Things that go bump in the night… nsfw
—Peter Parker & neighbour! Reader ★ ﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚
NOTE: Had an idea abt how his new mutant dna was doing stuff to his body specifically his um… peen. I was going into the spider man movie thinking oh they’re def gonna have at least one shirtless scene. Who knew there would be like two! I feel spoiled
The lock clicked open under the weight of your shoulder, the door yielding with a creaky groan.
The new tenant who lived directly above your apartment was really cute. And bless his heart he was incredibly awkward. You kept running into each other during your daily routines, one thing lead to another and you both would occasionally text the other person to go out for a drink, have sex, get dinner, and whatnot. Most nights ended up with you two crashing into your apartment tangled up in your sheets.
But for the past three weeks, the area between your apartment and Peter’s had been a dead zone. There had been none of his familiar knock at midnight, no half-apologetic texts, and no lingering looks in the elevator. When you did catch a glimpse of him—a shadow slipping through the stairwell at obnoxious hours like 4:00 AM, his shoulders would be hunched, collar pulled high—he moved like a ghost trying to outrun its own skin.
Then came the noise. Ten minutes ago, you heard clear crashing noises from your ceiling, which lead to his loft. Their was ruckus before his noises had shuddered with more deafening crashes, followed by the wet, sharp sound of shattering glass and a dull, agonizing thud.
"Peter?" You stepped into his apartment, slamming the door shut behind you.
"Peter, if you're throwing furniture again, I swear to God—"
The words died in your throat.
The loft was unrecognizable. The high ceilings were draped in thick, silvery cables of silk(?) that looked less like cobwebs and more like yards of fabric cables. Monitors flickered in the gloom, scrolling through endless streams of DNA sequencing and bio-metric telemetry. And is that a sewing machine printing out something.
It was weird to think that this room belonged to the guy you were hooking up with for the past couple of months. He never invited you to his place and you never bothered. How different could two apartments be? The answer is apperantly very.
And on the floor, curled in a heap amid shattered glass and torn floorboards, was Peter.
He was wearing a suit. Not his regular hoodie and jeans, but a form-fitting red-and-blue suit that hugged every corded muscle of his back. A torn, black spider emblem stretched across his chest, rising and falling with ragged, violent breaths.
He wasn't just Peter Parker, the awkward guy next door. He was fucking Spider-Man.
The realization hit you like a physical force, settling heavy in the back of your mind. Thinking back you recall all the unexplainable bruises, the late-night disappearances, the absurd physical stamina during the nights he actually did spend in your bed. It all clicked into place very clearly.
"Peter?" You rushed forward, dropping to your knees beside him.
His body was trembling violently, the skin of his neck flushed crimson, heat radiating off him in palpable waves. Fine, hair-like cilia seemed to shimmer along his forearms, flexing involuntarily against the floorboards.
"Get... out," he choked out, his voice a raw, gravelly rasp. He pushed himself back against the base of his workbench, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes pitch black, with no sclera in sight. "Get away from me. You can't... you shouldn't be here."
"What’s going on? What’s happening to you?" You reached for his shoulder, but he flinched away, clutching his head with a low, pained groan.
"Don't touch me!" he grated out, teeth clenched so hard his jaw creaked. "Everything’s too loud. Too bright. It's too dangerous, just go!"
"Alert. Peter you are experiencing severe cellular instability due to a mutation overrun."
A calm female voice resonated from the ambient computers at the centre of the room, making you jump.
"Who said that?" you demanded, looking around the web-choked loft.
"I am E.V., Peter’s neural interface," the voice replied smoothly. "His modified arachnid DNA is currently undergoing an unpredictable evolutionary shift, hyper-stimulating his nervous system and causing acute tactile-sensory overload. His baseline metabolic temperature is exceeding critical limits."
"How do I stop it?" you asked, leaning closer to Peter despite his warning growl.
"To regulate his neural overload, his body requires an immediate, high-dose release of natural endorphins and oxytocin to override the hyper-reactive pain receptors," E.V. explained. "Physical intimacy—specifically sexual intercourse—might trigger enough of a parasympathetic nervous system response, effectively resetting his tactile thresholds and stabilizing his core biological feedback loop."
You blinked, processing the AI's words, before a slow, incredulous realization set in. "You're saying he needs to...?"
"Correct. Intimate physical contact is the most efficient vector to force a metabolic stabilization."
"No," Peter gasped, his fingers digging gouges into the hardwood floor. "No, absolute-ly not. I'm not... I can't. I'll hurt you. I don't even… have control right now."
"Peter, shut up," you said, already reaching for the hem of your shirt. "It's not like we haven't done this before."
"This isn't 'before'!" he snapped, his eyes flashing with a desperate, wild intensity. He looked up at you, his chest heaving, his muscles visibly twitching under the suit. "Look at me! My body is doing stuff I don’t even understand. I can’t control my strength, it could be off the scales right now. What if I lose control? What if I... what if I hurt you?"
"Then you hurt me," you whispered, leaning down until you were breathing the hot air radiating from his face. "You think I'm scared of you?"
"You should be," he whispered, but the defiance bled out of him as you reached out, placing a palm flat against his bare, burning chest where the suit was torn open.
He shuddered violently at the contact, a guttural sound escaping his throat as his eyes fluttered shut. The sheer heat coming off him was intoxicating.
You guided his hands down to your waist. His grip was rigid, his strength restrained by nothing but sheer, agonized willpower, but as you peeled off your shirt and straddled his lap, the fight left him.
"E.V.," Peter panted, his hands trembling as he gripped your hips, "mute... mute sensors."
“Understood, Peter.” The ambient hum of the monitors dimmed, plunging the loft into soft, shadow-draped silence. With only the low night life of the streets being heard.
You worked down the front of his suit, pulling the heavy, textured fabric past his waist. As it fell away, your breath caught. The mutation hadn't just heightened his senses; the surge of blood flow and muscular expansion had transformed him. His dick looked unreal, it was stretched thick and rigid, pulsing with a terrifying, vein-lined heaviness that looked entirely impossible.
A slow smile touched your lips. "Well. That's new."
"I told you," Peter groaned, flushing deeper, his large hands sinking into the flesh of your thighs. "It's... it's too much. I can't guarantee I'll be gentle."
"I don’t remember asking you to be gentle," you whispered, gripping his shoulders and lifting yourself up over him.
You didn’t need any foreplay today, what for when you were already leaking like a goddamn faucet.
You lined yourself up, the intense heat radiating from him slicking your skin. When you pressed down, taking just the crown of his swollen length, Peter hissed, his back arching off the floor. The sheer size of him stretched you instantly, a full, delicious ache blooming through your core.
"S-Slow," Peter choked out, his large hands moving down to cup the bottom curves of your ass, his fingers digging firmly into your flesh to anchor you. His knuckles were raw, and his grip tight enough to bruise, holding you steady over his incredible girth. "Go down slow... please. God, you're so tight—I'm going to ruin you if you drop too fast."
You sank down a fraction of an inch further, gasping at the sheer, heavy fullness stretching you to your limit. He was massive, and so warm, filling you so completely that every pulse of his blood felt like a tremor against your inner walls.
"Look at me," you commanded softly.
Peter looked up, his darkened eyes wild, completely consumed by you.
"Breath," you whispered, slowly lowering yourself fully onto him, taking every single inch until your hips met his.
Peter let out a ragged, ungodly sound, his head falling back against the floorboards as his entire body convulsed. The sheer shock of the contact rippled through his nervous system. Above you, with a sharp thwip-thwip, thick, pearlescent strands of web-fluid shot reflexively from his wrist cuffs, slamming into the exposed ceiling beams. More kept coming out of his wrists, sealing the two of you into a dark, intimate cocoon of silk.
Ut was obvious he had no idea he was doing any of this. And driven by pure, primal instinct, Peter’s hands tightened on your rear, lifting you up slightly before driving you back down onto him with a sudden, devastating thrust.
You screamed out his name, the intensity of it shattering your composure. He was relentless, his mutated stamina translating into deep, heavy, possessive drives that lifted your feet completely off the floor. His teeth grazed the column of your throat, a low growl vibrating against your collarbone as he nipped at your skin, threatening to break it, holding himself back by a hair's breadth.
His hips slamming up into made lewd noises, mixing with the cacophony of moans and grunts you were both making.
"Peter—" you gasped, your hands clawing at his back, feeling the rippling muscles flex and strain beneath your touch.
Without breaking his rhythm, Peter reached up with one hand. A quiet thwip echoed in the enclosed space, and a thick, incredibly sticky line of fresh webbing wrapped around both of your wrists, pinning your hands securely above your head to the thick structural beam above you.
"Peter!" you panted, testing the restraint. It was unyielding, binding you completely to his rhythm.
"You're not going anywhere," he growled into your neck, his voice deeper, raspy, completely unhinged from the fever. He shifted his grip, his massive hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you down harder onto his massive length, meeting every descent with a brutal, upward vault.
You could feel his sharp teeth migrating down to your breasts, sucking and nipping at the fleshy skin. His sharp teeth grazing your nipple, making you arch your back, further offering your chest to him.
The heat in the enclosed cocoon was suffocating, amplified by the slick friction of your bodies. Every heavy thrust sent a wave of relief through his posture, the chaotic static in his head slowly melting into a raw sensation.
In his slightly delirious state he could make out the smell of your skin, the texture of your insides melting around his twitching dick. And fuck, the way you’d moan his name would undo him. He wanted to chase this high more, to feel you more.
He continued to move inside you with an animalistic intensity, taking control, his hips snapping forward with terrifying power. You writhed against the web restraints, completely at his mercy as he filled you, stretched you, and drove you toward the edge over and over.
"You like this?" he growled, biting down gently on your tits, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your hips to keep you pinned. "You like what this does to me?"
He buried his face in the crevice of your tits, his chest heaving as his pace became manic, desperate. The fever broke, pouring off him in sweat as he chased the final, deafening crash of the overload fading away.
With a final, deep, possessive drive that buried him as far inside you as he could physically go, Peter locked his arms around you, pulling you violently against his chest as his entire body went rigid. A low, shuddering groan tore from his throat as he came inside you, the volume and heat of his release sending you over your own edge, shattering your senses into pure, breathless light.
Silence settled over the loft, heavy and thick.
The webbing bound above your head slowly lost its tension, slackening enough for your wrists to slip free. You collapsed forward against Peter's chest, both of you breathing in ragged, synchronized gasps.
Peter’s arms wrapped around you, no longer rigid or trembling with pain, but warm, and heavy. He stroked his thumb gently over your hip, his cheek resting against your hair.
"E.V.," Peter croaked, his voice returning to its normal, soft cadence. "Status?"
"Neural activity has stabilized, Peter. Baseline vitals restored."
Peter let out a quiet, breathless laugh, burying his face in your neck and pressing a soft kiss to your skin. "Guess I need to work on a inhibitor or something," he murmured, his hands lazily tracing the curves of your lower back. "How are you feeling?"
You shifted slightly, wincing with a quiet, satisfied smile as you felt the lingering, heavy ache deep between your thighs.
"I think," you whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw, "you're going to have take me somewhere nice tomorrow."
"I know a great bathhouse nearby."
