady wave of pleasure that started from somewhere deep within but rippled all over you. As the feeling peaked and subsided, he kept his grip on your face— not too tight, but far too strong to break away from.
The second you started to relax back into the bed, he pulled out and flipped you over— far too easily— onto your knees. He was inside you again before you could even find your balance.
“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, falling forward and barely catching yourself on the headboard in time. He was thrusting again, fast and hard, like he hadn’t stopped at all; you were still sensitive from the orgasm you’d barely even completed, and the different angle of his penetration into you was even more intense now. “Fuck, Peter, you—”
He grunted lowly, and you didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence as you moaned desperately.
“Oh my god,” you managed to pant out even as you were getting more and more lost in it— he had never been the gentle type per se but he had always been… restrained, patient. You never could’ve imagined this kind of brutality, or how perfect it would feel.
You also weren’t used to him being so vocal, and you heard a stream of moans and purrs from behind you that were, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Filthy and animalistic, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.
“So good,” you couldn’t stop yourself from panting out; your first orgasm had left you so… exposed, every sensation heightened, every touch more electrifying. Now it was building up again, even faster than before, turning you just as desperate and needy as he sounded.
The curve of him inside you was too perfect, the thick stretch was almost too wide— when he pushed all the way in and buried himself to the hilt you actually felt a little sting— his heavy balls hitting your clit made you feel delightfully whorish; pleasure was coming at you from every angle, overwhelming you, washing all the thoughts out of your head and turning your body into his plaything (if it wasn’t already).
The difference really was that before, you had some autonomy about the whole thing— it wasn’t quite an equal partnership, since he was the one who called for you and you were the one who showed up right away nearly every single time. But it was at least a mutual dynamic: you were a slut and he was using you like one, simple as that.
Now, those things may have still been true but it had become so much more. Now, you were totally at his mercy. Now, he was asserting a previously-unspoken dominance and proving that he owned you completely… and that you loved it. It may not have been a particularly empowering feeling, but knowing he could do absolutely anything to you in that moment was fucking addictive.
“I’m coming,” you blurted out, not even really believing it yourself, “I’m coming again, oh shit—”
You moaned pathetically— well, more specifically, you went silent for a moment as you came too hard to remember to breathe, then you moaned pathetically; but then you started to laugh a little, thinking he would slow down to a stop, give you a little break so you could mumble something about how incredible he was before he used you to finish.
But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t give you even a second to breathe as you tried to pull yourself together. Even when you passed the height of your pleasure into something much more raw and unfathomable, he didn’t falter for a moment. Your walls tightened repeatedly until they ached, until you whined through your teeth at the soreness of the muscles inside you.
“Peter,” you gasped, “s-slow down…”
He ignored you.
“Stop,” you blurted out; again, he ignored you. “Peter, stop! I can’t—!”
A hand wrapped around your throat and your words dropped instantly to silence. Wide-eyed, you clawed at his hand to try to peel it away, but obviously that didn’t work.
Your hands fell limply to the sheets— he was holding you up by your neck now, and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat— and they tried to grab hold of something, anything, without much success.
The pleasure he forced on you was excruciating and overwhelming, and totally inevitable. You tried to force yourself to relax, wondering if that would make it any easier to take all this, but you couldn’t anyways as shocks ran all through your body. Your toes curled, your legs began to shake uncontrollably— you were saying his name, begging for mercy, but hardly any sound was coming out since you weren’t taking in any air.
You reached back to try to grab his hand, push his hips, anything to slow down this onslaught of sensation; he ignored it at first, before growling a little as he grabbed your hand and pinned it down to the bed.
He was iron, absolute— you could literally fight him with all your strength and he wouldn’t move an inch. The helplessness made you panic and squirm uselessly, and yet the racing of your heart was more than just fear, even as your vision was getting spotty from how long he’d been choking you. Fuck, it was good; it hurt like hell, you didn’t think you could take it, but it was fucking good.
The hand on your throat let go to force your head down into the mattress: so, yes, the sound you let out after all that silence was muffled, but still so embarrassingly loud. A desperate, broken, sobbing scream. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you heard yourself repeat, though you could hardly recognize your voice at this point.
He slowed down a little, not nearly enough to give you a true reprieve, as he laid over you— you felt his chest press against your back, and he pulled your head up by your hair to lift you out from where you’d buried yourself in the mattress. “Let me hear it,” he encouraged, as if the whole building wasn’t hearing you even with your face in the sheets.
He bit down hard on your neck until you basically screamed— you’d be surprised if it didn’t break the skin, the way it stung so sharply, but somehow that ache and burn seemed to blend into everything else a moment later. Chills ran over your skin— pleasure, pain, ecstasy, agony, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
His tongue and lips toyed with the spot he’d just marked, before his teeth moved higher to your neck to make another impression in your skin. You felt a hot tear run down your cheek as a bit of numbness radiated from your shoulder in the shape of his bite.
Apparently satisfied with his work, you felt his breath against your ear as he groaned proudly. “You belong to me,” he informed you roughly; you sobbed but nodded eagerly.
“Yes, yes,” you chanted, though you never wanted to acknowledge it before— you still didn’t, knowing you were his but he wasn’t yours, but you were helpless to him now.
“Mine,” he insisted again.
“Peter, please,” you whimpered, this time not begging for him to physically stop but for him not to make you admit it anymore.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“Yours,” you breathed, dropping your head down in defeat as tears fell onto the dishevelled sheets below. “I’m yours, Peter, yours—”
“Gonna fill you,” he promised roughly. “Gonna breed you.”
“O-oh god,” you choked out weakly. “Oh my fucking god—”
“If you beg for it,” he added— oh, of course it couldn’t be so simple.
“Please,” you spat out instantly, you probably would’ve said it anyway, you just had to add the next part; you swallowed thickly, fighting the part of your brain that still experienced shame to get the words out. “Please… breed me.”
He growled proudly, speeding up his thrusts yet again as you cried helplessly. “More,” he ordered.
“Please!” you screamed, convinced now that at any moment you might just combust from the sheer intensity of all these sensations in your body.
Right at the moment that you were sure you truly couldn’t take anymore, that it would build beyond what you were able to withstand, he pulled you back onto him and moaned loudly. He stopped moving, but it didn’t bring as much relief as you would’ve expected; yes, you were able to relax slightly and actually breathe for a second, but you could feel him… pulsing.
You started to feel a pressure that only soothed when you felt come start to leak from where you were joined— was he actually coming that much? You shuddered as the thick drop ran down your thigh which, yes, was still shaking.
You heard a long, satisfied sigh behind you, his fingers digging a little too deep into your sides, but it seemed he was finally finished.
This would be the part where you get up and go to the bathroom— you know, if your legs were working— but instead he grabbed you tightly and fell onto the bed, pulling you down with him. He hummed as he nuzzled into your neck, forcing you to be his little spoon as he seemed to want to keep you as close as humanly possible. He hadn’t even pulled out, excess come leaking out as he softened a bit, but it gave you no chance to recover from the soreness as he kept you stretched out.
You couldn’t decide if this was more or less weird than everything else that had just happened.
He fell asleep behind you within a couple minutes, you could tell by the way his breathing slowed; you felt exhausted and wired at the same time, your body totally drained but your brain cycling through a thousand thoughts a second.
But even if you couldn’t sleep, there was no way you were getting up— whenever you dared to shift even an inch, his grip on you tightened even in his sleep.
Actually, you did eventually fall asleep, and he did eventually let go of you and pull out of you— but you couldn’t know exactly when any of those had happened, in fact you didn’t even realize they did until he started to wake you up.
He did so somewhat abruptly; you heard his voice and started to blink a few times to try to come back to reality.
“Are you okay?” he rushed, looking over your body, moving you around a bit to check everywhere for injuries. “I hurt you, oh my god, I— I’m so sorry—”
You were still struggling to wake up— you definitely hadn’t slept this hard in years, if ever— and you groggily hummed as he fussed over you. “Peter,” you mumbled, noticing the bright sun of late dawn coming in from the window, and he held your face for a second before gently brushing his fingers along your neck, your shoulder…
“Oh my god,” he gasped, “what did I do to you?”
There must have been bruises and bites all over you, that was no surprise— so why was he acting surprised? “It’s okay,” you breathed, “seriously, I’m okay—”
“I wasn’t— I swear that wasn’t…” he interrupted himself before trailing off. “I lost control.”
That explanation was… cryptic. Slightly disturbing. And, annoyingly, a little bit hot. “I’m fine,” you promised.
“You wanted me to stop,” he seemed to remember suddenly. “You asked me to stop, and I—”
“Peter,” you rested a hand on his shoulder to try to soothe him— it did seem to slow down his spiraling, at least, and he looked at your face again. If you didn’t know any better you’d say his eyes were watering. “It’s fine. I wanted it. I just… didn’t know that I did.”
“That sounds kinda fucked up,” he noticed.
“Well, yeah,” you laughed thinly, “this whole thing is fucked up. Just don’t worry about it, okay? Yeah, I got a little… overwhelmed, at one point, but um… I didn’t mind it. In the end.”
He nodded a little, clearly not totally at peace with it but at least seeming to let it go. “Okay,” he sighed.
“Is… everything okay with you?” you asked nervously; you hadn’t planned to make a habit out of asking him personal questions, but you figured you earned that one.
“Uh… I’m not sure,” he admitted.
“Is this like, a split personality thing?” you wondered, mostly kidding— he laughed a little, thankfully.
“Well,” he relented, “I mean— no, but, maybe a little bit.”
You raised an eyebrow but decided to just nod. “I… guess if there’s anything I can do…” you began to offer.
“You’ve, uh, done enough already,” he assured as you sat up a bit on the bed. “I know this kind of isn’t our thing, but I feel like the least I could do is buy you breakfast.”
“Oh! That’s, um— don’t worry about it,” you shook your head. “I should head back to my place, actually.”
“N-no, come on, stay,” he pleaded. This man was just full of surprises, apparently. “Not long, I mean, if you don’t want to, but… you definitely need a little more time to heal after that.”
He gently guided your legs apart, chest deflating as he looked between them.
“Yeah, you, uh… definitely need time to heal,” he added, but his voice sounded rougher and breathless.
“What— what is it?” you asked worriedly, pushing your legs back together— you felt much too self-conscious now for him to just openly gawk at your pussy like that.
“No, it’s fine, it’s just, uh,” he started nervously, “it’s kinda, you know… I can still kinda see how much I, um, stretched you…”
You swallowed a little, noticing a flush on his face.
“I mean, I’m sure it’ll, like, go back, but uh—”
“Well, you did stay inside for like, a while,” you added, laughing slightly. “Fuck, um… yeah, that was different.”
“Good different?” he wondered.
“Y-yeah,” you answered, “it was a lot, but, yeah, definitely. I mean, if you ever need to lose control like that again, just let me know.”
He seemed a little surprised, his eyes drifting over the marks he’d left on you again. “You’re sure you can take it?”
You could tell he hadn’t meant it like dirty talk, he said it so seriously— real concern for you, which was sweet— but it still made you bite your lip. “Yeah,” you promised with an eager nod, “I can take whatever you give me.”