Chapter Text
Wade had known something was off the second he hit the sheets. His usual routine was simple: toss on whatever ratty shirt was nearby, maybe one of Peter’s hoodies if he’d accidentally (read: purposefully) left it at Wade’s place, and collapse into bed like the world’s most handsome sack of mashed potatoes. But tonight, there was that gnawing sensation. A prickle along the back of his neck that screamed, "You're being watched."
{Dude, get up. Something's wrong.}
[Oh, come on, we survived much worse. It’s probably just the tacos.]
Still, Wade couldn't shake it. He’d left the window cracked, sure, but the air felt… too thick. Like the city itself had gone quiet. No noise, no horns, no sirens. Just the slow creep of silence, weaving itself into his brain like some bad B-movie soundtrack. Wade hated silence. It always meant something bad was lurking. And usually, he was the bad thing lurking.
[This time, though? Not so sure.]
{Oh, finally, he gets it.}
He lay there, still as he could manage, his fingers curling around the edge of his blanket. No sound, no motion, except—
There.
A slight shift in the air, the softest scrape of fabric on fabric. Someone—something—was in the room. And not the fun kind of something. Not the kind with a six-pack and a well-placed spider logo. No, this was different.
[What’s that old saying? When you feel like you’re being hunted… you probably are?]
{That’s not how it goes. But, yes. You’re screwed. Get up.}
Too late.
A sudden weight pressed down on the bed, too quick, too strong. Wade tried to move, but something pinned him, fast, a flash of black and blue lightning. His heart raced, but his body felt like it was sinking, heavy, paralyzed under an overwhelming pressure. And then he saw him.
Spider-Man.
But… not his Spider-Man.
[That’s not our spidey. Nope. Nope nope nope.]
{Why is his tongue so long? Did we miss something?!}
[Are we ... attracted to this?]
The eyes on the mask—usually wide, bright, expressive—were darker now, more intense, gleaming in the dim light. There was no warmth in them, no boyish charm or stupid quip ready to spill out. Just… hunger. Pure, raw hunger.
And that’s when Wade felt it. Felt him. The weight of Peter’s—no, this thing’s—arms coiling around his body, tighter than webs, stronger than anything Wade had ever felt before. Something cold and sharp whispered across his skin, a shiver crawling down his spine.
"Be still," Peter’s voice rasped, low and dark, not the voice Wade was used to, not the one he wanted to hear. "Be calm."
[Uhhh, no thanks.]
{Definitely NOT calming. Quite the opposite.}
“P-Peter?” Wade croaked, but his throat felt thick, the words barely coming out. He’d heard Peter sound tired before, even frustrated, but this? This wasn’t his Spidey. This was something else. Something wrong.
Peter’s fingers—if that’s what they still were—dug into Wade’s skin, and the mask, normally so innocent, twisted into something nightmarish as Peter’s breath ghosted against his neck. Wade felt his body lock up, instinct screaming to fight, to scramble away, but every muscle was frozen.
[This is so not sexy. In case you were wondering.]
{You think he's gonna eat us? Pretty sure he’s gonna eat us.}
And then Peter’s tongue—long, wet, wrong—slid across his cheek, brushing against his eyelid with a sickening slowness. Wade’s stomach turned, a violent twist of nausea threatening to choke him.
[Gross. Quick team huddle, can we regenerate if we’ve been digested?]]
{Vore is not on our BDSM test. Do something. Now.}
"We are Venom," Peter whispered, but the voice—Venom’s voice—sounded like it was scraping against glass, tearing something apart. "Don’t struggle, he likes you."
Like hell. Wade’s brain screamed at him to move, to get out of there, to snap out of this weird paralysis. He’d been through enough horrors—hell, he was usually the horror—but this? This was different. It was Peter. And it wasn’t.
[Move, Wilson. For God’s sake, MOVE.]
{This is what happens when you get too attached. Peter likes us?}
Peter’s teeth grazed Wade’s neck, not a playful nip, but the promise of something darker, hungrier. His arms coiled tighter, suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Wade felt a very real chill of fear clawing at his gut.
"We need more."
That voice—that wasn’t Peter. It was something else. It echoed in Wade’s head, like he was sinking in a dark pit, and the walls were closing in. He wishes he had worn brown pants. But Wade wasn’t the kind of guy to go down without a fight.
“Sweetheart, when I invited you over for dinner, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
[You fucking idiot.]
{We’re going to fucking die.}
With a sudden surge of willpower, Wade jerked his body, just enough to wrench an arm free. He swung hard, landing a punch to Peter’s side. It wasn’t his strongest hit—hell, it barely even phased him—but it was enough to knock Peter back a few inches. Just enough for Wade to roll off the bed, gasping, feeling the cold air hit him like a slap in the face.
He scrambled backward, hands fumbling for his katanas—or his guns—anything, but the room spun around him, and Peter—or whatever was wearing Peter—was already moving again, that hunger burning in those dark, hollow eyes.
"Too late," Peter hissed, stalking forward. "You can’t escape."
[Yeah, no kidding.]
{We’re so dead.}
But Wade wasn’t going to give in. Not to this—not to the thing that had taken Peter from him. He pushed himself up, body shaking, but his grin, weak as it was, broke through the fear.
“Spidey…” he panted, voice hoarse. “If this is your idea of a kinky date… I gotta say… I’m not feeling it.”
Peter’s mouth twitched—whether in amusement or rage, Wade wasn’t sure—but the hunger, that deep, dark hunger, didn’t fade. It only grew stronger.
[This is gonna hurt.]
{Yup.}
And then, Peter lunged.
--------------------------------------
Peter stood frozen at the foot of the bed, the metallic taste of blood still heavy on his tongue, the body in his grasp lifeless, limp. His hands trembled—not from guilt, not from horror—but from something darker. A thrill, maybe. The kind of cold, black satisfaction that gnawed at him like a thousand tiny teeth burrowing into his skin.
A voice, low and slick, like oil seeping into his thoughts.
"Hungry, Peter."
He flinched, his grip tightening around the body, fingers digging into skin. The voice slithered through his mind, twisting around his thoughts, wrapping tighter with every breath he took. It was familiar, too familiar. Venom.
"You can taste it, can't you?"the voice drawled, a hiss and a laugh intertwined. "The fear... it makes the blood sweeter, richer."
Peter’s head swam, and his knees nearly buckled as the words crawled down his spine like ice. He hated how right it was, how much he craved it—the hunt, the kill. His body trembled, not from the cold but from the primal hunger that flared up at Venom’s voice.
"More," Venom purred, its voice growing louder, more insistent, curling around his mind like barbed wire. "We need more. Always more."
Peter shook his head, teeth grinding together behind his mask. He’d tried—tried to resist the pull, the way Venom’s voice always crept back in, urging him, guiding him toward darker, bloodier things. It was the symbiote that had first opened that door, whispering in his ear during long, sleepless nights. Telling him how good it would feel to give in.
"You enjoy it," Venom growled, amused, smug, as though sensing Peter's internal struggle. "Don’t lie to yourself. You liked the way he trembled, the way his heartbeat fluttered in your hands. You felt it. That thrill."
Peter stumbled backward, the body falling to the floor with a dull thud. His heart raced, the mask clinging too tight to his face, making it hard to breathe. His chest heaved, but the voice didn’t let up.
"You're just like us, Peter. You can't deny it."
He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, trying to block it out, to push the voice away, but it only echoed louder, vibrating through him like poison in his veins.
"The spider and the symbiote—perfect,"Venom purred again, almost tender now, whispering into the crevices of Peter’s thoughts. "Embrace it. Embrace me."
Peter's breath hitched. His fingers curled, digging into his scalp through the mask as if he could tear the voice out of his skull.
"Look at what we’ve done," Venom cooed, and Peter’s eyes drifted back to the body, pale, blood staining the sheets where he had bitten, consumed, fed. "Look how strong we’ve become. Together, we can take anything, anyone. They fear us now."
Peter’s vision blurred, the room spinning as Venom’s words took root, growing like a parasite in his mind, feeding on the same dark hunger that he had tried to bury deep inside.
"You're a predator now, Peter. Just like me."
The worst part was, Peter didn’t know if he could fight it anymore. Or if he even wanted to. He was so tired.