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girl next door | peter parker

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader (stark!reader will always hold a special place in my heart i fear) summary: spider-man is your new stalker after saving you one day, and now you have an annoying new neighbor peter parker whos guts you absolutely hate because of how much noise he makes. spider-man ends up accidentally at the wrong window one night which leads to conversation between the two of you. you find yourself falling for spider-man, but how is he going to tell you that he is your annoying neighbor? warnings: arachnid!peter, mutual masturbation, fingering, p in v, doggy style, missionary, cumming inside, unprotected sex, slight degradation, slight stalker!spiderman if u squint

postcards. u guys #comeback!!!! i haven't written smut in months sooooo..... but anyways brand new day spidey kinda 😛😛😛

wc: 8.4k

the footfalls behind you grow heavier, echoing off the wet brick of the alley as you quicken your pace. a glance over your shoulder confirms what your pulse already knows, the shadow is gaining, closing off the only exit toward the main street. you back up until your shoulders meet cold brick, well and truly cornered.

just as a hand reaches for you, a sharp thwip slices through the silence.

a thick line of webbing yanks the man backward, pinning his wrists to the wall before he can register what's hit him. you barely manage a gasp before something drops lightly onto a nearby dumpster with the soft clang of metal.

you look up to find spider-man crouched there, lit in the neon wash of a diner sign across the street.

he drops down in front of you, planting himself between you and your attacker, then turns to check on you, and freezes the instant his eyes land on your face. for a long beat, the only sound is the low hum of the city while he stands there, head tilted, visibly stunned.

"you, uh—" his voice cracks. he rubs the back of his neck. "you alright down here?"

you manage a nod, too rattled to speak. he clears his throat, backing awkwardly toward the fire escape, gives an uncoordinated little wave, and swings off into the night, though he glances back twice before vanishing over the rooftops.

from the moment spider-man saw your face in that alley, something in his brain simply stopped working correctly. he was certain, with the sudden, total conviction of a man struck by lightning, that you were the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. and so, without quite admitting it to himself, trailing after you became his new hobby. he told himself it was "routine neighborhood patrol." you were not fooled. you'd started noticing the red-and-blue blur perched on lampposts, tucked behind billboards, folding itself awkwardly behind air-conditioning units every time you so much as stepped onto the sidewalk.

the height of his ridiculousness arrived on a humid tuesday afternoon. you'd ducked into a crowded coffee shop, ordered an iced matcha, and were reaching into your bag when a familiar leather-and-spandex arm appeared over your shoulder out of nowhere, tapping a prepaid card against the reader before you could so much as blink.

you spun around, arms crossing over your chest, one eyebrow raised. "are you stalking me?"

his whole body locked up. confusion first, his masked head tilting like a bewildered dog, followed by a wave of pure mortification. he simply stood there, frozen, staring down at you as though he'd forgotten the basic mechanics of human speech. even through the mask, you could tell his jaw had dropped somewhere near the floor.

"uh— w-what?" he finally managed, voice cracking as his hands flew up in open panic, waving through the air like he could physically bat the accusation away. "stalking? me? no! no way! i was just— swinging by! for, uh— high-altitude hydration awareness! it's a whole thing!"

you gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "i can afford to pay for one matcha. it's not exactly a crisis."

you left out the part where you were tony stark's daughter, sitting on enough generational wealth to buy the entire coffee corporation on a whim, watching him squirm was far too entertaining to interrupt.

"right! totally, of course you can!" he wheezed, clearing his throat and backing toward the exit in three panicked steps, nearly upending a display of travel mugs. "just— consider it a friendly neighborhood courtesy. enjoy the matcha!"

he backed out through the double doors, hit the pavement, and shot a web skyward, swinging off so fast he nearly clipped a streetlamp on the way out.

moving into the new place felt like a fresh start, a spacious, open-concept penthouse, full of natural light and sleek finishes, homey enough that it never read as cold or clinical.

on your first day, while you stood in the hallway directing a parade of moving boxes, your next-door neighbor stepped out. messy curly hair, an oversized hoodie, a smile that read equal parts polite and flustered.

"oh, hey — moving in?" he asked, walking over. "i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you," you said, offering a brief, polite smile, keeping things short.

"need a hand with any of the heavier boxes?" he offered, nodding toward the stack by the elevator. "happy to grab those."

"movers have it covered, but thanks," you said, giving a quick wave before turning back to your keys. he nodded, scratched the back of his neck, and slipped back into his apartment.

a few days later, you'd finally settled in. it was late on a thursday, and you were trying to get some sleep after a long week when, around one in the morning, a heavy bassline began vibrating straight through your bedroom wall, accompanied by metallic clanking and the steady whine of some tool.

you stared at the ceiling for a full five minutes before throwing off the blanket. "what the hell?"

you marched into the hallway and pounded on peter's door. inside, he was entirely oblivious, music blaring while he fine-tuned the wrist-gauntlets on his updated suit, soldering iron in hand.

you kept knocking, harder and faster, until the music finally cut out. a few seconds later the door opened. peter stood there in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, hair disheveled.

"can you turn the music down? it's one in the fucking morning," you said, arms crossed, staring him down.

he blinked, taking a beat to register the irritation on your face. "sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes with a defensive shrug.

you scoffed. "'sorry' doesn't un-wake me up. some of us actually have somewhere to be tomorrow, try having a little spatial awareness next time."

his eyebrows knit together, his relaxed posture stiffening. the bite in your tone caught him off guard, especially from someone he'd just met.

"okay, first of all, it's a shared building," he shot back, leaning into the doorframe with a slight glare, genuinely stung by how quickly you'd turned sharp. "second, a knock would've worked fine without trying to break the door down like a swat team."

"i knocked for three straight minutes. you were too busy throwing a concert," you said, already turning back toward your own door. "keep it down."

"yeah, loud and clear," he muttered, shutting his door harder than necessary. "you got the loud part right, at least."

he stood in his foyer for a moment, rubbing his temples. irritating as the exchange had been, a quiet realization settled under all the snark, he was still completely, hopelessly drawn to you. whether in a suit on a rooftop or sweatpants in a hallway, peter was in over his head, even if at the moment you could barely stand him.

moving in was supposed to be a fresh start, a break from the chaos, but living next door to peter parker made that impossible from day one. every hallway crossing, every elevator ride, turned into an instant exchange of sharp banter: who'd claimed the good laundry machine, who kept hogging the hallway light, who owed who an apology after the last argument.

at the same time, you'd started noticing spider-man haunting the neighborhood more than usual, a flash of red and blue on the rooftop across from your window, a shape crouched on the fire escape, always supposedly "on patrol."

then came a friday night. your friend matt came over to hang out, and as he rode the elevator up, peter happened to be on it too. he watched, saying nothing, as matt stepped off, walked straight to your door, and let himself in. a hot flash of jealousy went through him, though he tried his best to shrug it off.

an hour later you and matt were on the couch, deep into a movie, loud enough that the sound carried straight through the shared wall, where peter sat in his room, listening to every sound. he was unfazed for a while until he heard the sounds of moans and heavy breathing coming from your house and began growing more irritated by the minute.

driven by pure pettiness, he set out to make as much noise as physically possible, slamming dishes into cupboards, banging pots, cranking music to drown you both out.

fuming, you marched next door and hammered on his. when he opened it, wearing a look of practiced innocence, you crossed your arms and glared.

"we're trying to watch a movie, not listen to you smash your kitchen," you snapped. "you're not rihanna. relax."

before peter could land a comeback, matt appeared behind you, poking his head around the door. "what's up? everything okay?" he asked, gesturing broadly.

peter froze. realization crashed into him all at once, matt was very obviously gay, and there had never been a shred of romantic threat to begin with.

he wanted to sink through the floor. the embarrassment wiped out every ounce of his pettiness in an instant.

"uh, sorry, man," he mumbled, staring at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as he backed into his apartment and shut the door, left alone with his dishes and his own idiocy.

matt left a little after eleven, offering a lazy, two-fingered wave as the elevator doors slowly shut, severing the warm hum of your living room from the quiet corridor outside. you clicked the deadbolt into place, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion immediately settling into your shoulders as you shuffled toward your bedroom. all you could think about was the scalding shower waiting for you, the steam, and the sweet relief of collapse.

you didn't hear the window slide up.

a soft, muffled thud landed against the plush carpet, quiet enough to be mistaken for the building simply settling into the night. a tall, lean shape remained crouched low near the sill, breathing hard from a swing gone slightly wrong, one gloved hand planted on the floorboards to steady himself. spider-man straightened up, muscle memory already steering him toward what should have been his own cluttered, tiny apartment, half-expecting the familiar, nostalgic smell of stale instant noodles, damp laundry, and stack upon stack of old textbooks.

instead, he was met with soft, warm ambient lighting, expensive minimalist furniture, and a sleek glass panel embedded into the far wall that looked distinctly like an early-model stark tech home automation unit.

he froze mid-step, his white lenses wide. that's not my fridge.

his eyes swept the room again, taking in the tasteful arc-reactor-blue accent lights glowing beneath the floating shelves. then his gaze snagged on a framed photo sitting on the dark wood dresser. his stomach plummeted through the floorboards the second he recognized the face staring back at him.

oh, fuck.

he was already halfway pivoted back toward the open sill, knees bent and ready for a graceful, dignified exit, when the adjacent bathroom door clicked open behind him.

you stepped out, enveloped in a cloud of jasmine-scented steam, wearing an oversized graphic t-shirt and short sleep shorts. your hair was damp against your shoulders, a plush white towel slung over one hand as you rubbed the ends dry. you stopped mid-motion, towel frozen against your cheek, as your brain registered the very famous, very blue-and-red figure standing in the middle of your private sanctuary.

"now i know you're stalking me," you said flatly, not dropping the towel.

"uh—no?? i mean—" spider-man's hands flew up defensively, his voice climbing half an octave as he shuffled his boots against the rug. "i swear, i just—wrong window. totally wrong window. architecture in this precinct is super repetitive, honestly, it’s an urban planning disaster—"

you crossed your arms, utterly unconvinced, though the faintest twitch appeared at the corner of your mouth. "sit," you said, nodding toward the small upholstered bench at the foot of your bed. "you're not swinging off into the skyline before i get some answers."

he hesitated, throwing a long, lingering glance at the open night air like it might drop a web-line and rescue him, before finally perching stiffly on the edge of the bench.

you disappeared briefly into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a chilled glass of water, holding it out to him. he eyed the glass dubiously for a beat, then gave in, peeling up the bottom half of his fabric mask just enough to expose his mouth and chin. he angled his head sharply away from you as he took a quick, grateful sip, careful not to let an inch of skin catch the lamp light.

"you hurt anywhere?" you asked, setting your towel down on the nightstand. your tone was softer now, the initial surprise fading into something far more grounded.

"couple bruises. maybe a light sprain," he admitted, rolling one shoulder in a slow circle until a faint pop echoed in the quiet room. "nothing major. comes with the job description."

"and what exactly is the job description that has you breaking into random strangers' bedrooms at midnight?"

"i told you, wrong house," he insisted, a little too quickly, tucking his chin back down into his suit and pulling the mask tight. "total accident. glitch in the navigation."

"sure, spidey." you studied him for a long moment, a knowing flicker behind your eyes, the subtle look of someone who had clocked the crimson shadow perched on the brick roof across the street far more nights than you’d ever admitted aloud.

you didn't push him, though. not tonight. instead, you climbed up onto the edge of your bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, and let the conversation drift into lighter, safer waters.

he relaxed by increments, his hands dropping to his lap. he talked about the chaotic pulse of the city below, the bizarre night traffic, and a stubborn stray bodega cat in queens that had taken to following him along the fire escapes during his evening patrols. every time your questions veered anywhere near his life under the mask, he deftly pivoted with a joke or a rambling detour. you noticed every single deflection. you let every single one slide.

eventually, he glanced toward the moonlit sill, checking some invisible internal clock, and rose to his feet in one fluid motion.

"i should, uh—swing home," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"bye, spidey,” you said quietly. there was an unmistakable, fond warmth in your voice that lingered in the air between you.

he gave a brief, awkward bow, flipped backward out the open window, and vanished into the cool night air. you walked over to the sill, leaning out to watch him go. you caught the dark silhouette arc across two buildings before he abruptly doubled back, diving low into the shadows of the alleyway opposite your complex.

peter waited until he was entirely sure he was out of your line of sight before pulling off his mask, yanking a worn hoodie over his suit, and racing down the fire escape on foot. he made a deliberate point to sprint around the block and enter through the front lobby of the building, taking the stairs two at a time so you wouldn't suspect a thing.

a minute later, the heavy timber of his front door, slammed a little too hard, echoing through the thin walls.

you stared at your own closed bedroom door, rubbing your temples as the realization clicked into place that your annoying neighbor was back home.

you groaned out loud to the empty room. "great."

the evenings folded into each other until the pattern became a quiet, unwritten ritual. every night, after the city settled into a muted hum, a soft shadow would cross the fire escape, followed by the familiar tap-tap against the glass. spider-man would drop by for twenty minutes, sometimes an hour, right before heading back to his own apartment. you stopped questioning the "wrong window" excuse entirely; some things were infinitely sweeter left unspoken, left to hang between you like a shared secret.

one tuesday evening, he caught you mid-cooking. he leaned casually against your kitchen doorway, folded arms resting against the frame, watching you handle a skillet with far too much confidence for someone who had already set off the building's smoke detector twice that month.

"you know, high heat doesn't mean it cooks faster," he observed, his lenses narrowing slightly in amusementt.

"i know how to cook," you lied, tossing a handful of chopped garlic into the hot oil with a dramatic sizzle that immediately filled the kitchen with a sharp, fragrant aroma. "it’s called searing. it’s high culinary art, spider-man."

"right. searing. is that why you have the balcony door cracked to air out the smoke?"

you turned around, spatula pointing at his chest. "stay and eat. prove me wrong."

"eating in the suit isn't exactly practical," he said, a genuine laugh laced through his voice as he gestured vaguely to the tight red-and-blue fabric covering his jaw. "the whole chin-peel maneuver is a delicate science, and frankly, i don't trust myself not to spill garlic butter down my suit"

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. grabbing a glass container from the drying rack, you packed a generous portion of the pasta into it, snapped the lid down tight, and pushed it directly into his hands.

"then take it home, genius."

the next evening, he showed up at the sill holding the clean, freshly washed container in one hand and a slightly windblown bouquet of flowers in the other.

"i, uh... brought these," he muttered, holding them out like a peace offering. "and the tupperware. washed it twice. thank you. seriously. it was... really good. better than my usual microwave ramen by a mile."

he thanked you with a solemn, intense sincerity that the simple plate of pasta didn't remotely call for. you felt an unexpected heat blossom across your cheeks as you looked for a vase to put the flowers in and didn't bother pretending you hadn't noticed. somewhere between the terrible acoustics of the street traffic below, the quiet banter, and the returned tupperware, you'd developed something that felt suspiciously like a deep, helpless crush.

you ended up stepping out onto the balcony that night, the crisp night air biting gently at your skin as the endless sprawl of new york hummed softly beneath you. inside, through the glass patio doors, the apartment was bathed in warm gold light, highlighting the sleek, minimalist tech mounted seamlessly along your living room walls.

"so," he began, resting his forearms against the cool metal railing beside you and nodding toward the equipment inside "i’ve gotta ask... what’s with all the stark gear? that panel by the door isn't exactly consumer retail"

you hesitated for half a second, thumbs lightly tracing the delicate stem of a daisy before you answered. "my dad was tony stark."

the air went still for a beat. beside you, his entire posture shifted, a sudden, rigid jump of surprise, followed almost immediately by something far softer, far warmer.

"i knew him," he said quietly, his voice dropping into a tone you hadn't heard from him before. "he was... kind of a mentor, honestly. one of the best people i ever met."

you looked up, caught off guard by the genuine tenderness in his tone, and felt a quiet, grounding comfort settle between you. you offered him a gentle smile. "he spoke about a kid from queens sometimes. guessing that was you."

"yeah," he murmured, looking out at the skyline. "that was me."

"okay," you said, nudging his knee with yours to break the sudden heaviness in the air. "your turn. we’re trading secrets now. tell me something you’ve never told anyone."

he shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "oh, come on. you can't put me on the spot like that. my identity is literally a national secret."

"i'm not asking for your social security number idiot,” you laughed, leaning back against the brick wall. "just a fact. something small."

he hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before lowering his voice dramatically. "okay. fine. i have... a small tattoo of a spider on my shoulder."

you froze, blinked once, and then burst out laughing. "you do not."

"i do!" he insisted, mock-offended, though his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter under the suit. "it’s small! and it’s sentimental!"

"you're spider-man!" you wheezed, leaning into him slightly as you laughed. "you already wear a giant spider on your chest! why would you get a tiny one tattooed on your shoulder?!"

"it was a whole thing!“ he stammered, his lenses adjusting widening in defensive humor. "and it’s artistic, okay? it’s classic!"

you laughed harder, the sound bright and ringing out into the midnight air. he stopped defending himself and just watched you do it,head tilted slightly, his entire demeanor softening as if your laughter was the absolute best part of his night.

gradually, the laughter died down, leaving a heavy, quiet stillness in its place. the noise of the city seemed to recede into the background. the air between you shifted, growing charged, warm, and sweet.

he looked at you for a long moment, the white lenses of his mask motionless.

"i really wanna kiss you," he said. the usual deflection, the fast-talking jokes, the nervous rambling, all of it vanished, replaced by a simple, quiet honesty that made your heart skip a beat.

you didn't hesitate. "then do it."

you reached up, your fingers brushing against the cool, textured fabric at the base of his neck, and gently lifted the bottom of his mask up, revealing his square jaw, soft lips, and the faint dust of stubble along his skin. you closed the small distance between you yourself.

the kiss was soft, unhurried, and grounded, a slow, tender grounding after days of cautious dance around each other. his breath caught for a second before his hand came up to rest gently against the side of your waist, holding you close. when the kiss broke, neither of you moved. his forehead rested lightly against yours, both of you breathing in the cool night air.

"i... i gotta go," he murmured eventually against your skin, though he didn't make a single move to pull away.

"you should," you whispered back, a faint smile touching your lips. "it's late."

he lingeringly pulled the mask back down over his face after pressing one sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek, and backed toward the balcony railing. he offered a small, almost bashful wave before vaulting backward into the night, swinging off toward the rooftops, same as always.

peter grinned the entire way home. he swung through the air with a smile plastered across his face, equal parts utterly thrilled and quietly panicking about how exactly he was going to navigate the fact that his least favorite, most stubborn neighbor and the person he was completely, hopelessly gone for happened to be the exact same human being.

peter dropped down onto his own fire escape, pulled his mask off to take a breath of fresh air, and scrambled through his front door. he changed out of his suit, and into his boxers before lying in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs, a slow, unstoppable grin spreading across his face.

it was nearing 1am when peter heard sounds coming from your bedroom. faint, muffled, but unmistakably moans through the paper-thin shared wall separating his apartment from yours. he was about to put on his headphones to drown out the sound before hearing something he never thought he would hear.

“fuck, spidey, need you” instantly the thought of you needing peter so badly made peter’s cock throb. he rubbed his dick through his boxers mentally cursing at himself, but it wasn’t his fault you were so fine. the second another soft moan traveled through the walls he jerked his boxers down already hard from the thought of you touching yourself to him.

his tip was red and pre-cum leaked immediately, coating his palm as he started stroking with long, firm pulls. the wet sound of his hand sliding over his cock mixed with the faint, muffled noises coming from your bedroom.

on the other side of the wall, you were spread out on your bed, two fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt. your clit throbbed under your thumb as you rubbed tight circles, hips rolling up to meet your own hand. you thought about spider-man touching you and fucking you senseless, which only made you thrust your fingers faster. slick arousal coated your fingers, dripping down to your, chasing the pressure building in your core.

"mmmph—fuck," you whined louder, the sound carrying clearly through the drywall. your fingers pumped faster, curling against that sensitive spot inside while your thumb worked your swollen clit. your thighs trembled as you edged closer.

peter's fist tightened around his cock, matching your rhythm through the wall. he stroked faster, the head of his dick glistening with pre-cum that he used to slick his shaft. as he listened to your sounds he continued to fist his dick faster. gosh this was wrong, but he couldn’t stop. he was obsessed with you.

“fuckkkk” you gasped, adding a third finger. the stretch burned so good, your walls clenching around your digits as you fucked yourself deeper.

peter bit back a groan, his cock pulsing in his grip. he pumped harder as he jerked himself to the sound of your desperate moans. his thumb swiped over the leaking slit, as his thoughts were jumbled with the thought of you all spread out and perfect for him. you made him crazy, so crazy to the point that he could feel his arachnid senses taking over.

your breathing grew ragged, punctuated by soft whimpers and the obscene sound of your fingers pounding your dripping cunt. "close—fuck, i'm so close, please, fuck fuck fuck” you whined, your voice breaking as your orgasm built. your clit throbbed under your thumb, pussy clenching rhythmically around your fingers as you teetered on the edge.

peter's strokes became frantic as he listened to you fall apart.

your cry cut through the wall as your orgasm hit, your thighs shook, back arching off the bed as you came hard, slick gushing around your digits.

peter's cock jerked violently in his fist. thick ropes of cum shot from his swollen head, splattering across his abs and chest as he came to the sound of your orgasm. his hand kept stroking through it, milking every pulse from his balls until he was spent and panting.

through the wall, your breathing slowly evened out, the wet sounds of your fingers finally stilling. peter lay there in the dark, already wondering how long he'd have to wait before he could cross that wall and give you what you were moaning for. if only he could just reveal himself.

you padded down the creaky back stairwell to the basement laundry room early the next morning, arms full of an overflowing hamper you hadn't bother to sort, your hair a wild, tangled halo from sleep, and whatever lingering restlessness had kept you tossing and turning after last night. you weren't expecting company at this ungodly hour, and you definitely weren't expecting to find peter parker already there, hunched over one of the industrial washing machines with a coffee cup clutched in his hand.

you shoved the heavy metal door open with your hip. it groaned on its hinges.

peter jumped like he’d been hit with a cattle prod. his arm jerked, and the scalding drip coffee tipped straight down the front of his faded graphic t-shirt.

"fuck!" he hissed, slapping at his chest and yanked the fabric away from his skin as a massive, dark brown bloom soaked through to his collarbone.

"wow," you said, setting your heavy hamper onto the folding table with a dull thud. you didn't bother hiding your amusement. "didn't realize you were such a scaredy-cat, parker."

"i wasn't scared, i was startled, there's a massive difference," he shot back, scowling as he grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulled it over his head in one sharp, annoyed motion, and crammed it directly into an empty washing machine. he reached for his sweatpants next, wincing as the hot liquid apparently had bled clean through the waistband. without missing a beat or giving you time to process the sheer audacity of the move, he stepped right out of his pants and threw them into the drum too.

which left him standing in the harsh, flickering glare of the fluorescent lights in nothing but a pair of navy boxers, toned, lithe, covered in faint faint pale scars, and glaring at you with his arms crossed defensively over his bare chest.

"cute," you said dryly, popping the lid on a washer beside his and dumping your darks inside, determined not to let him see you blush at his figure. "really thought this morning routine through, didn't you?"

"in my defense, i didn't expect anyone else to be wandering down into this dungeon at six in the morning," he muttered, shifting his weight. his jaw was set, eyes snapping back at you with an edge that was far more combative than his usual timid hallway persona. "and for the record, you're the one intruding."

"yeah, well, now you're stuck doing laundry practically naked with someone who can barely stand you," you said, your tone sharpening. old habits crept back in effortlessly now that the moonlight, the balcony breeze, and the sweet, quiet conversations felt a million miles away from this cold concrete room. "real smooth move, romeo."

"i didn't hear you complaining about my smooth moves last—" he started, his voice rising with a bite, before he caught himself. his jaw snapped shut so hard his teeth clicked.

"last what?" you pressed, narrowing your eyes as you leaned back against the edge of the washing machine table. "finish the sentence, parker."

"nothing," he snapped, rolling his shoulders and staring at the brick wall like it owed him money. "forget it."

you opened your mouth to deliver sharp comeback, and stopped dead.

your eyes had drifted, entirely by accident, down the slope of his broad neck to his bare left shoulder. resting right there on his skin was a small, unmistakable, dark ink design.

a tiny, stylized spider.

your mouth fell open. your gaze snapped from the tattoo up to his sharp hazel eyes, then back down to his shoulder, doing frantic mental math that your brain was fundamentally unprepared for before full consciousness had even set in.

peter smirked at you staring at his figure, though his posture remained stubborn and defiant. "if you wanted an excuse to stare at my abs, you could've just said so," he bit out, aiming for a cocky sneer and hitting somewhere much closer to defensive panic.

"shut up," you said softly, barely hearing him, still staring at the ink as if it might morph into something else.

"nice tattoo, mean anything?"

"it's a bug," he said instantly, his voice entirely too sharp. “you’re like a bug” you whisper under your breath "plus spiders are common. people get them all the time. "

"uh-huh." you crossed your arms, stepping away from your hamper and taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. the pieces were colliding in your head with the force of a freight train, the bruises, the insane late-night schedules, the 'wrong window' excuse that was complete bullshit, and the mention of last night…

"so, hypothetically," you said, your voice slow as you reached out. you pressed the tip of your index finger against his chest, right above his ribs, and slowly traced a line down the center of his abs, watching his jaw clench as his breath hitched, he was trying so hard to not show it in his boxers. "if i asked you where you were last tuesday around midnight... would i get a straight answer?"

"depends on what you count as straight," he muttered, his eyes tracking your hand, his skin warm and vibrating under your touch.

"and if i asked how you knew my father personally?"

peter's face went through three distinct stages of existential dread in under two seconds, his combative front fracturing into sheer chaos. “i told you, he was my mentor we worked on—fuck“

"you're spider-man," you said. it wasn't a question. it was a slow, dawning realization that erupted in your chest, delivered somewhere in the space between utter disbelief and absolute, mind-spinning delight. "fucking hell, all this time, my whiny, annoying neighbor is spider-man."

"fuck this," peter muttered.

before you could finish your sentence, he closed the distance between you in a single, explosive stride.

he didn't ramble, he didn't apologize, and he didn't give you another second to process. his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck while his other arm wrapped like an iron band around your waist, pulling you flush against his bare chest. he cut off your rant by slamming his mouth down over yours.

the kiss was hard, hungry, and completely devoid of the polite restraint he’d shown on the balcony. it was all the pent-up frustration of the last week, the teasing, the fighting, and the absolute relief of being exposed poured into one relentless motion.

you gasped against his lips, but instead of pulling away, your hands flew up, your fingers tangling into his messy brown hair and wrapping around his bare shoulder, right over the small black spider ink. you pulled him closer, kissing him back just as fiercely, your mouth opening to his as the heat in the room skyrocketed.

peter let out a low, rough sound in his throat. he shifted his grip, lifting you off your feet effortlessly and hauling you backward until your lower back hit the front of a heavy industrial washing machine with a metallic thud. he crowded between your legs, pressing his weight against you, refusing to give you an inch of space.

his hands slid up your waist, beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers warm and rough against your bare skin as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head back to catch your lip between his teeth. the machine behind you hummed and vibrated as a wash cycle kicked in, but neither of you paid it the slightest bit of attention.

when he finally pulled back a fraction of an inch to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes blown out, his chest heaving against yours.

"you talk too much," he whispered, his voice breathless, dark, and utterly devoid of his usual hesitation.

"you kissed me first," you breathed back, your hands gripping his bare hips, pulling him right back in.

"make me stop," he growled against your lips, and then he was kissing you again.

the elevator was only a few steps away. he continued kissing you until you both reached the elevator. the elevator doors hadn't even finished closing before his mouth was on yours again.

peter's thigh shoved between your legs, pinning you to the cold mirrored wall. the chill bled through your thin shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body boxing you in. his hands found your ass and lifted, grinding your core against the hard ridge straining his boxers. your tongues slid together, slick and uncoordinated, as you sighed into his mouth. the elevator hummed upward, a distant mechanical purr beneath the sounds of the kiss.

a soft chime announced your floor. peter broke away only long enough to grab your wrist and pull you stumbling down the hallway. his free hand worked under your shirt before you'd taken three steps, rough fingertips skating up your ribs. your back hit his apartment door with a thud. his lips bruised yours while he fumbled the lock. the door swung open, and he walked you backward into the dark room.

the bed caught you, springs groaning, your head sinking into the pillows. peter crawled over you, his silhouette blocking the slice of city light from the window. "fuck baby, since i saw you that day, been wanting to do this forever." his voice had dropped an octave, rough and strained. those eyes, usually a warm brown, had gone black. his arachnid instincts taking over. you remember him talking to you about it one night, imagined it multiple times when you would try and touch yourself, and here peter was staring you down like prey.

"heard you last night through the wall," he said, teeth grazing your jaw. "whining like a spoiled girl for my cock. you were so fucking loud while you moaned my name."

heat flooded your cheeks. the walls were thin, you knew that, but you never realized he heard you.

your hands flew to his boxers, fingers hooking the waistband, desperate. he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. the grip was unbreakable.

"look at this, i’m giving you my cock after you've been such a bitch to me this whole time." his free hand trailed down your throat, tracing a possessive path between your breasts, as he kissed your neck between words. "teasing me, running your mouth, acting like you don't want it when we both know you do."

"please," you gasped, hips rolling up. your body arched, seeking friction, anything. "peter, please i need—"

"shut up."

he yanked your shorts down your legs, rough enough that the button popped. the denim scraped your thighs, leaving a quick burn. peter's gaze dropped to your bare cunt, already glistening. "no panties? did you want me to fuck you baby, hm?" two thick digits pushed inside without preamble, and the stretch wrenched a broken cry from your throat. your walls clenched around him immediately, a needy spasm, but the stretch wasn't enough. not nearly.

"you're dripping already." his thumb pressed down on your clit, circling in a steady, practiced rhythm. "pathetic."

"then stop teasing and fuck me," you bit back, even as your hips bucked into his hand. the defiance was instinct, a reflex you couldn't snuff out, not even now.

peter's jaw tightened, you were just as stubborn as your father about everything. the blackness in his eyes seemed to pulse.

"you just don't shut up, huh?" his fingers curled inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your vision spark white. "driving me fucking crazy with that mouth of yours."

he worked you with a brutal, focused precision. no hesitation. his thumb pressed harder, his fingers plunging deeper, and the pressure built low in your pelvis. the wet sounds of his hand filled the room, obscene and rhythmic.

your wrists strained against his grip. your thighs trembled. his name tumbled from your lips in fragments. “peter! oh—fuck i’m so close”

"come on, then, cum for me baby“

the command tipped you over. your orgasm crashed through you, your back bowed off the mattress. a guttural moan ripped from your chest, and peter watched every second of it in awe, his black eyes cataloging the flutter of your throat, the way your eyes got glossy.

he didn't give you time to recover, however. his fingers slid out, glistening, as he placed them in his mouth, groaning at your taste, making you close your legs. peter was quick to stop it though, placing his hand between your thighs and spreading you open for him.

you moved your hands from above you to bring peter closer and grip his dick through his boxers. you shoved it down, and watched as his dick sprang upward, flushed dark red, a bead of moisture already beading at the tip. “s’ all for me peter? do i make you hard hm?” you say trying to provoke him. you stroke his dick in your hand twice watching as peters forehead creases in pleasure. he kisses you again with just as much pressure as he begins to line himself up with you. he started out slow, teasing you with the tip, pressing it against your puffy clit and then pushing the head just between your folds. your eyes shut in pleasure, but you needed more. “please, peter mmph, need more, fuck!” you ramble as peter continues to tease you. you watch a smirk fall on his face “sure baby? won’t be too much huh?” “please peter, baby please, need you inside s’bad” you’re just a whining mess at this point, and so frustrated from being edged by peter. he catches you by surprise though when he thrusts inside. the stretch was overwhelming, he was bigger than you’ve ever had and that made your head dizzy just thinking about it. your walls spasmed around his length, trying to adjust.

"fuck," he hissed, dropping his forehead to yours. "you feel that? that's what you wanted, isn't it? so fuckin needy"

your answer was a moan. he began with short thrusts to have you adjust to his length, but it didn’t last long because his hips began snapping forward, setting a punishing pace that rocked the bed frame against the wall. every thrust forced the air from your lungs in punched-out gasps. his chest pressed against yours, his mouth trailing open, wet kisses along the column of your throat. teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear.

"fuck—yes—you're so big" you cried out, but peter just drove into you harder, his cock stretching you open with every deep stroke. one hand still shackled your wrists; the other cupped your jaw, forcing your gaze to his as he caressed your cheek. he watched your expression twist, lips parted, eyes glazed.

"look at you," he grunted. "all that mouth and now you can't even form a word."

the second orgasm built fast, coiled tight by the angle and the friction and the sheer force of him. your clit bumped his pelvic bone with every drive forward, a maddening spark. your inner muscles began to flutter, a telltale pulse around him, and peter felt it. his rhythm faltered for a beat, then quickened.

"that's it. let go. c’mon give me another baby”

your climax hit differently this time, deeper, a rolling wave that started at your core and radiated outward, liquefying every bone. you clenched around his cock in rhythmic pulses, and he groaned, jaw tight, fighting his own release. he kept thrusting through it, drawing out every aftershock until you went limp beneath him.

he pulled out abruptly, leaving you achingly empty.

"turn over f’me” it wasn't a request. his hands flipped you onto your stomach, making you lie with you face down ass up. the position left you exposed, trembling. your cheek pressed into the damp sheets. peter's palm smoothed over the curve of your ass, a deceptive gentleness, before he pushed his dick back into your aching pussy.

the angle allowed him deeper, impossibly deeper, and the moan that tore from you was nearly a sob. his hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, fingertips denting your flesh.

each thrust forced a broken sound from your throat as he continued to drive into you, his cock hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

"take it, fuck, i know you can,”

his pace became punishing. the wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the walls, obscene and relentless. his cock swelled inside you, thickening, and his breath grew ragged. he reached around to rub your clit in needy uncoordinated circles, the extra stimulation pushing you toward the edge again.

you were still trembling from the last one, oversensitive, but your body responded anyway. a third climax coiled, tighter and meaner, refusing to be ignored.

peter's rhythm stuttered. he was close. you could feel it in the way his hips lost their precision, in the desperate grunt that vibrated against the back of your neck.

"c-can you give me one more baby?" his voice cracked, hoarse and strained. "hm? acting so smart earlier but can you not take my dick anymore huh?"

you were tear-streaked, your throat raw. but his taunt lit something feral in your chest. you nodded frantically into the sheets, pushing your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts. wanting more. needing him to finish you off and fill you up.

peter let out a rough, breathless laugh. "yeah, you can take it. look at you, so fucking perfect”

his fingers pressed harder on your clit, circling ruthlessly. his cock drove into you with renewed intensity, every stroke a demand. the coil snapped. your third orgasm detonated, a violent clench that had you sobbing into the mattress, your whole body seizing around him. it ripped through you, leaving you gutted and shaking.

peter buried himself deep and followed. his cock pulsed, flooding you with his release. he kept thrusting through it, slow and deliberate, pushing his load deeper.

the room fell still except for ragged breathing. he stayed buried inside you, softening slightly, his cum dripping from your used hole onto the sheets.

the black in peter's eyes receded, leaving behind that familiar warm brown. his pupils contracted, adjusting to the dim room, to the reality of what just happened. the hand on your hip lifted away. "shit." his voice had gone ragged, stripped of the dark authority from before. "i'm so sorry, was i too rough? you know the arachnid se—" he said as he pulled out, making you both hiss. the emptiness was immediate and strange, your walls still fluttering around nothing. peter turned you over with gentleness, his hands cradling rather than gripping. your back met the mattress. the sheets beneath you were damp and cooling.

you pressed your hands to his cheek, stilling the words. his mouth was warm and slightly swollen. your fingers traced a path from his lips up into his hair and tugged him closer to you, coaxing him down until his weight settled over you.

"peter, it's okay." you say “if anything, it was hot. didn't know you had it in you."

his brow furrowed, a crease forming between his eyes. "i could've hurt you. the instincts, they just—i saw you and i couldn't—"

"hey." you raked your nails lightly along his scalp, and his eyes fluttered half-closed. "i'm still here. still in one piece."

he let out a breath that was half laugh, half relief. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his lips found the curve of your neck leaving small kisses. you let your legs fall wider, hooking one ankle over the back of his knee.

a comfortable silence settled between you. his mouth continued its lazy exploration, trailing from your throat to your collarbone, then back up to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you hummed, fingers still tangled in his hair.

"plus," you said, keeping your voice deliberately casual, "i didn't really feel much. your dick's pretty small."

peter's head snapped up. his eyes had narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a smirk fighting its way through the post-orgasm haze and the lingering guilt. "oh yeah?"

"yeah." you shrugged, the motion rolling your bare shoulders against the sheets. "barely noticed anything was happening."

"says the girl who was whining." his voice dropped, a shadow of that earlier growl bleeding through. "what was it again? something like—" he pressed his thumb to your clit without warning, barely any pressure, just a tease of contact.

your hips bucked. a strangled whimper escaped before you could swallow it.

"’fuck, your dick's sooo big,’" he quoted, high-pitched and mocking, his thumb circling once, twice. the touch was featherlight but your nerves were still raw, still sparking from three orgasms. "that was you, wasn't it? or was that some other neighbor i was fucking?"

"nope." your voice cracked on the word. "don't remember saying that at all."

his thumb pressed harder, a quick, mean circle that made your thighs clamp around his hips. a gasp tore from your throat.

"you remember now?"

"okay," you breathed, nodding frantically. "okay, okay. maybe. maybe i said that. a little."

"mhm." he withdrew his thumb, trailing it up over your hip bone, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. "thought so." he propped himself up on his elbows, his face hovering inches above yours. the smirk had fully won now, tugging at his lips. "then why don't we go another round, huh? since you barely felt anything? let me make up for my apparent shortcomings."

you laughed. "did you just say shortcomings?"

"shut up."

you considered it. the offer was tempting, he was still half-hard against your thigh, a slow-warming pressure that promised more. but your body had other opinions. your clit throbbed with its own heartbeat, oversensitive and swollen. every brush of his skin against yours sent a jolt that was closer to too much than just right.

"sure," you said anyway, because backing down wasn't in your nature.

peter raised an eyebrow. "yeah?"

“c’mon then spidey” you shifted your hips, lining yourself up, and the blunt head of his cock nudged your entrance. wetness from his previous release still slicked your folds. he slid an inch inside.

your whole body seized. the overstimulation taking over. you slapped your palm against his chest.

"okay okay fine, not right now!" the words tumbled out in a breathless rush. "m'too sensitive, fuck.”

peter pulled out immediately, but he was grinning now, a wide, unguarded smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. he dropped onto his side, pulling you with him so you lay chest to chest, your leg hooked over his hip. his hand settled on the small of your back, thumb tracing lazy circles.

“you’re so stubborn y’know,” he said, still smiling.

“my dad’s tony stark, what do you expect,“ you reply. silence fell over the two of you for a moment before you break the silence "i hate you."

"no, you don't."

"no," you admitted, muffled against his skin. "i don't."

"for the record," he murmured into your hair, "it's not small."

"oh my god, let it go."

"you brought it up—"

"i was joking—"

"and i'm just saying—"

"peter." you tilted your head back, meeting his eyes. the brown was fully back now, warm and teasing. no trace of black remained. "you just came inside me, and fucked me three times. you don't need to defend your dick's honor."

"four's a nice round number." he smirked at you.

"absolutely not."

"in five minutes?"

"maybe in five minutes." you paused. "ten."