Not So Itsy Bitsy

fat, fatter, fattest.

"Come on! Pull!"

(Y/N), and Aunt May said in unison, while pushing on Peter from behind. You two were trying to get him out of his room, but the day finally came. Peter was stuck in the doorframe. Officially too fat for the small Queen's apartment.

Peter was pulling with all his strength on a web that he was able to tether to a wall, trying to get himself to budge. He needed to get unstuck! How else was he supposed to eat?

Grunting, huffing, and puffing, Peter is tugging until his web finally snapped and he went falling forwards, fat cushioning his fall. "Humph." He mumbled on impact, heavy breaths leaving his lips as he tried to roll over.

(Y/N) and Aunt May were exhausted too from the ordeal. Peter was really and truly now too fat for both of you to handle. He just wouldn't stop eating. He quite literally ate his way into his room, and was lucky to have managed getting out. Hopefully he'd still fit through the apartment door.

"Let me get you a snack." Aunt May said quickly as she shuffled into the kitchen, trying to whip up enough food to tie Peter over for a little while. (Y/N) helped (more like, struggled) with getting Peter up and over to the couch, sitting on the arm of it.

Peter and his fat were sprawled out across the couch, his stomach hanging a good portion out of his shirt, and his sweat pants ridiculously tight, making his legs look like encapsulated sausages. Since he was too fat to swing, and that stuffing a few months ago, Peter only continued to blow up. He was insatiable, greedy, and hungry. All he wanted was more. If he wasn't eating, he was cranky. A hangry Peter was never fun. And at this rate, it was just easier to keep Peter fed than to not.

The couch was barely hanging on under Peter's mass, but thankfully Tony reinforced it with some vibranium supports, making it last just slightly longer than it normally would have. But even then, they were starting to bend under your boyfriends ever increasing mass.

Aunt May was quick in scurrying back into the living room with enough food to feed a football team,  for  her nephew. Good thing too, because Peter's stomach was growling up a storm.

Peter grunted as he tried to lean forward to reach the food, but having a hard time due to his gut both weighing him down, and getting in his weigh. But he was starving so he kept trying (and failing), working himself up again, and panting for breath yet again.

"Hmph.. urgh.." he said, giving up, trying to catch his breath. "Feed me.." Peter mumbled finally, nodding, and giving his giant gut a feverish shake. He needed to be fed.

(Y/N) was happy to oblige, eagerly bringing high calorie food, after high calorie food, to your boyfriends mouth, feeding him at a comfortable rhythm. Peter wouldn't have to lift a finger as long as you were around. And truthfully, he barely could. He was loosing a good chunk of his mobility already, and only ever cared about food and eating.

It didn't take long until the food was gone, and Peter was a fat, messy, sweating, and gassy blob. He was stuffed, for now, and was releasing smelly burps and farts, without any care in the world.

"I can't believe you got stuck in the door..."

you said, rubbing smoothing circles into Pete's stomach, gently shaking and fondling the fat. God, it was hot.

"Too fat to be Spider-Man, too fat for your bed, and now you're too fat to fit through doors, and it's still not enough, is it?"

(Y/N) teased, smirk across your face. Peter was addicted. Everyone knew it. He'd stop at nothing to get fatter.

"It's not."

Peter shook his head, burping directly into your face. That was a turn on too. Peter was becoming sloppier, lazier, and you loved it. He was such a good and obedient pig.

"You're right. 630 pounds isn't nearly enough. You can still walk.. well, waddle. Do you know how many calories that burns?"

You asked, grabbing as much fat as you could, shaking it. "Hm? Do you? We can't be having that." You shake your head, taking Peter's swollen hand and directing it towards your crotch. You were rock hard, just for your Big Fat, Peter.

Peter smirked, squeezing your crotch.

"Then keep feeding me." He whispered lowly, shaking his gut with his other hand.