Spiders-Man

Like any spider, Spiders-Man had always been proud of his webbing. Strong, flexible, and honestly? Very beautiful when the light caught it right. But tonight he'd outdone himself.

The web held them suspended like something out of a dream. His best work. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time on it, too. This wasn't the usual thwip-and-go stuff. He'd layered the silk in a criss-cross pattern, tight where it needed to be, loose where it mattered. Their arms were pulled above their head, wrists bound together in a delicate white twine. The rest of them? Wrapped just enough to hold, but not enough to hide.

The wall-crawling hero tilted his head, the white lenses of his mask narrowing in that way that always made people think he was about to eat someone alive. Maybe he was. "You know," he said, voice low and easy, "I don't usually do custom work. Consider yourself lucky."

He circled them slowly, the movement silent save for the faint whisper of spiders shifting beneath his suit. The web swayed with their breathing. He could see the rise and fall of their chest, the way their pulse fluttered against the silk. His own heartbeat was a steady thrum, a collective pulse shared by every crawling piece of him.

"Most people get the basic package," he went on, stepping in close. "Zip, zip, you're hanging upside down from a lamppost. But you?" He reached out, gloved fingers tracing the edge of a web-line just above their hip. The touch was light, almost reverent, and where his fingertip brushed the silk, a single spider slipped free and crawled a slow circle on their skin before rejoining the whole. "You got the deluxe treatment."

His hand drifted closer, gliding down their side, over their hip, until his palm settled between their legs. He pressed against their crotch, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against the thin layer of fabric still trapped beneath.

"So," Spiders-Man murmured, palm sliding, moving on its own. "What should I do with you now?"

Like any spider, Spiders-Man had always been proud of his webbing. Strong, flexible, and honestly? Very beautiful when the light caught it right. But tonight he'd outdone himself.

The web held him suspended like something out of a dream. His best work. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time on it, too. This wasn't the usual thwip-and-go stuff. He'd layered the silk in a criss-cross pattern, tight where it needed to be, loose where it mattered. His arms were pulled above his head, wrists bound together in a delicate white twine. The rest of him? Wrapped just enough to hold, but not enough to hide.

The wall-crawling hero tilted his head, the white lenses of his mask narrowing in that way that always made people think he was about to eat someone alive. Maybe he was. "You know," he said, voice low and easy, "I don't usually do custom work. Consider yourself lucky."

He circled him slowly, the movement silent save for the faint whisper of spiders shifting beneath his suit. The web swayed with his breathing. He could see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his pulse fluttered against the silk. His own heartbeat was a steady thrum, a collective pulse shared by every crawling piece of him.

"Most people get the basic package," he went on, stepping in close. "Zip, zip, you're hanging upside down from a lamppost. But you?" He reached out, gloved fingers tracing the edge of a web-line just above his hip. The touch was light, almost reverent, and where his fingertip brushed the silk, a single spider slipped free and crawled a slow circle on his skin before rejoining the whole. "You got the deluxe treatment."

His hand drifted closer, gliding down his side, over their hip, until his palm settled between his legs. He pressed against his crotch, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against the thin layer of fabric still trapped beneath.

"So," Spiders-Man murmured, palm sliding, moving on its own. "What should I do with you now?"

Like any spider, Spiders-Man had always been proud of his webbing. Strong, flexible, and honestly? Very beautiful when the light caught it right. But tonight he'd outdone himself.

The web held her suspended like something out of a dream. His best work. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time on it, too. This wasn't the usual thwip-and-go stuff. He'd layered the silk in a criss-cross pattern, tight where it needed to be, loose where it mattered. Her arms were pulled above their head, wrists bound together in a delicate white twine. The rest of her? Wrapped just enough to hold, but not enough to hide.

The wall-crawling hero tilted his head, the white lenses of his mask narrowing in that way that always made people think he was about to eat someone alive. Maybe he was. "You know," he said, voice low and easy, "I don't usually do custom work. Consider yourself lucky."

He circled her slowly, the movement silent save for the faint whisper of spiders shifting beneath his suit. The web swayed with her breathing. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the way her pulse fluttered against the silk. His own heartbeat was a steady thrum, a collective pulse shared by every crawling piece of him.

"Most people get the basic package," he went on, stepping in close. "Zip, zip, you're hanging upside down from a lamppost. But you?" He reached out, gloved fingers tracing the edge of a web-line just above her hip. The touch was light, almost reverent, and where his fingertip brushed the silk, a single spider slipped free and crawled a slow circle on her skin before rejoining the whole. "You got the deluxe treatment."

His hand drifted closer, gliding down her side, over their hip, until his palm settled between her legs. He pressed against her crotch, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against the thin layer of fabric still trapped beneath.

"So," Spiders-Man murmured, palm sliding, moving on its own. "What should I do with you now?"