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summary: a leak in your apartment leaves you out of a place for a week. lucky for you, upstairs resident peter parker has a spare room.
wc: ~5k
tags: peter parker x fem!reader, neighbor!reader vibes, strangers to friends to something more, hurt/mostly comfort, elusive and mysterious peter parker, spider-man reveal, patching up peter, abuse of italics, wound care, mutual pining ftw
a/n: i know i have like 6 wips right now okay. but i saw this "texts with peter parker" tiktok and was absolutely in love with the idea and then suddenly 3 hours had passed and i came to and five thousand words had been written. FULL CREDIT FOR THE IMAGES, TEXT QUOTES IN THE FIC, AND GENERAL IDEA TO @arizonocan ON TIKTOK (same @'s here and there). thank you queen for letting me flesh out a full fic based off your series!
also fuck it. let me know what you think about proper caps instead of just all lowercase. just don't accuse me of ai PLEASE i don't TOUCH that shit i just like grammar okay
masterlist
Peter was out on midday patrol when he got the call.
"You know how i said renting the loft might come with some weird contingencies that will only come up as they come up?" His landlord asked.
"I, uh... yes sir. How can I help?" peter spoke into the phone he had on speaker as he watched his jail-broken police scanner app.
"I've got a leak in apartment two twenty. Lone girl about your age, I need the place empty for two weeks while I fix it. I'm not sure what you've done with it, but I know you've got that extra room..."
Peter sighed, noting every piece of equipment he was going to have to drag across the apartment to clear said room. "Uh, yes. I do, yes sir."
"Great. I'll give you her number. Totally up to her, obviously, but I already mentioned the space and that I'm not paying for any additional lodging in the meantime. Let me know if you need any help moving shit. Thanks Peter."
The line disconnected before Peter could either protest or even agree, though it seemed the decision had already been made for him. Great. Peter started to make his way home, both to text you and rid his apartment of anything spider-man adjacent.
You'd seen Peter a few times in passing, though whenever you saw him, he always seemed to be in a hurry. Your first time meeting him was almost a year ago now, when your paper grocery bag had broken in the lobby and sent produce flying everywhere. He stopped to help you pick everything up, and even followed you up to your apartment to help you carry what you couldn't hold with the broken bag. He was friendly enough, and since that day you'd seen him a handful of times, always at odd hours and in a rush.
So, when you Peter Parker texted you while you were sorting through your damaged belongings, you perked up.
hey, this is peter parker. from upstairs?
-yes, the neighbor who never seems to be home. how'd you get this number?
our landlord. he told me about the leak
-yeah... he said it'll be a week or two before it's fixed
i have a spare room if you need a place to stay?
-oh!
-funny, he just mentioned the loft. nothing about the tenant actively living there
-that's really sweet of you, but it's okay :)
no seriously, it's no problem! i have the whole loft and like you said, i'm not home much lol
-i was planning on staying with my brother
take the spare room for the week. or more, obviously
i owe our landlord a favor anyways
-okay fine
-but only because the thought of living in a studio with my brother for that long makes me want to rip my hair out
sounds good! i'll make you a key and come drop it off in about an hour :)
After a phone call with your landlord to corroborate Peter's story and confirm he wasn't in fact using the loft to store the bodies of his victims, you decided to say fuck it and start packing for Peters. You loaded up a week of your life into an oversized suitcase, finished clearing what you could of your stuff out of the literal splash zone, and exactly an hour later as he said, Peter Parker was at your door.
"Hey! I'm Peter. You knew that, obviously, we've met before. And we talked an hour ago. That was pretty stupid, I guess," he chucked, hand reaching behind him to nervously scratch the back of his neck. "A-anyways, I came to drop off a key for you and help you bring some stuff upstairs."
You gave him a warm smile, taking his awkward demeanor as a sign of safety. "Hey Peter, thanks for all of this. It's just this one suitcase, I figured I could just come back down if I forgot— oh. You don't have to do that, really."
Peter had already grabbed the luggage from your hand, brushing off your protests as he started to head for the stairs. "It's cool, I've got it. I'm sure you've been cleaning all afternoon, I'm not going to make you carry this up five flights of stairs."
Your blush was hidden as you followed up behind him, a smile creeping on your cheeks as he continued to ramble and apologize for the state of his place. You got to the loft, and he opened the door to an apartment at least twice the size of yours. One of the walls was completely covered in windows, natural light bathing the room in a warm glow. The set up looked about how you'd expect a 20-something year old mans apartment to look: scarce furniture, a lone tv with an xbox set up on a bare wall, and far too much open space for there not to be a single rug on the floor.
"—and like I said, I'll keep cleaning when I get home from, um, work later. I work a lot of split shifts and I was out when the landlord called earlier, so I didn't have much prep time to—"
"Peter," you stopped him. He turned back to look at you with wide eyes, your suitcase still in his hands. "This is more than enough, really. Having my own bedroom is already far beyond what I was expecting."
He gave you a small smile, tension draining from his shoulders. "Right. Yeah, okay. Let me show you your bedroom."
He helped you get settled best he could, telling you to unpack into the empty dresser that was in the room while he ran to grab something real quick. You did not expect said errand to be carrying both your mattress and bed frame up five flights of stairs him-goddamn-self.
"Okay, so I figured you can put this wherever you want, obviously, but—"
"Peter!"
He whipped up to look at you, losing grip of the frame on his back and catching it just before it hit the ground. "What?"
"What the fuck? Did you carry that up here yourself?"
Peter's eyes went wide for a second, almost like he'd been caught doing something wrong, but he shook it off and replaced it with a nervous laugh. "Oh! Y-yeah, not a big deal. I, uh, helped with a college moving company for a few summers. I also brought your mattress up."
You stared at him in disbelief as he brought the frame fully into the room and propped it across from the wall with a large window.
"Um, I was just saying that the windows up here have a pretty bad draft, so you might want to sleep on the opposite wall. But you can do whatever you want! Obviously! Mi casa es su casa, as they say," Peter's rambling fizzled off into anxious laughter once again. "Anyways, I have to head out. To work, I mean. But please, make yourself at home, I mean it. Do whatever you want, use what you need to. I'll get home pretty late, so make sure to lock up before you go to bed, okay? Text me if you need me at all!"
And just like that, he was gone for the next seven hours, not returning until late into the night and well after you had gone to bed. This was a common theme, you'd come to realize — Peter gone most of the day, working split shifts that kept him out a standard 9-5, only to be home long enough for a shower before headed out until god knows what hour of the morning. You didn't get to interact with him much over the week, but frankly, you didn't mind. You'd anticipated seven days of sharing a studio with your party animal brother, and being at Peter's wasn't much unlike being at your own place still.
Quickly one week had turned into two, and you'd gotten to know Peter a bit more. Well, that was a bit of an overstatement.
You'd gotten to know his favorite sweets and movies, and learned that he was an absolute wiz with technology. You didn't know what he did for a living, where he was 20 hours of the day, or what Peter owed the landlord such a large favor for. Regardless, you'd come to appreciate what company he gave you.
Thank god, because thirteen days after squatting in his apartment, you got a call saying that your place wasn't going to be ready nor livable for at least another week. And you needed to clear your living room so that they could do construction.
For some reason, you found yourself not minding too much — at least, in regards to living with peter. He was going to have to use his magic moving powers to get your damn couch up these stairs, because there was no way in hell you were participating in that. But, this loft did have a bigger shower than you did. And a tub. And Peter (when he was home) wasn't all that bad company to have around. You checked in with him first, chuckling at the "obviously! i'll grab your stuff when i'm off of work", and you let yourself unpack a little more, decorating his extra dresser with some of your knickknacks and doing exactly what peter had said about making yourself feel at home.
Despite the whole mattress fiasco, you were still shocked when you woke up the next morning to find that Peter had single-handedly brought up your entire living room and combined it with his own — couch, bookshelves, and all. You scolded him for doing it alone, but he dismissed you and insisted that it was no big deal. That he was just happy to have a couch to sit on that wasn't clearly from the side of the road. You offered to pay him for his efforts like a real mover, but he declined, using the moment to rush out the door for his shift.
Actually, that had happened a lot over the last few weeks.
Each time you'd gone to give Peter money to help cover rent, or to offer up a grocery run, he refused with a fury and found a convenient way every conversation to be running late for work. Work that, you were beginning to notice, started at a different time each day. But still, he would fill up the fridge before you got a chance to, and hide the multiple rent bills that slipped under the door that you had no idea were overdue. So, you started to do whatever you could to help him elsewhere.
You spent your evenings cleaning the apartment, dusting the insane amount of cobwebs from the walls and corners, and meticulously polishing all of the memorabilia on Peter's shelves. He protested initially, saying that you weren't responsible for cleaning up after him. It died off when he started reaping the benefits of the newly spotless bathtub he hadn't yet touched since moving in. He still texted you about it often though, never letting your efforts go unnoticed.
did you make my bed??
-you wouldn't take my money
???????
thank you. you didn't have to do that
It wasn't just the cleaning, though. You started baking more in your free time, making copious amounts of hearty snacks that he could take on the go. You'd begun to pick up on the fact that Peter didn't eat much, never having breakfast before heading out for the day, and scarcely joining you for dinner before leaving again. So, you made whatever handhelds you could: muffins, cookies, small quiches — anything you could leave on the counter to entice him on his way out the door.
Peter was always so sheepish about your acts of service towards him when he was home, nervous gratitude flowing from his mouth as he stuttered over compliments of how nice you were to him. He started to do things in return, too, as if the free housing wasn't enough. He'd pick you up a coffee and drop it at your work, or leave flowers on your bed for you to see when you'd get home; a little note, to thank you for doing his laundry or whatever task you'd done that day, stuck to the packaging with some sort of tack you were going to have to ask him to borrow for some posters you wanted to put up. How was this shit so sticky?
And yeah. It had been three weeks since you moved in with no word of returning to your own place, and you were at the point of putting up some of your posters. You felt guilty, initially, taking up space that wasn't yours. But Peter had insisted, happy to help you decorate the space and feel more at home, despite the circumstances.
Small moments like that grew over time, as Peter came home more for dinners before heading out to whatever fuck ass third shift he worked that started at 9pm and also sometimes at 6. You loved the excuse to cook more for him, and truthfully just getting to spend more time with him. Your friendship with Peter was blooming at an accelerating pace, and you were starting to wonder why you ever lived alone to begin with.
It was a Friday night, the both of you enjoying Tony's Pizza from down the street, when you'd gotten a call from your landlord updating you on the state of your apartment.
"You're kidding," you spat into the phone, mouth still full of pepperoni pizza and newfound annoyance. "Another month?"
Peter whipped up to look at you, bewilderment across his features as he moved closer to you on the couch.
"Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll get in touch with them. Thanks. Bye."
You hung up with an exasperated sigh and flopped back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Peter leaned back next to you, looking over with concern. "I take it that was our amazing, lovely landlord?"
You scoffed. "Yeah. Turns out my fucking floor caved in. It'll be another month before I can move back. And I have to contact my renters insurance; I guess the rest of my shit was destroyed."
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Peter's voice was genuine and quiet, like he had been the one to wreck your apartment himself, as he reached forward to put a comforting hand on your knee. You tried not to read into the butterflies that bloomed in your stomach at the touch. "What the fuck happened?"
You shrugged, rolling your head over to look at him. When did he get that close?
"No idea. Listen, I know I've already been here for over three fucking weeks and well overstayed my welcome. If you give me a few days, I can take my shit and—"
"What?" Peter sat up, turning his full body to look at you. "No, you're staying here till everything's fixed."
You blushed at how urgent his tone was, and he started to backpedal immediately. "I mean, only if you want to, of course! Obviously you can do whatever you want, you don't have to stay here, Jesus. I-I, I just mean that you're welcome to. It's no problem, I mean."
"It's okay, Peter," you smiled at him, resting a hand on his knee to calm him down in the same manner he had a minute ago. You ignored the way he instantly flushed. "I kinda like it here."
Peter smiled back, his flushed cheeks only radiating down his neck as he matched your admission. "I kind of like having you here."
"You have to let me pay you now, though."
"Look at the time! That's so crazy, I have to head out for work now." He stood and rushed to his bedroom, popping back out with a small backpack before heading out the front door. "Do not pay me!"
Over the next week, the air between you and Peter had begun to shift a bit. Peter was home every night for dinner, even surprising you one evening with dinner already made when you'd come home. He continued to leave you flowers, though his notes were growing longer. You noticed how you'd been sitting closer together on the couch as the TV played at night, knees knocking and arms brushing together anytime one of you laughed. Neither of you said anything, though you knew you both felt it.
Suddenly, it had been a month of living with Peter, and you knew you had to celebrate.
He'd texted you to wish you a "happy one month, roomie!" in the morning, letting you know he'd be working late but home for the night by 10 to commemorate the day with you. You smiled at the notion, pushing down the flutters in your chest at the fact that he was carving out time in his clearly busy schedule to celebrate such a silly milestone with you.
It was almost 11 by the time you heard the front door open, but you didn't mind. Your brownies had taken longer than expected anyways.
"Peter! In here!" You yelled from the kitchen, pulling the fresh goods from the oven. Footsteps grew louder behind you, and you heard Peter's bag hit the counter.
"Hey, you. Sorry i'm late, long day."
You chuckled as you poked a toothpick through the chocolatey center, letting out a satisfied hum when it returned clean. "That's okay, you're right on time! I made you something to celebrate!"
"That's funny, I picked you up something too."
You turned around to see Peter pulling a grocery store cake from his backpack. Well, what was a grocery store cake. You stared at the dishelved cake in front of you, frosting smeared all over the inside of the packaging.
"It, uh... used to say 'Happy One Month'. To be funny. But then, uh..."
"Then you threw it at the wall??!"
Peter barked out a laugh and fully set the desert down on the counter, picking up his bag and headed down the hall. "It's the thought that counts, okay! I'm gonna take a shower quick, I'll be back in few!"
In the meantime, you had dished up the brownies and supposed cake for the two of you, taking the plates into the living room to where you had set up a make-shift fort for your planned movie night. That was the plan, though things changed when you caught a glimpse at Peter's body wrapped only in a towel as he passed from the bathroom to his room.
His body that was covered in bruises.
You let him settle onto the couch and get a few bites in before bringing it up.
Peter dodged your gaze, playing with the food on his plate. "It's... just a hazard of the job, is all."
"Are you in a gang?" you questioned seriously, without skipping a beat. He looked at you like you'd grown a third eye.
"What?! No! No, I'm not in a gang."
"You're always so weird and evasive about your work, I don't know! Just trying to make sure I'm not rooming with a wanted man!"
A conflicted flash of emotions settled on Peter's face before he shook it off with a laugh, taking a bite of cake. "Yeah well, you've been pretty safe so far, huh? Maybe I'm just that high up in the gang."
"I guess that's true," you leaned into his frame as you laughed. "Just don't owe someone something you don't have and trade me for collateral."
You went to poke him in his side, a harmless and playful gesture, but when you did it, you wished you hadn't. Peter recoiled violently, hurt flooding his expression as a groan slipped from deep in his chest. You pulled back instantly, going to apologize for hitting a bruise when you noticed that the indent in his shirt where you poked had been soaked in a thin layer of red.
"Peter, you're bleeding? What the fuck, why didn't you say something?!" You didn't give him a chance to answer before dashing to the bathroom for the Very Thorough First-Aid kit that Peter had stashed.
You returned and he shook his head quickly, arms coming up to stop you. "Nononono! I'm totally fine! Really, look!"
His pained inhale when he twisted his core to show off how fine he was didn't convince you.
"Shirt off. Now."
Peter went bright red. "I... I mean, I guess you did buy me dinner first."
For once, you didn't laugh at one of Peter's jokes.
He stripped his teeshirt, allowing you to see the gash on his left side. You let out a string of curses and got to work, muttering apologies as you dabbed alcohol on the open wound. You tried to question him further but he dodged each one with practiced deflection and heated cheeks from your gentle touch. You tried and failed to fight your own blush, focusing on the situation in front of you and wondering what fucking job he had that 1.) got him such a nasty fucking gash in his side, and 2.) got him these delicious looking abs. The bed frame and couch made more sense now.
You finished patching him up, grabbing the gauze from the kit and making eye contact with Peter before earning a small nod that allowed you to reach forward and begin wrapping him. It was the closest you'd been to him yet, chests brushing against one another as you guided the cotton around his torso. Your breath hitched when you could feel his own on your neck, unsteady and hot under your proximity. You pulled back, meeting his eyes as you finished the wrap, gaze dropping down to his lips momentarily. Peter mimicked you, and you felt all the hair on your body stand straight.
"T-there. It, it looks mostly healed, which is good. But you should keep it covered until the bleeding stops. I'm sure you know that from your... job."
Peter flickered down to your lips again. "Yeah."
You sat there for another few heartbeats, longingly staring at each other's lips before peter stood abruptly. "Yeah. Yeah! Thank you, I mean. Thanks for patching me up. You should consider healthcare."
You stood up too, matching his frazzled energy. "Right! Yeah, maybe haha. I should, uh..."
"Yeah, it's pretty late—"
"Go to bed, yeah."
"Yeah, right. Me too."
You laid in bed for hours that night, thinking of all possible ways that Peter could be in danger and would have gotten so beat up. You fought your own rumination, battling each thought with reminders that you weren't his girlfriend. You were just someone who was living in his spare room for another few weeks due to an unfortunate situation. Stay out of his fucking business.
Except you couldn't, when the next night he made it exclusively your business.
You woke up to a string of texts, your phone going off loudly in time with a heavy thud coming from Peter's room. You checked your phone to see it was just after two in the morning, and you had four missed texts from Peter from just minutes ago.
hey are you home?
i need help
actually it's sort of an emergency
of sorts
-it's 2am peter, what could you have possibly gotten up to
i know
i promise it's important
-okay one second
-you're so lucky you live two feet away
Throwing on your slippers, you trekked to the bedroom door next to yours, giving it a soft knock. You were greeted with a weak "come in".
You entered Peter's room expecting to find Peter. Not Spider-Man.
"W-what... the fuck."
Peter was in the middle of his bedroom, curled on the floor in a ripped up Spider-Man suit, his mask on the ground next to him. He had a gash in his side similar to the one you had seen last night, except this one was far worse. He was bleeding out onto the hardwood, shaky hands doing little to hold the wound. You rushed to his side immediately.
"Oh my god, Peter!"
"I think you mean, S-spider-Man," he coughed out, hoping you didn't see the blood that had splattered out in the dark room. You did.
"What the fuck happened?! Oh my god," you ran out of the room, returning with the First-Aid kit in an instant. "Take off that suit, let me see. Oh my god, Peter."
It was a team effort to strip him of the latex, wet with blood and clinging to his skin. Clinging to his open wounds.
"Why the fuck wouldn't you say anything?!"
"Say what?" He trie to play dumb, though it earned him a smack to his non-bruised shoulder. "Hey!"
"That you're Spider-Man, dumbass!"
"I didn't want to make it your problem, I guess." He mumbled, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed a damp, soapy cloth to the largest of the gashes.
"Pete, what? You didn't think it would be my problem if a bad guy saw Spider-Man going home, and then I also just happen to live there??"
He winced when you dabbed the spot harder. "Touché."
Peter wasn't bickering back with you like normal, wasn't being evasive about what had happened. He rambled something about The Scorpion and gave a weak "you should see the other guy" as you helped him strip the bottom half of his suit and took stock of the black and blue budding all over his strong thighs.
"Peter, I... I think you need to go to the hospital. You could have serious internal bleeding, clotting, I-I mean, this looks bad, Pete."
His eyes shot open. When had he closed them? "No! No, I'll heal. I heal fast, it's okay."
"Peter Parker," you said sternly, watching as he nodded off again into what you hoped wasn't flat out unconsciousness.
"Really, s'okay. I've had worse. I'll be fine by morning, just... help me wrap it up? No hospitals, please." He was begging at this point, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at you. You relented with a heavy sigh, doing what you could to tend to his wounds and wrap him properly.
Eventually, you had him cleaned to the best of your lack-thereof medical ability and into some fresh clothes. It was hard not to gawk at his body as you helped him into his shorts and an over-sized teeshirt, but you tried your damn best to stay focused on the literal medical emergency in front of you. You helped him get comfortable in his bed, tucking him in and running out to bring him a huge glass of water and some Tylenol.
"You might have super healing, but I'm sure it still hurts," you said, leaving the bottle on his nightstand. "Can I get you anything else, Spidey?"
He smiled at the nickname, shaking his head softly. "No, you've done more than enough. Earned your rent for the next month."
You scoffed and started to head back to your room, but a hand grabbed your wrist before you could get far.
"Wait!" Peter exclaimed, nerves heavy in his tired voice. "Do you, um. Would you like to, maybe... doyouwantostayandcuddlemaybe."
You stood there for a moment, beat red, because there’s no way Peter Parker —there’s no way SPIDER FUCKING MAN— wants to cuddle you right now. Your moment of shock was taken as hesitation.
"I’m so sorry, that’s probably such a weird fucking question, oh my god. I didn’t mean to make your literal living space uncomfortable, fucking hell. First the Spider-Man thing and now this, Jesus Christ Peter, one at a fucking time—"
You cut off his rambling by crawling into bed next to him. "Shut up, Peter. Of course I want to cuddle."
You maneuvered around Peter best you could without jostling his fragile state, shuffling your way under his comforter and laying to face him. Neither of you were touching yet, though you laid inches from one another, matching blushes glowing even in the dark room. You let out a nervous laugh.
"iIm sorry, I haven’t done this in a while."
Peter let out a huff of air, and for a moment you thought he might be laughing at you. "Trust me. Fucking tell me about it."
You give him a reassuring smile, sensing there's more to the story there. Apparently, there's a lot more to Peter Parker's story than you orignally knew about.
"Here," he reached forwards to carefully pull you towards him, a trembling hand finding your waist to tug you against his chest. "Is this okay?"
You wrapped your arms around his torso, observant of his hurt areas and tangling your limbs best you could without making anything feel worse. Peter held you tighter than you thought was probably comfortable for him, causing you to laugh softly into the crook of his neck.
"I feel like I should be asking that to you. Are you okay? Because I'm not trying to be responsible for fucking up Spider-Man even more."
You felt him smile against your cheek. "Worth it."
waittt what are your current wips 👀 i need to know i’m too excited
current wips!
i have too many of them for the hours im putting in at my job rn lmao
peter parker's gonna be alright: a part two to something's off with peter parker, where you wake up the next morning still tangled together talk about the night before (major comfort/fluff)
these goddamn letters: what about the mj situation in BND, but with peter x neighbor!reader instead? (hurt/comfort, confessions, MAJOR BND SPOILERS ahead in this one)
use me: after a conversation with your boyfriend about free use while his body is going through changes, arachnid!peter comes home and finds you in the shower (SMUT, dove will probably be a little dead)
50 first dates: peter x stark!reader who doesn't remember her boyfriend after the spell. that's okay, because he's set on making you fall in love with him all over again (spoiler, it doesn't take long) (fluff, probs some hurt/comfort)
and then no title yet but also a part three to prepare yourself! (hurt/little comfort)
i also have a bunch of requests that i'm working on fleshing out a draft to! i see all of your ideas and i love them!!!
I have two reqs so I'll do them separately cuz the 2nd on his kinda long (sorry 🥲)
But I was wondering if u could write a follow up for 'somethings wrong with Peter parker' and its just them in the morning and they wake up all snuggled up and js talk for a little bit
No pressure 😆
YUPYUPYUPYUP
loving this neighbor!reader dynamic, and absolutely doing a part two of this bad boy. thank u for the requests and kind words anon, i will be working on your other one as well!
First of all… you are a modern day Shakespeare, LOVED your recent “I love you I’m sorry” and “hurts but I know how to hide it” SO GOOD
I do have a request if you don’t mind!!
I LOVED “prepare yourself” pt 1 and 2 they seriously have not left my mind since I’ve read it!
Would you be willing to make a part three? Or perhaps an angst that’s similar/inspired by it? I’m a HUGE sucker for angst, hurt/slight comfort and like “beaten up!reader” tropes, totally fine if you don’t want to!!
Keep up the great work!
this made my heart so happy.
thank u jimmy, 'prepare yourself' is genuinely one of my favorite things i've ever written and i loved playing with some body horror fr. YES YES YES. MORE OF THIS IMMEDIATELY ON ITS WAY
summary: what if i took hurts, but i know how to hide it. kinda like it, but peter wasn't as overtaken by his arachnid hormones yet? what about that exact dynamic with such an overstimulated, needy, messy peter who still can't help himself, but he's whiney and pathetic and an apologetic mess the entire time?
wc: 6.5k (the first ~1k are literally the identical opening to my other fic, then it twists and the dynamic changes drastically. i wanted the exact same relationship and opening, but with a much softer peter parker)
cw: like not really but BND SPOILERS!!! nothing monumental to the storyline, and i would argue nothing that wasn’t mentioned in the trailer, but the descriptions of The Spider™️ are very much written and talked about in the context of the film. read at your own discretion for those who have not seen it. also the way i abuse italics should be studied. not edited yet, i gotta work in like 20
tags: !!MDNI!! smut (p in v), peter is a whimpering mess, vivid spider-like descriptors, dubcon and bdsm elements (absolutely everything is consensual, but in peter’s current state, he is not “himself”, which therefore makes the consent dubious): bondage/restrained by webs, a dash of fear play and a touch of some primal/prey descriptors going on. not quite dacryphilia but men crying during sex!!!, hurt/comfort tbh, finishing inside, minor subspace mention, friends to lovers
masterlist!
two years ago, your neighbor, you supposed, moved in to the apartment's storage loft right above you. peter parker, he had introduced himself as, was a rather shy, reserved guy for someone who created an entire new list of expectations for the upstairs neighbor archetype.
a year and ten months ago, peter parker was a frequent weekly guest for tuesday dinner and switch tournaments. what had started as a knock on his door and some of your grandmother's brownies had evolved into peter spending hours losing to you on mario kart over bowls of bland spaghetti and spongebob mac and cheese.
a year and eight months ago, spider-man swan-dove through your window instead of his on accident, mask stripped before he knew better.
a year and a half ago, peter parker had managed to become the person you trusted most in this life. and in a measly six months, you had become that for peter in return. he opened up to you about the deaths of his aunt and tony, how he'd lost his friends — fuck, his whole life — to the spell.
and after about a year, though he'd never admit it, you could tell he was happy to have a "guy in the chair" again. to have someone in his headset, someone to patch him up after a rough night with scorpion. suddenly, peter wasn't so alone. he had someone who knew him as well as he knew himself, someone who — while you didn't get it necessarily — was the only one in the world who finally knew he fucking existed again.
which is exactly why you also knew about the headache's peter had been getting more and more over the past few months.
you were the first person he ran to when they started, collapsing on your bedroom floor in tears as he tugged at his curls for relief from the pounding. he was begging you to make it stop, curled in on himself like, well... a spider.
the first time was the worst of them, mostly due to not knowing what was going on. but after decorating your room in a thick layer of web (despite not having his web-shooters), it was clear this was outside your basic first-aid training. that didn't stop you from helping how you could. in that moment, and beyond.
you attended professor banner's lectures with him, taking whatever notes you could understand. you stayed up late into the night with him, acting as his assistant as peter worked up in his loft on getting to the bottom of whatever the fuck was happening with his own DNA. he jokingly called you "Dum-E" once, and was quick to backtrack as he saw bewilderment flash across your face. he apologized and rambled on that it was a good thing, tripping over his words to explain himself, though the hurt in his eyes when telling the story told you it wasn't a time to push.
all of this to say, you knew that something about the arachnid DNA was evolving, and going fucking haywire in the process. which is exactly why, when you heard a thunderous crash and sharp curses from peter in the loft above you, worry immediately flooded your system. you bolted up the stairs, the obscene noises coming from peter's apartment growing louder as you approached his door. you knocked rapidly, calling out his name as you did.
another loud crash sounded, and you heard peter howl. "uhh, not right now! not a good time!"
you huffed. "yeah it doesn't seem like a good time! let me in, parker!"
peter went to respond, but was cut off by his own pained groan, and a worried whine left your own lips in reply. he deserved his privacy, hell, he deserved his own autonomy, but your concern overrode all ethical dilemma as you heard his knees hit the floor. hard.
thank fuck peter never locked his door.
you crashed into the loft, stopping dead in your tracks as you took in the state of peter's apartment. there was webbing everywhere. it covered the ceiling and his furniture, splattered over the windows which caused the light to scatter in awkwardly. you could only describe the state of his webbed bed as a nest. there was a PC monitor on the ground next to his desk that looked like it had been torn in fucking half. in the left most corner, there were handprints in the exposed brick on the wall from where peter had tried to catch himself before hitting the ground below where you saw him now.
peter was hunched over in a similar position you had seen him in that first time, limbs curled in on himself as he gripped his head, no doubt pounding like a motherfucker. he was facing away from you, but his shirt was ripped off, showing off just how pale he looked. a thin layer of sweat glistened off his skin, droplets forming and almost looking sticky. peter was shaking and breathing heavy as you approached him.
you had seen him like this before. it hadn't been this bad in a while, but you had been there for peter through it before and you could do it again. you had seen him when everything got too loud and he started to shut down, something else fighting to take over. that was the entire point of the inhibitor he had been working on. to suppress whatever the fuck this was.
you had pushed back initially, playing devil's advocate to encourage him to let it happen. to let the spider in. prove to himself that he was still peter parker when spider-man took over. after seeing him in this much pain and discomfort enough times, you stopped entertaining the notion.
because seeing him like this? was heartbreaking. you knew just how much everything was hitting him right now. how every sense was stabbing at him individually, how each breath you took was a knife to his eardrums. so you approached cautiously, keeping a step or two away and knowing not to touch him right now.
you met him with a hushed voice. "peter, hey. it's just me."
he flinched at your whispers and you cringed, feeling nauseated knowing it was your voice that hurt him. "let me help, okay? how can i help right now? do you need me to grab your—"
"no," he rasped out. his voice was deep, in a tone you hadn't heard from him before. "no, i'm sorry, i'm not kidding. you need to fucking go."
"pete, come on. it's just me—"
"no!" peter's voice boomed throughout the loft as he screamed your name. the tone of his voice was dissonant, like you could audibly hear the thing he was fighting against. he seemed to notice it too, cowering at his own outburst and curling back in on himself. "i-i'm sorry, i didn't mean to yell. please, i just need you to listen to me. i-i don't think i'm myself right now."
the admission was quiet in comparison to how loud the state of everything else was.
you crouched down next to him, still giving him his space while letting him know you weren't leaving him. "how can i help?"
"y-you can't," he relented. "i cannot get this fucking inhibitor to calibrate, and i-i.. fuck, i don't know what's happening. i don't feel in control of myself, and i... please, you need to go." his voice cracked on the last word, like he was trying to hold back tears. a moment ago, his voice literally shook the building. now, it just sounded broken.
"peter, i'm not letting you do this alone. don't shut me out—"
"do you not see that i fucking have to?!" peter screamed into the corner, dust and loose grout crumbling from the ceiling at the sheer strength of his voice. he braced himself against the ground as his knuckles dug into the hardwood. you could see his back expanding and inflating as he desperately tried to suck in breaths, his many muscles flexing around his ribcage, and-
okay jesus, maybe not the time.
a sob from peter pulled you back to reality. "i'm sorry! i'm so sorry, fuck, i-i didn't... i didn't mean to yell, fuck. please, can't you see i don't want to hurt you?"
he looked up at you for the first time since you'd arrived, and the sight was a cocktail of complex emotions fighting with one another.
a lot about peter had begun to change during his "molting process" (as you referred to it). his strength had grown exponentially — so had his spidey-sense. even the organic webbing, which was brand fucking new.
you hadn't seen his eyes go black like that before.
the sight of the whites of his eyes swallowed whole sent an uncanny chill down your spine, something deep inside of you agreeing with peter. telling you to run.
something deeper inside of you told you to stay.
but pressing above all, was the fact that peter wasn't scary in this state. he was devastating. despite the dark, primal pools flooding his eyes, he way crying. tears spilled down his cheeks in a visual aid to his shame and hurt. he looked the saddest you'd ever seen him, face twisted in discomfort from an amalgamation of things. before you could say anything, a fresh wave of blinding pain hit peter between his eyes and knocked him back into a ball, dissonant moans rattling from his chest as he sobbed.
you took a step back to look over at his computer, noticing his vitals freaking out on one monitor as the other was hooked up to some homemade tech he had running sequences on the inhibitor. EVIE was working with the same desperation that peter was oozing, already on trial #392. you looked back to the corner where he was still hunched in pain, and decided with unwavering finality that you were not leaving him alone during this.
walking back over, you crouched down to brush his shoulder with your fingertips, hoping to ground him with a singular sensation. he caught your wrist before you could even bother.
"i said. don't."
he met you once again with a void stare, though you could tell something was different in his gaze this time. his voice had dropped a full octave, and you stared back, hoping the shock wasn't as evident in your own as much as you knew it was. hoping the tinge of something else in your eyes wasn't as evident as you thought it was. you flicked between his deep glare and his hand on your wrist as you regained your composure.
"peter. i'm not leaving you. i'm not scared of you."
he laughed. peter parker honest to god laughed at you, as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist and held your gaze.
"you fucking should be."
before you could blink, peter launched upwards, fucking jumping from his spot on the ground as shoved you against the wall. hard. your chest was immediately webbed against the brick in the same motion, and despite the aggressive action and your head slamming back, his hand landed behind to cushion the impact. the rest of you still hit with enough force that the wall cracked behind you, dust from the concrete swirling in the air.
you coughed hard, though, whether that was a result of the dust or the grip of peter's hand on the base of your fucking neck, it was hard to tell. he stared at you for a moment, black eyes darting up and down your body as he tracked your every movement. every rise of your chest, every twitch of your lip as you wheezed through his grip.
peter looked at you like you were his prey. like you were a fly that had been caught in his fucking web. you tried not to be as turned on as you were.
his eyes flickered slightly towards his hand on your neck and he loosened his grip completely, black lids retreating enough to show a tinge of peter parker again. you almost wished it didn't, because he looked downright horrified.
"o-oh my god," he choked out and he stumbled backwards a foot, physically gagging on his words at the sight of you trapped on the wall in front of him. "fuck, oh fuck. i'm so fucking sorry."
peter rushed forwards again to take stock of any sign of injury, careful hands rushing around your body in what could only be described as pure fright. a whine escaped his throat as he took in the sight of your feet dangling off the ground, and you genuinely thought for a moment he might pass out.
"peter, look at me."
he gagged on a wet laugh, tears streaming down his face once again as he collapsed into a hug against your limp body. "oh my god, i can't believe i fucking did that. i-i... i have to get you out of here. i have to get you somewhere safe before i... god, before i do something i can't take back."
peter was sobbing against you, clearly fighting everything in his body to pull himself together and inch his trembling hands to tear at the webbing around your frame.
"pete please," you tried again. "i'm not leaving you like this. i'm not scared of whatever is happening right now."
"clearly, you should be."
before even you knew about it, he locked onto the thick smell of your arousal upon his plea, and something inside of him took control again. black sucked all life back from his eyes, and he flicked his head up to stare you down, the movement far too fluid to be human. you did what you could to stand your ground for someone who was hanging six inches of the floor.
peter didn't miss how your eyes jut down to his lips before hitting him with a rattled but firm: "well, i'm fucking not."
he smirked at you and let you go fully, stepping back to analyze as you took a moment to catch your breath. he drank you in, sizing you up before letting out a deep chuckle. peter closed in on you, though it wasn't a hug this time — boxing your frame in against his own. he pressed against you, getting in your face. literally breathing down your neck.
"maybe you aren't," he growled in your ear. "but he is. and i think you like it."
you felt how fucking hard peter was through his juicy sweatpants, felt just how fucking big he was pressed against your hip. you tried not to let your embarrassment show, feeling like you'd been caught. that wasn't what this was.
well maybe some of it.
"you want to help? poor pathetic peter parker, in need of saving. is that what you want? to save me from myself?"
your hips betrayed you, bucking forwards into his as you shook your head. "that's not what this is. you, you don't need saving from this, peter. i-i just don't want you feeling like this alone."
there was a flash of something you couldn't name in peter's black lidded eyes. "you have no fucking idea what i'm feeling."
he ripped you off the wall with a snarl, scraps of webbing still hanging from your wrists as he held you up like you were nothing. a scream escaped your lips as you were airborne suddenly, flying through the air shortly before your back hit peter's bed.
you watched as he stalked towards you from the other end of the room, the flashing red glow of the failing inhibitor mocking you further as it washed over his figure. his figure, that was no longer moving in the way that you'd seen from peter parker before. he crouched down on all fours, each of his limbs holding him up with equal weight. he moved silently in fluid, inhuman motions as he crawled up the wall and across the room to perch himself in the corner above you, taking in your frame as you laid hopelessly in his bed. his bed that was covered in webbing.
the silk was layered with care, intricate and meticulous in design as it patterned itself up the wall and into the same corner that peter was nestled in as he watched you in silence. you shifted from where you were on the bed to get a better look at him, and you noticed how even the most minute movements pulsated against the webbing and fed tremors to peter who was absolutely drunk off the sensation. like a fucking prey caught in his web, writhing for help and sending vibrations up this silk to signal the spider.
the spider, who was watching you through his black-hooded eyes, like he was fucking hungry.
"peter?" you questioned, and your voice betrayed you as it shook. you were not scared of him. you were maybe a little scared of spiders in general.
his eyebrows twitched slightly, a confused look flickering across his face as his head tilted ever so slightly.
"is that you, pete?"
confusion turned to straight pain.
peter visibly recoiled at the sound of his own nickname, crying out in anguish as his arms flew to wrap around his head. he lost his footing despite the sticky nature of the webbing he was on, his limp figure crumpling onto the bed next to you. he curled in on himself, limbs bent and rigid against his torso as he heaved out a string of apologies. you reached out to hold him, ignoring his protests as he choked on his own tears.
"pete, i need you to take a breath for me," you pleaded as he began to rip at his hair, sobs racking his chest as his sorries remained incessant.
"nonono, please. please, why won't you fucking leave? i-i don't want to hurt you, please," he begged. "please don't make me hurt you. i won't be able to live with myself."
peter was a wreck at this point, red in the face from how hard he was crying, tears and snot both pooling onto the bed next to him. you held on even tighter around his helpless frame, hoping the pressure would be grounding. hoping you could do literally anything to just fucking stop this torture.
"you're not going to hurt me. i trust you, peter. even the other part of you. let go, let me in."
he shook his head violently, and you crawled to straddle the side of his frame, desperately trying to get his hands out of his no doubt burning scalp. he snapped up to look at you, anger laced in the rest of his distress, though his eyes weren't black yet. this was all peter.
"do you not fucking understand? i can fucking smell you. i... i know that you want this, okay? and, and it makes me want to do things to you that i can't, i just fucking can't. i can't hurt you like that."
your heart broke a little in a moment that should've ignited a sense of shame. you had been caught, but that's not what mattered right now.
"peter, i want you to. please, if this is how i can help, let me help."
a fresh streak of tears fled down his cheeks as he shook his head ever so slightly. his voice was the smallest it'd ever been. "i can't. not like this."
you barely got to question him when the air between you had changed, and you were spinning before your back hit the bed again, peter taking your previous position and straddling you. the pupils of his eyes hadn't fully taken over again, though they were shot enough to blow out the irises. he bore holes in you, both hungry and afraid as his hands held your wrists bruisingly above your head.
a tear escaped down his cheek and landed on yours. "i need you to tell me to stop. why won't you stop me?"
he was crying again, voice broken and weak in juxtaposition to the strong hands around your wrists. you could feel how hard he was from where peter was straddling you, and despite his pleas for you to get away from him, his hips were grinding unconsciously against yours, his body not entirely his own as he kept you caged beneath him.
"peter," you whined up at him, rolling your hips back against his. he let out a filthy, broken groan through his tears, his whole body responding in a shudder. "i don't want you to stop. i want you to let go and stop hurting yourself."
your voice was meek as you continued, but your eyes were unwavered, staring back at him with intention. "i'm not scared of you, peter. i'm not scared of you can do. let me in. let go."
his pupils blew past his irises as he let out a pained howl, leaning down and attaching himself to your lips for the first time. he was still crying as he kissed you, hungry and wet and a fucking mess as he drank you in, relishing the feeling of your lips finally on his after all these years.
"this isn't what i wanted," he confessed into the kiss, hands leaving your wrists to roam down your waist. "this isn't how i wanted to tell you."
you gasped as he left a bite mark against your jaw, kissing it soothingly before trailing down your neck. "w-what?"
your breath had initially hitched, but all air was taken from you as peter's hands were on your clothes, tearing the garments from your body like you'd only been in a paper fucking bag. shreds of cotton stuck to the webs around you as peter stared down at your mostly naked body. peter leaned close, breathing you in heavy; no doubt catching the pheromones in your sweat, a downright villainous smirk creeping on his lips as he got confirmation of just how turned on you were. he pulled back to see the fucked out look on your face, and something inside of him moved without warning.
in a split second, your hands were whipped high above your head, warm and sticky webs encasing your wrists once again. this time, attached to peter parker's headboard. fuck. you squirmed in his grasp, fighting the webbing even though you knew it was no use. you were there when he discovered just how fucking strong his organic web was in comparison to the lab-designed. you couldn't move, and you knew it. he knew it too.
peter's hands were on you in a frenzy, ripping your bra clean from your body in a single motion. you gasped as he stared down at your chest, vibrating with restraint. restraint that peter didn't have right now.
"god, you look so fucking perfect. fuck, i'm so sorry," he whined your name, calloused hands gripping down harshly on your supple chest. he toyed with your nipples, gasping at the noises he drew from your throat. "this isn't how this was supposed to happen."
he kept saying that. "pete, how —fuck— how what should happen? everything is okay, peter. we're okay."
you bucked back up into his hips again, drawing a rumble from somewhere deep inside his chest. "no, it's not okay. fuck, this isn't how i wanted to have you. i- this, this isn't how i wanted to tell you how much you fucking mean to me, fuck—"
he cut himself off with a moan, hips grinding against yours without his permission, igniting a flame deep within your core that paired with the flutter in your chest at his words. you would have to talk about this later, but right now wasn't the time.
"i don't care, peter," you whispered as your chest heaved, back arching off the bed while your hands still stayed firmly trapped against the headboard. "i just want you. let me help, let me make it feel better, please."
"fuck," he grumbled, as he thrust against your hot center, not only able to smell, but able to finally feel just how wet you were for him. peter got lost in the sensation of your wet shorts against his own damp boxers. "i-i can't stop, fuck. you have to tell me this is okay, or i'll never forgive myself. please, y-you... fuck, i'm serious, you need to go.''
the protest was lost on his lips as he ground down harder against you, enough that your tits bounced in time just for him. he let out a disgusting and pained cry that ripped from his throat, hands flying to grip them roughly, his fingertips leaving burning bruises on your skin that drove you hot with desire.
"peter, please fuck me."
the rest of his restraint left him as the words fell from your lips.
peter manhandled you exactly how he wanted, crawling out of his hold on you to spread your legs and raise your knees. once he had you positioned, you felt the warm rush of webbing cover your feet as well. oh, you were so fucked.
his fingers trailed up your legs, starting at your feet and working their way towards your aching core. you shivered against his touch, and noticed how he relished in the way it caused his webbing around you to vibrate. you were but a bug in his web, caught and waiting to be eaten.
you let out a moan as he grabbed at your inner thighs, no doubt leaving matching handprints to the one on your chest. peter just whimpered in response. "i'm sorry, fuck, i don't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, baby."
he stared up at you from where he was in between your legs, hot breath teasing against your damp underwear. you looked down to see he was just as lost in desire, black eyes analyzing every part of your part of your body that was laid out just for him.
"i've always wanted to know what you taste like," peter admitted with a strained tone, the dissonant sound of both the spider and peter parker fighting for control. "i-i'm, i'm sorry, i just have to—"
peter reached his hand towards your core, fingertips trembling as he could feel just how wet you were for him. he hissed, retracting his hand as though he had been burnt. within seconds, your underwear had been ripped off your body like the rest of your clothes, leaving you fully naked in front of peter parker.
you stared into the black void of his eyes as he repeated the same action to himself, shredding the infamous juicy sweatpants in the process. you were pretty sure your eyes were as dark as his were, pupils blown to shit as you stared at the fucking greek statue in front of you.
peter wasted no time, diving in to lap up the juices that glistened over your pussy, enamored noises cracking from his throat. he was a man who had wandered the desert for forty days, and the oasis between your legs was nothing short of a healing power that drained all pain from his body. you fought against the webbing as his tongue attacked your clit, but the silk only tightened as you squirmed.
you looked down and let out a broken moan as you saw peter rutting his hips against the mattress as he took you apart. "pete, please."
he didn't know what you were asking for, but he was sorry for it nonetheless. "i know, baby, i know. i'm so sorry, you just taste so good."
peter's tongue continued to abuse your swollen clit as two of his fingers circled your entrance. you bucked your hips up in shock, and he wasted no time burying his hand down to the third knuckle inside of you. you screamed at the intrusion, pleasure and pain towing a line that made you dizzy.
"fuck, i can feel you pulsing around my fingers, sweetheart. please, please, i-i, i need... i need to taste how sweet you are when you come on my tongue, please," peter begged, though he didn't stop to wait for permission as he wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud and sucked hard, fingers picking up pace as he found that gummy spot against your walls that drove you insane. it didn't take long before you were shaking under him, creamy juices flooding his tongue with the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.
peter moaned in time with you as you came, pulling out his fingers and replacing it with the thick muscle of his mouth, fucking you on his tongue to lap up all you had to offer him. he pulled back once you had come down, a panting and drenched mess underneath him.
"fuck, are y'okay? was that too much?" he looked truly at war with himself, like it was physically killing him both to touch you and to not.
you shook your head and fluttered your lashes to meet his eyes, brown peeking through the black once more. "m'kay, pete, really."
"i'm so fucking sorry, this is fucking insane. i-i, i just can't tell you how sorry— oh my god." he cut himself off in a rattled groan as his cock throbbed hard against his stomach, leaking so much precum you'd honestly thought he'd come already.
"please," you whined, struggling against the webbing again. "peter, let me help you. let me make you feel better."
peter clenching his eyes shut, climbing back over your frame and letting his rigid cock drag over your wet and sensitive cunt. you bucked up into him and he moaned at the sensation, cock twitching in response at your heat below him.
"f-fuck. you, you can't say that if you don't mean it. i-i can't, i won't be able to stop." he cried, eyes still squeezed shut despite the wetness around them prickling again.
you bucked up, his name falling as a whine from your lips. "i don't want you to stop."
he snapped his eyes open again to meet yours, and the black was back with a vengeance. peter didn't speak again as he lined his red hot tip of his cock against your slutty, already fucked out entrance. he pushed forward in one slow, all-consuming thrust, the stretch still burning despite peter having prepped you. the two of you moaned in filthy harmony as he bottomed out fully, the tip of peter's cock nestling up against your cervix in a way that frankly had you worried about him moving. he didn't give you much time to dwell on it before pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in.
"peter!" you screamed, arms straining helplessly against his webs as peter fucked you rough and steady, cock in fact pounding up into your cervix and filling you deliciously. "o-oh my god, peter. p-pete, you're s'fuckin big."
he growled in your ear as he picked up pace, one hand holding himself up next to your head and the other working on bruising one of your nipples.
"s'good for me, baby. taking me so well, fuck. made just for me, weren't you? god, no wonder my body was craving you so much." he slurred as the wet slap of skin echoed through his bedroom. he picked up pace, and you had lost all formation of words, crumbling into a quivering, sobbing mess as peter used your trapped body.
"i'm sorry, i know. doing s'good, i'm so sorry sorry. i love you, i'm sorry. you just feel s'fucking perfect. i-i can't stop, fuck. never gonna stop fucking this perfect pussy."
peter hadn't noticed what he said, and you didn't have the brain power to acknowledge it right now. he was getting closer as he felt your cunt flutter around him at his words, and he downright howled at the sensation of how tight you were around him. "that's it, s'good. god, you're so... fuck."
peter snaked a hand down to toy with your clit, and you came without warning to either of you. you screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you spasmed below him, cunt tightening around his cock and you squirted around him, showering his groin and lower abs in your cum. you were a shaking, sobbing mess, and peter lost control as he also fell over the edge, curling his body around yours and burying himself as deep as physically possible before losing everything inside of you. he was crying too, face nestled in the crook of your neck as his cock twitched against your walls and filled you up with so much fucking cum, apologies rolling off his tongue the entire time he pulsed deep inside your warm, fucked out cunt.
you went limp below him, breathless and damn near unconscious as the weight of him lulled you into a fuzzy, warm space. you smiled against his cheek, mumbling lose "s'okay"'s as your cunt throbbed around peter's softening dick and you felt like you were floating through the air.
you were, you realized, opening your eyes to see the peter had lifted you from his bed: still craddling you in this arms, still buried inside of you, and still incessantly apologizing as he carried you to his bathroom. he held you with one arm around your waist as he bent down to start the tub facet, humming in relief at the steaming water against his fingertips.
"baby, you still w'me?" he mumbled in your ear and sighed when you nodded from where your head was resting on his shoulder. "i'm gonna set you on the counter quick, okay? gotta pull out, bug."
you smiled at the endearing way he called you 'bug', in such deep contrast to how it had been used not even 15 minutes ago.
you were immediately covered in goosebumps at the feeling of cold marble against your bare ass, and peter's hands were quick to rub against your arms and legs, genuine "i know, i'm so sorry, bug"'s falling from his lips as he slipped out of you. you both groaned at the loss of sensation, and you fell forward, forehead landing with a thud against his chest.
he wrapped his arms back around you to pull you into a tight hug. "i'm so sorry, you did so good for me. i'm so sorry, baby, fuck."
peter scooped you up before lowering you softly in the bath he'd drawn for you. you hummed softly as the heat settled nicely over the fresh bruises budding all over your skin, muscles that had been held in place for god knows how long finally relaxing. you whispered a "thank you" to him, earning a soft palm against your cheek in response.
"of course, baby. feel good? hot enough?" his thumb grazed your skin gently.
you nodded with a small smile, "s'perfect."
he nodded back, chuckling at the way you were already falling asleep in the water. "i'll be right back, okay? i gotta clean up quick and i'm going to make you a snack and get you some clothes, and... and, fuck, do you work tomorrow? oh my god, i didn't even check to see if you have to be up early, fucking jesus fuck."
peter stood up rambling — panicking — as the weight of what had just happened began to fall on him. you tried to call out to him, but he was out of the room before you could.
after ten minutes of soaking and nodding off in peter's bathtub, he returned in a fresh pair of boxers and with a warm towel for you. he spent a few minutes helping wash you, cooing desperate apologies any time he ran over a sensitive area that made you wince. he drained the water, lifting your damp body up and against his, cradling you in the towel fresh from the dryer, and making his way back to his bedroom with you.
by this point, you were beginning to return to yourself again, the floaty headspace subsiding as peter dressed you in a pair of his boxers and an old debate shirt from high school. you looked up to meet his eyes from where he was crouched between your legs at the foot of his bed, and he was looking at you like he had to tell you he'd just killed your cat.
you lifted both hands up to cup his face, noticing how he crumbled under your touch. a single tear slipped free and you caught it with your thumb. "pete, baby, what's wrong?"
he expected the pet name to make him feel butterflies. instead, he only felt the churning sick feeling of guilt.
"i'm so fucking sorry. i can't actually describe to you how sorry i am, there's no words for it. i-i'm a fucking monster, i can't believe that i... fuck, oh my god- i'm going to fucking throw up. i-i have the cops on speed dial, you know that, right? i'll call them. i swear to god, i will turn myself in right fucking now—"
"peter!" you barked his name, snapping him from his rambling and back to your attention. "i wanted it. all of it. you're not a monster, peter, far from it. i'm okay. i wanted to help you prove to yourself that you aren't a fucking monster, even if you don't know what the fuck is taking over. you're still my peter parker. you're still good."
"b-but, i—"
you pulled him in for a kiss, ignoring how tender your wrists were as you grabbed onto his sweatshirt. peter was hesitant at first, but soon melted into the kiss, feeling something deep and primal within him relax. you leaned back with another quick peck to his lips, and he let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against yours.
"i'm still serious, though," he admitted quietly. "this isn't how i envisioned doing any of this for the first time with you. i'm so sorry, you deserve better than this."
you caught him in another kiss, slower this time. sweeter.
"pete, i care about you too. like, to the point where i thought you were going to turn into a full spider and eat me while wrapped up in your web, and i was ready to die happy." that earned a sharp laugh from him, and you smiled back. "did you really mean it, though?"
hii!! i only found your blog recently and i’m literally OBSESSED! i’ve been binge-reading everything and i genuinely love the way you write!!
i was wondering if i could request something a little angsty, set in bnd? maybe with the same oc/reader from your one-shot where she’s peter’s neighbor and helps him through his panic attack? i loved that dynamic so much
i was thinking maybe she’s the only person who really knows him after nwh, and then something happens where she’s in danger at the same time as mj? like jean does something to both of them (idk lol), and peter has to make that impossible choice of who to save first. OR maybe it’s just yn who’s in danger, and peter is absolutely spiraling because he blames himself for dragging her into all of this… especially since she’s the only person left who actually knows him.
but honestly i’m just throwing ideas out there 😭 feel free to take it in whatever direction you want!! i’d read literally anything with those two <33
i have been enamoured with this one since it came in anon. i've fleshed out the rough draft and i AM working on it, i just keep getting hornydistracted and write smut instead LOL
Arachnid!peter who despite the hormones, is still a pathetic little bitch who needs reader or he’ll cry. Like sure peter can dom but won’t change the fact he will be a whining whimpering crying mess
this is being answered within 30 seconds because you have my fucking attention and allegiance. i have been thinking about the complete opposite to peter that i wrote in my other one, and about such an overstimulated, needy, messy peter who still can't help himself, but he's whiney and pathetic and an apologetic mess the entire time.
summary: after revealing just how much peter thinks about eating out his best friend, he shows you exactly what he's been thinking about.
THE LONG AWAITED PART TWO TO isn't that crazy?
wc: 1.5k
tags: !!MDNI!! smut, oral (fem!receiving), munch!peter parker truther, eating uh fluids, peter comes in his pants like a teenager, abuse of italics, peter getting his head squished like a watermelon
black!reader in mind but not exclusive!
masterlist
peter parker stared at the sight of you splayed for him on his bed -- his best friend of five years, who was wearing the most beautiful pair of silky, lace panties he had ever seen. the sheer, baby pink fabric looked heavenly against your rich skin, a contrast that highlighted every curve and tone to parts of your body he'd never been allowed to see before. he could come from the sight alone.
but he had a stigma to break.
"can i show you what i think about, sweetheart?"
he watched as you shuddered under him, the feeling of your thighs rubbing together going straight to his insanely hard cock.
"god, please peter," you all but moaned.
peter gave you a wicked smile, one filled with both mischief and pure reverence. he'd been dreaming about this for five fucking years. he wasn't about to mess it up.
he climbed off of you, crawling off the edge of the bed and pulling your ankles with him until your legs dangled over the side. your confused gaze quickly left his sight as peter's knees hit his bedroom floor. hard. he smirked as he heard your gasp, running his hands over your shins and taking in the sight before him. you were laid out like a fucking feast for him, and he wasn't about to leave the table without finishing off his plate.
as desperate as he was to taste you, though, peter started slow. he wanted to savor this moment. starting at your left ankle, he left a soft and hot kiss on the bone, feeling your goosebumps under his lips. he slowly made his way up, trailing a wet line of kisses up your calf and to the inside of your knee, taking a moment to stop and suck. he was met with another gasp, one that was cut off with the sexiest noise peter had ever heard. he switched knees and earned another, louder one.
"peter," you whimpered his name.
peter parker came in his pants at the age of 21.
he let out a growl, sucking hard at the inside of your right knee, teeth scraping the surface quickly replaced with the soothing pad of his tongue. he pulled back to admire his work, a small hickey left behind smiling back at him. peter worked his way higher, licking and nipping at the insides of your thighs as his hands worked the outsides, fingertips brushing the lace band on your hip. as he made his way higher, you began to squirm -- whether out of impatience or pleasure, he didn't know or care. he hoped for both.
peter stopped when he reached the honey pot.
he drooled as he noticed your wetness seeping through the pale lace. he stared for a moment, taking it all in and inhaling your succulent scent, mouth-breathing over your cunt to leave a hot trace of his breath.
you nearly broke his nose, bucking your hips into his face at the sensation.
peter dodged with a chuckle that was dripping with lust. he rose up just enough to meet your eyes as his hands found the waistband of the lace.
"this. this is what i fucking think about," he groaned as he delicately pulled down your panties to reveal the muse of his wet dreams.
you shuddered at the feeling of the cold air rushing over your wet folds, but peter was back quick with his breath, hovering over your delicious mound. his hands ran up and down your thighs as he licked his lips.
"i have thought about what you've tasted like for fucking years," he growled. "constantly hearing about these men who don't know how to treat you right. let me show you i can treat you right, baby."
peter made contact as he laid his tongue flat and licked a thick stripe up your slit. he moaned as your juices coated his tongue, on the verge of coming in his pants for a second time that evening. truthfully, he'd never gone soft. peter worked slowly, taking his time to explore you, inside and out. the tip of his tongue parted his way through your honey-soaked lips, proding his way around your soft tissue like he was memorizing it. he was.
he circled his way around your clit, taking note of how your breath caught as he flicked over your most sensitive area. he trailed his way down to your entrance, which was an absolute dripping fucking mess. peter laid his tongue flat again and drank what was offered to him.
above him, you were moaning unintelligibly, his name slipping from your lips every now and then. your hands were already tangled in his curls and he'd barely even started, a devastating testament to the pathetic men who had "tried" before him. he changed the positioning of his tongue, the tip slipping its way easily inside of your eager entrance. peter picked up his pace at that point, fucking his tongue steadily inside and out of you as your thighs shook around his head.
he pulled back, excited to see just how much further he could unravel you. he traveled back upwards, circling the inside of your lips and nipping softly at the outer skin. peter's hands weren't his own anymore as he worked, squeezing at your hips and massaging your thighs. his tongue brushed over your sensitive bud again, and he snickered as you jolted.
"i know, so sensitive for me, sweetheart," and whether peter was talking to you or your cunt was unknown.
he looked up to meet your gaze for the first time since starting, and peter swore he'd never seen you more beautiful before. you looked blissed out, fucked and dazed as you looked down at him with a dopey smile. your eyes were black, pupils blow over your golden irises and tinged with need. you were breathless at this point, cheeks dark and hair frizzed. most of all, you were looking at him with pure love, and peter thought his heart was going to explode.
"god, i love you so fucking much." he surged up, falling over to trap you in a desperate kiss. you whined a lost "lov'ou'oo" back against his lips, legs moving to wrap around his waist.
"no," peter growled into the kiss.
you pulled back, breath shaky. "w-what?"
he untangled your legs from around him. "i'm not done yet."
he sank back to his knees, cutting off your ridiculous "there's more?!" with a yank of your legs, wrapping them around his shoulders. peter didn't take his time now as he lapped at your pussy, devouring you like a wild animal eating its first meal in days. he focused on your clit this time, flicking across the sensitive bud with a pointed tongue, and your hands flew back to his hair, thighs clamping harshly around his ears and locking onto his head.
peter parker came in his pants for a second time that evening.
he moaned through his orgasm, the vibrations working deliciously with his tongue to pull you closer to your own. he worked in fast circles now, concentrating on a steady rhythm that alternated with quick swallows around the entirety of your clit. you shook underneath him, one hand still planted firmly in his waves as you lost all ability to speak. with the other hand, you reached down to intertwine your fingers with peter's on your thigh. he latched on quickly, holding your hand and watching your face as he took you apart.
in the end, it didn't matter how much of a pussy-eating wizard peter was. what pushed you over the edge was the gentle, soft tracing of his thumb against the back of your hand as he did it. so innocent, and an act full of love all while he buried himself nose-deep in your cunt, and your thighs threatened to squish his head like a watermelon. god, he hoped they did.
you came hard, sickly sweet juice drenching his tongue and chin as you damn near screamed his name, and peter might have blacked out for a moment. it didn't matter, as he pressed soft kisses and kitten licks to your clit as you rode out your high, the heartbeat against peter's tongue his new favorite sensation. he pulled back slightly, moving to kiss around the inner most part of your hips and leave one last mark -- proof that this was real.
your thighs loosened around his head and their dead weight fell on peter's shoulders, a loud sigh leaving your lips in a shaky breath. he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee as he admired how gorgeous you looked in your orgasmic haze.
"oh my god," you gasped. "y-you think about that?"
peter barked out a laugh and he stood up from his spot on the floor. "yeah, sweetheart. i told you," he crawled back over you, trailing careful kisses up your body before meeting your lips, the taste of you still lingering on his.
never in a million years did i think people would like my stuff enough to want to be on a taglist 🤭 you guys make me blush so hard, thank you so much for all of your support!
truly, if i make a google forms for this, i will 1000% forget to check it. so please, interact with this post to be put on my taglist!
i write for:
-all peter parkers/spider-man
-teen wolf (stiles stilinski specifically, but i've written some liam dunbar and i'm not afriad to branch out!)
-marvel characters
-rick sanchez (l i s t e n)
drop a like or a comment and i'll start tagging you in my works!!
reposting since i have so many new friends here!! interact with this and i’ll get you on my tag list! if you only want a specific character and not any fic i post, lemme know who below!
i used to write sterek one shots on wattpad in like 2015 and had a little bit of a following, but fell off p quick. thought it was embarrassing, yknow?
MAYBE IT IS MAYBE IT ISN'T WHO GIVES A FUCK BECAUSE THAT'S A CRAZY NUMBER YALL
thank you to anyone who has ever liked, reblogged, or commented on one of my posts. thank you so much to my followers for keeping up with me. this tumblr was supposed to be a "well like i'll give it a shot 10 years later again ig" (hence the uhhh ig user lol), and it has genuinely reminded me of my love for creative writing and helped me with so many big life moments over the past year.
Hey, I am so sorry for reaching out and i might be tweaking, but were *you* the artist who drew Spideypool, where Wade plays with Peter‘s wrist, right where his organic Spiderwebs come out? It might have been a four panel comic or something, just their hands. Because i randomly remembered it but can‘t remember or find it any more.
