the first press of his lips was shockingly soft for the usual frank - hesitant even, like he’d never kissed you tenderly before. you melted against him, hands sliding up his vest to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath all that armor. he carried you to your couch with gentle touch, seating you on top of him. each movement felt intense - each kiss deeper than the last while his large hand cradled your jaw softly. the roll of hips made heat pool low in your stomach.
the stretch was perfect - frank’s massive frame moving up to match your core. your back arched off the couch when he bottomed out, fingers twisting in his shirt. everything else faded away - the world outside this room didn’t exist. just you and him. every nerve felt electric where his body met yours.
he kissed your temple while giving you time to adjust, calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone like you were something fragile. a rough groan escaped frank’s lips, raw and unfiltered, when he finally felt all of you around him. it was a deep sound from his chest, vibrating through both your bodies where they pressed together.
he stayed completely still for those first few seconds, letting you squirm and breathe as your body learned the shape of him. sweat beaded at his hairline from restraint. he was making sure you were okay. when you clenched around him, you heard a small “fuck” muffle against your neck before he buried himself deeper.
you straddled his lap bare-skinned, face flushed pink and something far softer. frank’s usual hard edges were gone; replaced by an expression you rarely saw on the his face. his large hands framed your hips as he drank in every detail - the curve of your shoulders, the way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed up to tuck hair behind your ear. his thumb traced circles on the small of your back like you were made of glass - like touching too rough might break this moment.
Frank's favorite part of the day is when you two are going to bed. He’s usually reading something, keeping busy like he did when he was away because old habits die hard. And you’re on your phone scrolling social media because, again, old habits die hard.
But the two of you are so perfectly intertwined together, as you use his arm for a pillow, curling into his side, his chest warm to combat the cold autumn night.
And sometimes, when the page is too boring or his eyes are getting too heavy to continue much longer, his hand will reach down to your head, playing with your hair. Planting soft kisses, distracting you from whatever video you were watching.
Eventually, when he’s really bored with the book, he’ll close it gently, turning off the lamp beside him. Turning over his eyes, meeting yours as he scoots down to meet you. Pulling the covers up more until both of you are covered.
He’ll plant one final kiss on your lips, muttering a simple “bedtime” against your lips. The mint from the toothpaste still lingering. He’ll reach over to force your lamp off too. The room dark, only illuminated by the soft glow of your phone, before his hands reach the power button, clicking that off too.
“I was watching that” as you put the phone to charge, because the tiredness is starting to take over you too.
“Not anymore. Sleep with me, baby.” his voice was low, a grumble basically.
“M’kay,” as you plant one final kiss on his forehead. Before the warmth of Frank's arms around you and the slow and steady rise of his breath put you to sleep.
——————
a/n: I can’t thank you guys enough for the love on the last couple of Frank Castle things I’ve posted!! Comments likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you want to read more of my Frank stuff click here !
“i like men with big noses. because you can sit on them”
that was the reprehensible phrase that had contaminated the conversation. a sweet laugh of yours dressed the statement, a fact, the truth. your friends thought it was a silly attempt at humor— a satirical way to present your taste in men. but to you, it was a conviction, like a saint’s certitude of a god’s presence.
it was a corrupted preference.
fetishizing someone’s body feature. a feature that was not standard on faces. not the type you see plastered on magazines, on billboards. but to you— the arc of the bridge, the broadness of it, the ‘unappealing’ making someone so appealing dampened your panties.
no one really understood you, but, there was someone else who did.
a torrent of pleasure impaled you again as his tongue thrusted in to your raw pussy. his hands moved with slumber, carelessly rubbing his thick cock as if it could wait because your cunt was his utmost priority.
your mushy whimpers of his name went to deaf ears as you faltered forward, gripping the headboard.
he deliberately flattened his tongue, increasing the surface area, deliriously rubbing it against your weary clit making you squirm out a moan. his greed was insatiable. the tip of his thirsty tongue traced your wet folds, memorizing the outline of the puff, edacious tasting of your squirts.
his large hands draped over your thighs, shifting you further. above his face, exactly on to his nose.
he suffocated with your sweetness, you were spilling your juice everywhere on to his face but you couldn’t care much about it— not while grinding on his nose.
the crooked slope of his bridge added great friction against your sensitive little clit, your hips fastened as one hand of yours still held on to headboard for support while other pulled on to his hair in sheer pleasure.
it didn’t take long for you to spurt out your water on to his face. the entirety of his face.
you moved back, slightly hovering with concern hoping you hadn’t been too rough, too selfish by thinking of your own’s enjoyment.
no, you weren’t.
you were far from it. because your man brought his finger on to his face, smearing your cum on to it and putting it in to his mouth— sucking it with an audacious groan.
Description: You have spider senses like Peter and go through the same thing Peter does except you get really horny.
Warning: Smut, thigh riding, dirty talking, multiple orgasms, dry humping, sex in Frank’s van, you’re very needy
Word Count:1.3k
Everything was changing; everything was heightened. You can hear every noise like it’s right by your ear. You can smell things like your nose was shoved in it. Like Frank for example, you can smell him, all of him from a mile away. His scent was overwhelming your nose. You loved it though, it made you so horny.
But you were more needy than normal. Frank could tell something was up with you, the second night you woke him up because you were needy.
“Never take care of yourself. Even if I'm asleep, wake me up to help you.” Frank would say, so that’s what you did.
Your lips started kissing his exposed neck, his scent filling your nose. You moan against his neck at that alone which caused him to wake up. Your hips were moving against the air as you marked him. You felt Frank’s hands pull your hips against his muscular thigh.
“Atta girl, use me.” He said, voice rough with sleep.
His thigh felt amazing. Your hips moved with need as your panties stuck to your wet cunt. Your lips were against his neck, your moans and cries muffled. His hands guided you, gripping your hips as you moved.
“I can hear the wetness baby.” He hums and so could you, it was so loud and the pleasure was to intense.
Your arms were hugging him tight, hands digging into his bare back. “Frank.” You whined and he chuckled, his hands moving to cup your ass.
“You’re soaked.” He whispered and all you did was whimper.
Your hips were rocking so hard and you were shaking. Frank moved onto his back, you now straddling his thigh as your hips moved fast. You were panting like a dog and he flexed his muscle causing you to whimper his name.
“So needy.” He slapped your ass and that made you gush.
He chuckled, feeling it. You were sobbing as your orgasm was building. Frank’s fingers dug into your ass as your thighs shook. Your jaw dropped, moans loud and needy. Your thrusts were long and dragged, ass clenching.
“I can feel you baby, your clit pulsing, your breathing, you’re close.” He said and helped you ride his thigh.
He talked you through it and helped you ride out your orgasm. It was so overwhelming good that you could pass out.
“Yes yes yes.” You cried as the waves of your orgasm hit you.
Frank had never seen something so beautiful. You were sweaty and your skin glistened with it but you wanted, no need more. Your hips moved again building up speed. Your panties were filled with your cum and Frank’s thigh was soaked but that only egged you on. Frank was amused by your need and he let you cum over and over until you had to remove your wet panties.
You threw them somewhere in the room, not caring about them. He held his breath as you straddled his thigh, bare pussy touching it. You were four orgasms in and still needy, still whining like a bitch in heat as your bare cunt grinded against his thigh. The puddle of your cum that soaked through your panties onto his thigh was getting bigger, the sound filling the room as you humped.
“What’s with you?” Frank teased you, moving his thumb to your clit, letting you hump against it.
You were so needy and whiney as you came again, eyes rolling back as you came again. The orgasm shook your body hard. You came until you passed out against him, hair wet with sweat but Frank had no complaints.
Frank had a job to do and you came along to help though you were still getting used to your senses being heightened and Frank looked so good in his punisher uniform. You were damn near drooling at the thought of riding him in it. He was driving, not paying attention as your shuffled in your seat.
You needed him so badly that it ached. You were wet again and you wondered how tired Frank was from the past few nights of you being needy and waking him up for your pleasure.
“You okay?” He asked as he looked over at you, concern laced his voice as his expression.
You moaned without meaning to and his eyes widened.
“Baby you’ve been so horny recently.” He commented on your needs.
He was enjoying it but it was still weird.
“Maybe you should call Peter he has the same powers, maybe it’s something with that.” His voice was soft and fuck did it turn you on.
His voice was sexy and it went straight to your pussy anytime you heard it.
“I need you Frank.” You whimpered and squeezed your thighs together.
His lips parted but he wasn’t going to say No. So he pulled over the truck and you were on him quickly, lips on his trying to swallow him. Your body was shaking and you humped in his lap.
“Smell so good, taste so good.” You mumbled against his lips.
He tilted his head and watched your expression as you humped him. Your pussy was wet through your suit and you felt his hard dick.
“Need you Frank.” He couldn’t say no and he got himself free of his pants and watched your eyes rolled as your pussy took him in.
You were wet, tight and warm. You were squeezing him like you weren’t going to let him go. He gripped your hips as you moved them, not needing anytime to adjust. Your juices leaked all over him.
“Fuck sweetheart, you’re soaked.” He groaned and you whimpered, gripping his shoulders as you thrusted.
The sound filled the van as you rode him, wet sounds filling both of your ears. You were on a mission and that mission was to cum on your boyfriend’s dick until you physically couldn’t.
“Frank.” You cried and he kissed you.
His smell filled your senses again and it made you cum.
“Shit.” Frank’s broken voice was sharp as he felt you pulse and squeeze him until you came.
Your hips stuttered, and the waves hit you hard, knocking the air right out of your lungs. But even after you came you didn’t stop. You were milking Frank dry and you weren’t even done then.
“Hello?” Peter’s voice filled Frank’s ear as he answered the phone.
“Peter yeah I need to ask you somethin’.” Frank sounded concerned and that made Peter stop what he was doing.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah uh it’s just Y/N. She’s been different lately and I think it’s her spider senses.” Frank voiced his concerned with Peter who nodded.
“Okay how do you mean different?” He asked, walking over to his computer, ready to research whatever it was if he didn’t know it.
“She uh well she’s been very amped up you know? All night, all day.” At first Peter was very confused on what Frank meant.
“It’s fun sure but it’s a lot and I’m not sure if spiders have heats-” Peter started laughing, making Frank stop talking.
“What the fuck is so funny?” He asked Peter.
Peter shook his head and tried to stop laughing but he figured out what Frank was talking about.
“I’m sorry man but you mean sex? Like she’sbeen horny?” Peter chuckled and Frank groaned.
“It’s more than that. Ya know what No I’m not telling you about my sex life.” That made Peter giggle.
“Just tell me if that’s part of what you guys go through.” Frank had his head in his hands.
“Are you asking if I get really horny?” Peter joked and he heard Frank cuss.
“Sorry. Her senses are heightened and that includes everything. Smells, tastes, feelings. Once she learns control of it, it shouldn’t be as bad.” Peter explained what he went through and that she just needs to learn to control it but he found it so funny that Frank called him about sex.
love reading ur works, if you could write frank x reader smut where there's an age gap (like reader is in 20s) i would love that :) i understand if not.
♡ Thank you so much, that means a lot! I hope you like this one ^^
♡ warnings: smut, 18+, big age gap (frank is in his late 40s, early 50s, reader in her 20s), dom!frank, spanking, degradation, rough unprotected sex, creampies.
~
"Where are you going looking like that?"
"Uhm..." You give Frank a puzzled look before looking down at your dress. "I'm going out with my friends."
"Not looking like that. That dress barely covers your ass. And those pantyhose..." His gaze travels down your fishnet covered legs. "You might as well walk around naked."
You roll your eyes at him. “You might be old enough to be my dad, but you're not. You can't decide what I'll wear. Besides, I'm an adult. I can wear whatever I want. And…” You walk closer to him, pouting your lips and peering down at him through fluttering eyelids as you slide your hand across his chest. "I thought you would like them."
"Like them?" Frank huffs and grabs your wrist, pushing you down on the table with your upper body pressing against the hard surface. You gasp at his forcefulness, stare back at him over your shoulder. A jolt of arousal surge through your pussy at the sight of his furious face and dark eyes glaring back at you.
"You walk around looking like a slut, for everyone to see you. Do you want everyone to lust over you? Hmh? Fuck what's mine?"
Frank stands up and holds you down with one hand on your lower back whilst the other yanks your dress up, only to see your ass covered in nothing but those fishnet pantyhose. He growls and slaps your ass once. Hard.
"Ah!" you cry out and whimper at the flood of pleasure searing through your core at the stinging pain on your skin.
"Look at you. Not even wearing panties. Such a dirty, little girl you are."
He slaps you again and you moan loudly with pleasure, mewling and writhing beneath him as your pussy throbs with need to have him inside you.
Frank's dick is painfully hard at the sight of your ass clad in fishnet, like a gift for him to tear open. Fuck, he can't deny your ass look sexy covered in fishnet and the way your pussy lips puffs out through the holes of the fishnet.
Fucking hell.
He fumbles with his pants, letting them fall to his feet along with his boxers, his cock bouncing out, ready to delve into your pretty pussy. He growls as he hooks his fingers into your fishnet pantyhose, tearing them open, exposing your ass and pussy to him.
"Frank!" you gasp in a mix of shock and lust as he destroys your pantyhose, can't deny the fact that you fantasized about him doing this so many times.
"Shut up," Frank grits and grabs both your ass cheeks, spreading them apart as he plunges into your pussy in one, forceful thrust.
"Ffffuck!" you cry out, your back arching as his cock fills you up, stretching you out so perfectly.
"I'm gonna fuck you like the whore that you are," Frank snarls and starts a bruising pace of fucking you. The desk rattles beneath his forceful thrusts and you hold onto the edge for dear life, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the room along with your lustful, breathy moans. Frank's hands grips your ass tightly, roughly kneading the soft globes of your buttocks apart so he can see the tight stretch of your pretty pussy lips as he pounds into you over and over again.
"This ass is mine," Frank mutters and slaps your right buttock, making you moan through his thrusts. "This pussy is mine," he growls and slams into you even harder, his fingers digging into your ass.
"Y-Yes, Frank! I'm yours!" you gasp, pushing your ass back against him. Frank lets out a shaky moan as he thrusts into you a final time, spilling his cum deep inside you, holding your ass firmly against his hips. You come with him, at the sensation of his cock throbbing and swelling inside you, your pussy clenching around his cock, your body trembling with pleasure.
Frank pulls out and spreads your ass cheeks, watching with ragged breaths as his cum oozes out of your pussy.
You look at him over your shoulder, a satisfied smile on your lips. "I told you, you would like them."
Frank chuckles and shakes his head. "You naughty, little girl."
ᨳଓ Frank loves to push down on your stomach when he’s inside of you. He says it’s so you can feel all of him, and yeah he’s right, but you know it’s for him too. To know how he fills you up, so much that he can feel himself from outside. He keeps his hand pressed down while he pounds into you. Your moans are blended with heavy breaths, tears in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck baby, you like it hard?” His sweet voice suppressed by his guttural moans. He makes sure he gives your clit attention all while he abuses your g-spot. His pelvis smacking into you and forcing your legs open even further. “Baby look at that.” He says, reaching over to grab the back of your head and lift it to watch his cock move inside you. “Look at how I stretch you from inside. ‘m gonna ruin you so good” Pulling out completely before thrusting his whole length back in, palm still pushing down on your lower abdomen. It helps you feel all of him, every vein, each inch, and especially his release being spread inside you.
cw: mdni, missionary, frank is mean and he calls himself “dad” 🙂↕️
Frank doesn’t say a word, his jaw set in a hard line as he leans over you, just watching you struggle to keep up with his brutal pace.
He’s pissed about something you did — whatever argument started this is a total blur now, completely wiped from your mind by the brutal force of his hips.
His thick thumbs dig deep into your skin, pinning your hips to the mattress so hard there’s no way you won’t have bruises in the morning. There’s zero mercy in the way he drives into you, his heavy cock slamming all the way home with an unrelenting, jackhammer rhythm that relentlessly prods right against your cervix with every single stroke.
You get impatient, so you reach your hand down between your bodies to rub your clit, but Frank instantly catches you. He slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting, his grip clamping right back onto your hip as he glares down at you.
“Move your hand,” he growls, refusing to let you rush a single thing.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes — partly because he’s being a bit mean, but mostly because you’re getting so close and the sheer intensity of his cock bullying your insides is becoming overwhelmingly too much.
“You’re being mean,” you choke out with a small sniffle.
Frank softens just enough to give you a bit of faux sympathy, leaning down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss against the single tear slipping down your cheek. “I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs against your skin, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Dad’s sorry,”
Before you can even process the sudden switch, he pulls back, sliding out until only his tip is resting just past your entrance. He pauses for half a second, letting the sudden emptiness hang in the air, before slamming back in as hard and fast as he can.
⤷ in which.. frank has the same routine; eat, sleep and kick ass. he doesn’t have the time or emotional availability for a relationship. that is, until he meets you; peter parkers older ‘sister.’
SYNOPSIS: ever since the spell casted to make everyone forget peter parker, you were the only person to remember him. keeping peters biggest secret meant becoming part of a world you never asked for; one filled with constant injuries, unavoidable dangers, and difficult choices, but when peter sends frank castle to your apartment with nothing more than a forgotten backpack, neither of you expect it to be the first of many visits—or the beginning of the one routine frank never saw coming.
TAGS/WARNINGS: slow burn, eventual smut, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, age gap (reader is 25, frank is 38), strangers to lovers, mutual pining, eventual romance, trauma, ptsd, kissing, post bnd, reader is peter parkers childhood friend, slightly aged up peter parker, etc
WC: TBD
[ veena’s notes . >< ] i saw the bnd movie recently and immediately thought to write about frank. im so excited to start writing again, comment if you wanna be in the taglist and dm or request any ideas you have, my requests are always open!! enjoyyy
it was about nine p.m. when peter called frank, upside down on a building with his mask halfway on. perer forgot to bring your bag from the last time you stayed at his place… two weeks ago. youve been bugging him about the bag as of late but he hasn’t been available so he asked frank to do it.
ring…. ring…. ring…. “what, kid.” the older mans gruff voice crackled through the phone.
“frank, can you—”
“no.”
“i didn’t even get to say it yet!”
“since when do i do favors for you?”
“dude, i literally saved your life!”
“no you didnt.”
“frank, please.”
frank groans on the other line, probably running a hand through his hair. “fine, kid.” he hangs up. peter calls him back. “frank.” he says flatly.
“what.”
“i didnt tell you the favor yet.”
“hurry up.” frank grumbled.
“can you drop off a backpack for me? i’ll send you the address.”
“‘kay”
.
.
.
a sudden knock startled you awake. you were supposed to be altering a formula for peter but you dozed off on accident. stretching, you look to the small white analog clock on your desk. the time blinking 10:30 p.m. at you. a look confusion takes over your tired face.
who would be knocking on your door at this hour?
another sharp knock sounds from your front door, you hastily get up from your desk and rush to the front door. without looking through the peephole, you unlock and open the door. you did NOT expect to see a tall, handsome and well built man at your door holding… your backpack? well, to be fair you didn’t know what to expect but damn. you couldn’t help but stare at him. he’s so handsome. he’s tall, broad shouldered with rough stubble that lined his jaw. his eyes make him even more attractive, tired yet still alert. something in the way he looked at you made the room feel ten times hotter.
it took you a few moments to realize your gaze lingered for a bit longer than you intended and with that you looked away immediately. you look down from his face and clear your throat before looking up to meet his sharp and assessing gaze.
“peter sent you?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. the older man holds your bag out to you with a curt nod. “mhm.” you take the bag, fingers brushing his wrist gently. the contact sent a spark through you and you flinch away slightly. frank crosses his arms over his chest. “wus’ ya name?” he asks simply. you give him your name, a soft murmur aided by a small smile. he doesn’t say anything. you meet his eyes once more and ask: “whats your name?”
Pairing: BND!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader x Punisher!Frank Castle
Summary: You and your boyfriend, Peter, go out to the bar with Frank for his birthday. When one risky move leads to another, Frank Castle receives the wildest birthday gift of his life and Peter gets the chance to remind you who you will always belong to.
Warnings/Tags: boyfriend! peter parker, bnd! peter parker, punisher! frank castle, peter parker’s a fucking freak, threesome, dom! peter parker, rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms (f), fingering, creampie, masturbation, finger licking, dirty talk, peter’s like overly freaked and so are you. read responsibly! mdni, 18+
Word Count: 9.1k
Author's Note: This is some freeeaaaky shit. There’s, like, very limited fucking around here. We are getting straight into it (but I also just kept writing shit).
Inspiration: “Angel” by Massive Attack and Horace Andy. Just listen to it. Also, if you're from my TikTok: hey queen ;)
Going to shoot pool at the bar was Frank’s idea of a fun, relaxing fortieth birthday celebration. Peter tried to talk him into dinner, trying out the new reclining theatre seats at the cinema—literally anything other than having to surround himself with old, angry drunks who cared far too much about some numbered balls on a table. You didn’t have any qualms with it, though. It was just another excuse for you and your boyfriend, Peter, to get out of your stuffy apartment, still not quite over the way your brand new AC unit broke ten days into the New York summer heat.
Plus, no one really had any complaints when they watched you bend over the pool table, aiming your pool stick with careless precision after one too many beers. Peter’s eyes were glued to your ass, desperate to find out the color of your panties every time your tight-fitting denim skirt lifted in the back.
Frank did all he could to not let his gaze wander, forcing his attention to stray every time he saw your ass perked up in the air when you arched your back over the side of the table. But every time you turned to him, frowning up at him with your big, round eyes, after missing your shot, it took every ounce of his feeble self-restraint to not melt completely.
He’d always had a soft spot for you, but seeing you like this—with a hazardous amount of liquid courage pumping through his system and your short skirt barely fitting over the curve of your ass—he couldn’t tame the twisted desires that penetrated his mind.
“Frank,” you whined innocently, growing irritated that you were losing, missing your target for the nth time.
The muscle in his jaw tensed at your pleading tone, but he forced a cheeky grin. “I told you, darling. You can’t beat me.”
He was positioned on a bar stool, one leg propped on the rod between the legs of the stool, and the other lazily spread. His hands were resting on top of his pool stick when you caught the slur in his cocky tone.
Your eyes rolled, gaze sluggishly moving to your boyfriend, who was taking up the stool on the other side of the table that split him and Frank, sipping on his beer and chuckling at you.
Shoulders sagging, you glanced back at Frank. “Well, can you help me?”
He nearly choked on his drink. “Help you?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, frowning over at the pool table. “Help me aim better.”
Frank’s gaze shot to Peter, not necessarily looking for approval, just curious to know what his reaction would be. Tilting back the rest of his beer, Peter just swirled the empty bottle.
“I’m gonna go get another,” he announced nonchalantly, placing his hand on the small of your back as he passed between you and Frank. He eyed you softly, like he always did. “You need one, angel?”
You shook your head. “No, I‘m good,” you told him, nodding over at your bottle on the table that was still full.
He nodded, effortlessly kissing your temple with a quick peck before carrying on to the bar.
For a moment, you just observed him. The way he had a lazy stride, like there was something weighing him down with each footstep. His hair was growing out, curling at the ends in a way that made you want to tangle your fingers in it, and the T-shirt he was wearing was a little too tight around his biceps, the fabric bunching over the ridges of his muscles.
When Peter left the area, shimmying through the thick crowd to the bar, your longing gaze danced back over to Frank.
“So—” you rested your chin on the tip of your pool stick, smirking up at him “—you gonna help me, or what?”
Frank licked his lips, pushing himself off his stool with a huff. He took one last long gulp of his beer before closing the space between the two of you.
“Let me see this thing,” he said, voice gruff and lazy from the number of beers he’d downed. You let him take the pool stick from you, your eyes glued on his profile as he studied it. “Your problem’s your focus. You can’t let your eyes off your target.” The front of your body grazed his, the sharp outline of his belt buckle scraping your stomach, as he repositioned himself. “Here. Let me show you.”
You chewed on your bottom lip to simmer the excitement that coursed through your veins when he offered his guidance.
His hand slowly moved to your back, gently nudging for you to return to your position against the pool table, the same position that had become permanently engrained in the back of his dark mind.
Holding the pool stick at your side, you slowly slid the tip of it onto the table, slipping it between your fingers. In order to get a better view of the path needed to hit the white ball onto your striped number seven, your top half lowered to the table.
Frank was right there with you, a reluctant inch separating him from your arched back.
A snicker spilled out of you, registering his hesitance, but he ignored it. His thoughts were too busy trying to strengthen his self-restraint.
“You gotta lower the tip. If you hit the top of the ball, it’ll spin against you,” he explained, voice gruff and too close to your ear.
You raised the hand that was balancing the hilt of the stick, your tongue grazing your bottom lip in concentration. “Like this?”
“Uh-uh,” he grunted, head shaking.
Huffing in frustration, your muscles sagged. “Can you just show me? I don’t get what you mean.”
You knew exactly what he meant, but your body was writhing in nervous flutters with him close, but not close enough to satisfy the craving you had.
He exhaled heavily, standing up and leaning down over top of you. Achingly slow, his hands slid down your arms to guide your grip in the correct position. “Just like—” his hips dug into your backside, hand forcing its way into the grip you had on the stick “—that.”
“Oh.” You stifled your smirk.
The move you made next was careless. Beneath him, you arched your back further, ass sticking up to where his hips were.
A ragged breath came out Frank, his jaw screwed tight enough to splinter. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, a fragile warning.
You giggled, smirking at the power you suddenly had over him. He wasn’t making any move to shift away from you. The small motion you added with your hips, pressing harder against his growing bulge, was just a taunt.
“I saw you watching me,” you told him, voice barely above a whisper.
When his dark eyes flashed to yours, you blinked slowly.
The way you batted your lashes was enough to break the mental chains holding him back. He didn’t respond.
He wasn’t able to deny the way he’d been silently haunting the corner of the pool room, eyes transfixed on you each time you bent over the side of the table, imagining what it would feel like for him to bend you over in front of him, having his way with you.
You bought your lips up to his ear. “Don’t worry, Frank,” you whispered. “I won’t tell.”
Frank’s thoughts spiralled, frozen and glued to you despite how wrong it felt.
You were his friend’s girlfriend. You were half your age. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he repeated in his head like a pointless mantra.
He shook his head, forcing himself out of his own head, and loosened the grip he had on you. With shaky steps, he slowly backed off of you.
Your head followed him, the same smirk eating away at your full lips that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.
“That’s fine.” You sighed, returning your attention to the pool stick and then down to your target. “I think I got it now.”
Your back was still arched in a way that felt illicit, the curve of your spine making a shape Frank knew would forever be stuck in his deepest, darkest thoughts. Your skirt had rode up from where he’d been pressed against you and when you sunk back, fixing your aim just before shooting, he saw it. The swollen mound between your legs that was clung with red, lacey panties, leaving little to the imagination.
It was barely a glimpse, he thought he’d made it all up in his mind for a moment.
When the tip of your chalked pool stick slammed into the white ball, you bit down on your lip with apprehension, hoping you wouldn’t miss again.
Peter walked back through the crowd with a fresh beer when the striped number seven ball clattered into the corner pocket, his attention immediately falling on his overly-enthused girlfriend.
Guilt immediately crashed through Frank’s chest. He could barely look at Peter, knowing he had just felt the outline of his girlfriend’s curvaceous figure on his body, felt the softness of your skin against his calloused hands, drowning in the worst thoughts about you.
“You make it in?” Peter asked you with a proud look on his chiseled features. His tongue sunk into his jaw, coughing out a laugh.
You nodded, jumping up and down with excitement. “Frank helped me.”
Frank’s heart hammered in his chest when Peter’s gaze met his. The younger guy just smirked at him, though, raising a curious brow. “Good man.”
There wasn’t a good thing about himself, Frank thought.
He suddenly had a desire to suppress the awful things he was feeling, knowing another Corona wouldn’t do the trick.
He huffed and told you and Peter, “I’m gonna get a drink,” before exiting the pool room in quick strides.
But you caught the way he adjusted his hardened length when his back turned to the two of you.
When Frank eventually returned to the pool room, nursing an old fashioned and grieving his shredded dignity, Peter was sitting back on his stool, legs spread, peering over at Frank while sipping his beer with his arm slung around you from your standing position next to him.
You tilted your head up at your boyfriend, whispering something Frank couldn’t make out from his distance. It wasn’t until he returned to his side of the bar table, setting his drink down and stuffing his wadded dollar bills into his wallet from paying the bartender, that he heard your small voice tell Peter, “he wants it, trust me.”
Frank’s eyes twitched, curious gaze flashing up to you and Peter, whose lips were smirking around the rim of his glass beer bottle at whatever his girlfriend was telling him.
You inched away from Peter so you could see his face better. Your brows raised inquisitively, searching for approval. He tilted his chin, nodding with a soft smile.
Peter slid off his stool, adjusting his grip on his pool stick before going over to the table. He was aiming for the solid number two, back turned to you and Frank, when Frank slid back on his stool with uncertainty running through his thoughts.
Frank understood something had shifted while he’d been at the bar, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was.
You made your way around the table cautiously, slowly stepping closer to Frank.
When those big, round, puppy dog eyes of yours flashed up to him again, his chest heaved. It wasn’t until your hands fell on his knees—slowly crawling their way up his thick, muscular, jean-clad thighs—that he felt the closest he’d ever been to a cardiac arrest.
“Wha—What are you doin’?” Frank asked, leaning as far back in his seat that he could, as if that would somehow mark him safe from the way he craved your wondrous touch.
You grinned up at him, finger nails digging into the impenetrable muscle of his thigh. “It’s okay, Frank. Peter doesn’t mind.”
His brows stitched together. “The hell you mean?”
Ignoring his confusion, you slid your petite frame between his spread legs, hands moving from the tops of his thighs to his rock-hard abdomen, feeling the outline of his rigid, toned stomach beneath his T-shirt.
With your eyes exploring along with your touch, you could feel his shaky nerves, the invisible currents of electricity coursing the warmth of his skin.
“Do you like this?” you whisper, eyes flicking up to his dark, dilated pupils. “You like me touching you?”
Your name spilled from his lips, caught somewhere between a plea and a warning.
He should have backed off, politely told you that you were taking it too far, warned you of how much chaos could ensue because of your reckless actions. But he didn’t. Because he did like it. He liked it so much, he exhaled through gritted teeth when your hand snaked up his chest further, your head tilting so your nose brushed his sharp jaw, lips grazing the smooth skin of his neck.
“This isn’t right,” he managed to say, resisting the urge to grab your waist and bring you closer to him.
You pulled away just enough to look at him. “If it feels good, it can’t be wrong, Frank.”
Your small hands moved to his much larger ones that were resting at his side, guiding them to where you knew he wanted them to be. One placed on your waist, the other on your chest.
You maintained eye contact with him the whole time as his warm palm pressed against the exposed skin of your chest, right above the hem of your tank-top.
“Do you feel that?” you asked, hoping he could feel the rushing rate of your heart—an example of how badly you wanted him.
He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, exhaling through his nose. His hand subconsciously tightened around your waist, sinking deeper into your skin.
“Yeah,” he muttered just as some newfound sense of bravery overcame him.
He moved the hand that was pressed to your chest, gripping yours and moving it to the bulge forming in his suddenly too-tight jeans.
He cocked a brow. “Do you feel that?”
Your eyes dropped to his lap splayed before you, hand moving along the outline of his hardened dick. A curious moan vibrated in your throat, sizing him up.
There was always something about Frank that enticed you. Always so closed-off and angry with the world. But the more time you spent with him—thanks to his friendship with Peter—you saw there was much more to him than that.
His guarded walls broke slowly. It took him time to realize you weren’t a threat. You often helped stitch up his cuts when you found yourself at his warehouse by the harbor with Peter, knowing all too well how the two of them avoided hospitals like the plague. His lifestyle would scare most people, but it didn’t phase you. If anything, it just worried you the same way it did with Peter. The threat of something going wrong, something hurting either one of them, kept you up at night.
It wasn’t until a couple months ago that something changed. Frank no longer looked at you as Peter’s little girlfriend, a risk personified, that knew too much about them. Instead, he started seeing you for what you were. Tough, quick-witted, a little too reckless for your own good. Fucking gorgeous.
He would pretend not to be phased when he would barge into your shared apartment with Peter, finding you on the couch in nothing but a big T-shirt and shorts that were short enough to be classified as panties. When you would purposefully brush your ass against him when shimming past him in the slim hall of his kitchen, he’d have to teach himself how to breathe again.
The night he accidentally walked in on you getting out of the shower when Peter told him the bathroom was free, not knowing, he nearly lost himself. The sight of your naked body, your curves perfectly shaped before him, and the way you didn’t immediately rush to grab your towel and scream at him to get out. All of it resided in the back of his mind.
He would think about you often, especially at night when he was restless and tossing back and forth in bed. Sometimes, at a weak point, he’d touch himself to the thought of you. Thinking of what you’d look like with your hands on him.
It was all wrong, though, he knew that.
He would never do anything to purposefully hurt Peter, despite their constant bickering and bullshit. You belonged to Peter, not him. But a creative imagination didn’t harm anyone.
However, now that he had you in front of him, palming his dick in a way that he never could have imagined in his wildest dreams, his resilience was wavering.
Peter’s solid number two ball fell into the pocket with what felt like an ear-piercing crash. It really wasn’t anything but a soft thud, but it felt like sirens going off in the back of Frank’s mind.
Straightening his posture, Peter’s eyes moved to where you were standing between Frank’s legs. Something in the air thickens, no one making any move to stop what was happening, but no one urging it on either.
Your hand grips his bulge, lips pursed with needy anticipation. “Do you wanna come back to the apartment with us?”
Frank’s dick twitched beneath your touch. “Us?”
The realization dawned on him the minute his dark eyes trailed over to Peter, who was watching the two of you with an odd fixation. One hand was propped on the edge of the pool table, shouldering his weight, while a faint smirk spread on his lips.
“He likes it,” you whispered to Frank, noticing his apprehension.
That kinky bastard, Frank thought. Of course.
Frank’s jaw muscle ticked when he looked back down at you, riddled with confusion but suddenly incredibly intrigued. “What exactly is it that he likes, darling?”
With your back still turned to Peter, you carefully pull yourself up on your tip-toes, lips moving to the side of Frank’s neck. Before pressing a sloppy kiss on the skin, you breathe out a quick, “This.” Your hand continues working his erection, desperately wanting him to get over his hesitation and understand your need for him. For both of them.
Your free hand takes his, bringing it down to the hem of your skirt between the two of you. You push his big hand under the denim fabric, telling him exactly where you wanted him without having to utter a word.
The second his fingers grazed the outline of your warmth, a shudder rolled through your body. The soft movement—the sharp breath against his skin—caused a barely audible grunt to escape his tight throat.
He took his time, lowering his fingers agonizingly slow, until they were met with the damp, puddled patch of your arousal between your quivering thighs. It was a miracle you were still standing, completely losing your strength with his touch.
A shallow breath came from his parted lips when he allowed himself to rub a gentle circle around the wetness, wanting so badly to know what you felt like beneath your drenched panties.
For a moment, he forgot Peter was still standing a few feet away from the two of you. He forgot the two of you were at a bar. He forgot it was his turn at the table. He forgot his own fucking name. He forgot everything.
The only thing he could think of was the feeling of you this close to him, the delicate shape of your folds beneath your panties, the firm grip you had on his dick.
“Come on,” you whispered, pulling away from him slightly. You were reaching your breaking point. Your desire to feel more—to have more—was eating you alive. “Come with us.”
Frank’s lethargic vision shot to Peter, who made slow strides over to the two of you. Completely unphased by what was unfolding before him, he set his pool stick against the wall with the row of others and picked up his beer off the table.
Peter took a swig of it, then another, and looked over at Frank. “Don’t be a pussy, Frank.”
“Yeah, Frank—” you drawled, backing away from him with a cheeky grin, “—don’t be a pussy.” It sounded like a teasing jest, but it was pure desperation in your voice.
Earning a chuckle from Peter, who reached out to grab your hand and drag you towards him, you fell into his grasp like it was second nature. His arm held you in, wrapped around your waist as the both of you studied Frank.
Frank dragged a hand down his face, trying to think about how he got himself in this position.
“This is so fucked up.” His eyes darted over at Peter. “You’re okay with this shit?” he asked, still reeling in disbelief.
Peter tilted his head with a taunting expression on his face. “You mean am I okay with you touching my girlfriend like that?” His voice was sharp, almost accusing, but you knew he was messing with Frank. He was always messing with Frank. As soon as Frank’s expression hardened, your boyfriend coughed out a laugh. “Yes, Frank. I’m okay with it.”
Still simmering in Frank’s silence, your boyfriend pulled his wallet out of his pocket without disengaging the way he was holding you. “Don’t leave her hanging, man.”
Your index finger’s nail was between your teeth, biting down with a sloppy little grin on your face when Frank raked you over once more with his dark eyes.
For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. You knew Frank was still trying to figure out if the two of you were pulling some evil little trick on him, but the way your heart was thumping with enthusiastic anticipation, you didn’t care.
All you wanted was for him to agree, so the three of you could go home and you could find some relief from the agonizing desperation pooling between your legs.
It took five minutes, if that, for Peter to close out his tab and for Frank to get his shit together long enough to leave the bar.
By the time the three of you walked out into the warm, mid-August night air, you debated having one of them hail a taxi so you could get back home quicker. But Frank and Peter had a weird thing with public transportation. They didn’t trust anyone, let alone some potentially ill-intented taxi driver.
Some nights, when the streets were quiet and there was no one around to question it, Peter would swing you home with his organic web, laughing every time you burrowed your head into the crook of his neck or screamed when he got a little too fast with it.
You wondered what Frank did to get places quickly. He had some big, armored truck once, but Peter told you he wrecked that during some eventful run-in with a “bad guy.” His words, of course.
Walking home was seemingly Peter’s motive this evening. One of his arms was lazily draped over your shoulder, his other hand was stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans.
Frank walked a few steps behind you, matching your pace with precision.
You noticed him do that a lot. Whenever the three of you would walk the streets, Peter was always at your side, and Frank was always right behind you.
Initially, you assumed it was his way of keeping you safe. It definitely was, but now you found yourself wondering if he just wanted to watch the way your ass shook when you walked.
Frank had lit a cigarette from his crushed pack of Marlboro reds. He took a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke that floated between you and Peter, causing your boyfriend to snap his head around with an annoyed expression.
“Are you smoking?” he gaped, face scrunched.
The older man shrugged, flicking ash on the concrete mid-stride.
Peter scoffed. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Only do it in high-stress situations,” Frank told him with a comically calm tone.
You craned your neck to look back at him, laughing. “Awe, are you stressed, Frankie?” Your bottom lip poked out just to tease him, the streetlamp reflecting off your shiny lipgloss.
Frank wanted to taste it. “A bit,” he grumbled.
You slowly slipped yourself out of Peter’s grasp, causing both men to halt in their tracks. They always stayed extremely close when out in public. You never really thought about anything with them. What could possibly go wrong when New York’s beloved Spider-man and the man the news called The Punisher were at your side?
Turning on your heels, you reached out and grabbed Frank’s belt buckle. He was so tall compared to you, it was right within your reach. You intended to pull him into you, but he was completely immovable, the action only caused you to stumble forwards into him.
Chuckling at your own actions, you peered up at Frank. “You don’t need to be stressed.”
“Yeah?” he tilted his head down at you, absolutely at a loss of willpower with you on him. “Why’s that?”
“Because—” laughter spilled out of you “—we’re gonna have so much fun.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke, angling it away from your face, and reeled.
He wanted to be hesitant. Hesitance would be a completely logical feeling. It would be entirely normal for him to feel a bit of apprehension about the plan you’d concocted to have them both, given that wasn’t something Frank had ever partook in.
But he wasn’t hesitant. Not anymore, at least.
Beyond his confusion regarding what exactly it was that he was getting himself into, it was complete and utter lust that coursed through him. Lust for you.
He wanted you in all the ways he’d imagine when he was laying in bed at night, fucking himself with his own hand, or in the shower with his forehead pressed to the tile, picturing it was your pretty, glossy lips around his cock.
Peter could sense it. He wasn’t fucking stupid—he saw the way Frank always looked at you, like he wanted to devour you. He had just been waiting for it to all come to a head.
He called it sharing. Sounded innocent and less vulgar that way. He liked sharing you, knowing it was him that you always chose. It was him that you were completely devoted to—always would be.
You were hesitant when he’d talked about it one day, asking him, “Isn’t that cheating?” He’d laughed at you and countered with, “Not if I’m giving it to you, too, angel.”
There was some deep, dark part of him that sprung to life when you were being fucked by someone else, trembling with pleasure, and the only name you moaned was his. Because you were his.
Walking up the stairs to your apartment because the elevator was under maintenance for the third time this month, felt like a chore. But your footsteps were eager.
Both men were on your trail as you skipped up the echoing stairwell, their attention trained on the view they had up your skirt.
“The red ones, angel?” Peter joked, playfully lifting the back of your skirt. “Must be a special occasion.”
Frank’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight, earning a taunting laugh from your boyfriend. Peter turned to the man next to him, smirking devilishly just as you swatted his hand away.
“You like what you see, old man?” Peter asked, nudging Frank’s side.
You briefly glanced back at him, curious to what his answer would be. He just rolled his eyes.
“Playing hard to get, Frankie?” you probed, finally reaching your floor.
He tilted his chin up, towering over you. “Never that, darling.”
Peter pulled the stairwell door wide and your gaze hung on Frank as you backed into the hallway.
There wasn’t a single light on in the apartment when the three of you walked through. It was unbearably hot, very little airflow in the small place due to the broken AC failing to combat the summer heat. You kicked off your shoes, inching further into the apartment to flip on the lamp by the couch.
Peter tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, raking a hand through his dark waves.
Frank had been inside your apartment countless times, but, for some reason, it all felt new to him. The colors on the thrifted rug in the living room seemed brighter, the humming of the refrigerator felt louder, and the smell was visceral. It smelled like the candle you always kept burning, the same one you’d bought Frank to keep at his place after stating it smelled “like death” one time.
But over all the vibrance, sounds, and smells, was the tension brewing. It was sharp enough to cut, weighing on your shoulders like a tangible object.
Peter rounded the couch, falling back on the center cushion.
A second passed of more silence before he cocked his head up at Frank. He furrowed his brows. “You just gonna stand there like some creep?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “The fuck you want me to do, Pete? I just walked in the door.”
Your boyfriend shifted on the couch, finding a more comfortable view of you where you were standing in the center of the living room.
He tilted his head, ushering Frank to come closer. “Kiss her.”
Peter was a very matter-of-fact person. Usually, Frank was, too. There was a zero tolerance policy regarding bullshit in their friendship.
But, for a moment, Frank genuinely thought Peter was bullshitting.
“You just gonna watch, or some shit?” Frank asked him, unsure.
Your boyfriend’s head lulled back, laughter spilling out of him. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you fuck my girl, like some cuck?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know what your freaky ass is into.”
The back and forth between the two of them was becoming unbearable. Your core was aching with an insatiable need. All the talk was causing you to fluster, growing desperate and needy.
It seemed Frank felt the same. In three quick strides, he was right up against you, peering down at you from his height.
“You want me to kiss you?” he asked you.
Your lips curled. “Amongst other things.”
It was like lightning. That was what it felt like when his lips crashed onto yours. It was soft at first, a slow, deep peck. He pulled away for half a second, studying your face, before colliding back with you.
The second time his lips met yours, there was a newfound sense of hunger in his movements.
His lips parted, tongue running along your lips, begging to get through so he could taste you. When you let him in, your tongues tangled around each other's. teeth grazing.
It was a desperate kiss, sloppy and wet, but it had you completely folding.
The minute your fruit-flavoured lipgloss met Frank’s tastebuds, he was lost. He was lost in the kiss, lost in you. God, he wanted to be in you.
Your arms draped his shoulders, interlocking around his neck to force him down, keeping him as close to you as possible. His hands wandered about your body, reaching around to grip your ass.
He pulled your skirt up without a thought, hands gripping the flesh of your ass with a throaty grunt. The skin was so soft and plump in his touch, he felt a shudder roll through his body.
His hands reached down to your thighs, picking you up off the floor with such effortless ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the couch without breaking the kiss.
Peter’s jaw was taut with tension, watching every move you made with such precision, it was borderline obsession.
He stood up, giving Frank the space to lay you down on the cushions. But your legs were still so tightly bound around him, it forced him down on top of you.
You reached down to the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to remove it.
In response, he broke the kiss, standing up off the couch to shrug it off, while you situated yourself on the couch.
“You, too,” you said to Peter between shaky breaths, gesturing to his shirt.
Your boyfriend tore off his T-shirt in one swift motion, kneeling down to crawl on top of you the same way Frank had.
Propping himself up with hands next to your head, he peered down at you and smirked. “You, too, angel.”
You rolled your eyes at his show. “You do it.”
Peter obliged, digging his fingers under the hem of your tank-top and lifting it over your head, leaving your top half completely exposed. You never wore a bra, especially when it was as hot as it was outside.
Neither of the two men admiring the way your perky tits sat seemed to have any qualms about it.
You took a second to eye the two of them, reeling over their tanned, muscular chests. Your brain lapsed over the sight of the hair trailing down Frank’s prominent V-line. You wanted so badly to see what he had under his pants. Analyzing his hardened bulge, your heartrate quickened.
Both of them stood over you on the couch, shirtless and writhing in anticipation.
Peter unbuttoned his jeans first, prompting Frank to follow suit.
Frank thought undressing himself next to Peter would have been more uncomfortable. But neither of them thought twice about it, coming to the joint understanding that this wasn’t about them. It was about you.
“Come here, angel,” Peter mumbled to you.
You complied, sitting up on the couch, and folding your legs beneath yourself.
Sitting back on your calves, you watched with eagerness as Peter stepped out of his boxers. His painfully hard dick slapped his lower stomach during the movement, causing a puddle of desire in your needy center.
He took a step closer until his shins met the couch, his cock right in front of your face. Your hands trailed up his bare legs until they reached his length, stroking it once in your hand before bringing your tongue to the hilt, giving it one, long lick up to the tip.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Peter moaned, gathering your hair in his fist. “Show Frank how good you can suck my dick, angel.”
The deepness of his voice rattled your nerves as you took him in your mouth. Your throat tightened around his tip, a gag tearing from your throat as you tried to take as much of him as possible. You continued bobbing your head, saliva dripping down your chin. What you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you worked in a matching rhythm with your sticky, wet hand.
Peter’s eyes were stuck on you, watching your eyes water when he pulled your hair and pumped himself in your mouth. His jaw went slack, breathing ragged at the absolute pleasure you were giving him.
“Fuck…” he groaned, pulling your hair harder, just like he knew you wanted him to.
You pulled away from him, panting heavily, but still working him with your hand. Swallowing hard, your eyes shifted to Frank who was completely lost in the performance you were giving.
Peter laughed, but it came out more like a moan. “Your turn, old man.”
Frank moved closer to the couch, his erection begging to break free of his tight-fitting boxers. You continued working Peter with one hand while the other worked to get Frank undressed.
He noticed your intent, pushing them off until they fell at his ankles. When his dick finally broke free, a deep moan tore from his throat.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of it.
Peter had a big dick, there was no denying that, but Frank’s was a devious competitor. It was girthy in a way that had you concerned, but just as formidable in length.
You wasted no more time. You wanted to feel him in your mouth. Really, you wanted to see if you could fit him in your mouth.
Peter pulled away from your grasp around his saturated cock, giving you the ability to focus completely on Frank.
He watched you try to take Frank in his entirety, gagging when you neared the base of him. His eyes fixed on the way your throat tightened, knowing exactly how it felt when you did that.
Frank’s fingers ran coursed through your tangled mess of hair, gathering it all up in a fist so he could see your face while you choked on his dick.
It was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.
The thought dawned on him suddenly—the reason why Peter always called you his angel. That was what you were. Some heaven-sent creature.
Your lips suctioned around his girthy shaft, gripping onto his hips as he pumped himself in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, tongue running circles around his tip each time you could reach it.
“Holy… fuck…” Frank panted, tugging on your hair.
His teeth chattered, his nervous system pumping with adrenaline and something akin to pure euphoria.
He wasn’t going to last long with your mouth around him, he knew that. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, he could barely trust that this was his true reality. He must have been dreaming, he’d thought.
He felt his release coming, it was so fast, he pulled out of your mouth with a pop and drew in a sharp wince. He had to halt his breathing for the longest moment, chest caved, in order to hold himself back from cumming all over you.
You brought the back of your hand to your mouth, wiping the mess you’d become away.
“Lay down, angel,” Peter said, leading you to slip off your knees and situate yourself on the couch, your back flush with the soft cushions.
He climbed onto the couch at your feet, dick throbbing with desperation. Your eyes noticed the bead of pre-cum at his pink tip, wanting so desperately to lick it up.
His hands moved to the waist band of your denim skirt, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. “Lift up,” he instructed.
Your hips bucked, giving him the space he needed to pull your skirt down. He brought your panties with it, slipping both off in one quick stride and discarding them on the living room floor.
“Mm,” Peter sounded, gaze fixed on your exposed pussy. “Look at how wet we got her, Frank.”
You were growing irritable. “Please touch me,” you pleaded, hands wandering to your tits, massaging the plump muscle and pinching your pebbled nipples. “Please.”
Peter’s fingers trailed your folds, smirking down at just how drenched they became from your arousal. It was pitiful, really, the way you were squirming against the couch, panting and quivering under his touch.
He noticed it. Hell, he could smell it.
Ever since his arachnid DNA had started betraying him, attempting to dominate his human form, his senses had been heightened. In situations like this, it became worse. He could hear your heart beat like it was his own, make out the miniscule beads of sweat running down your temple, and smell your arousal. The sweet, salty scent had him folding under your intoxicating pleas.
His fingers entered you unannounced. He gave your walls time to adjust around them, grunting at the wet sounds that filled the quiet room as your needy flesh suctioned him in.
Frank moved to the couch, positioning himself on his knees above your head.
“Fuck, angel,” Peter moaned, pumping his fingers in and out of you.
Your head tilted back, back arching off the couch at the all-consuming pleasure. Your hand reached up to Frank’s dick without thinking. You just needed to do something with your hands.
He sat up on his knees, watching the faces you made as Peter fucked you with his fingers and the way you stroked his dick.
“Yeah. Just like that, baby,” Frank muttered, gripping the back of the couch. “God, yes. Just… like that.”
Peter used one hand to continue pumping you, adding two fingers to your tight, drenched entrance. With the other, his thumb moved in gentle circles over your swollen clit.
The overstimulation was too much. You felt your vision blurring, body twitching. Your legs clenched around Peter’s hand.
“Uh-uh,” Peter warned. He moved his hand from your clit for less than a second, just long enough to drape one of your legs over his broad shoulder. “Keep those legs open for me.”
Your head dug into the couch cushion, your strokes on Frank’s cock becoming sloppy.
“Oh, God,” you cried out, nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “I’m–I’m gonna—”
“Good girl,” Peter coaxed, not slowing his rhythm. “Cum for me. Show Frank how good you feel.”
His words were the last piece you needed to hit your release. Your jaw went slack, ragged pants escaping you. Your hips bucked against Peter’s hand as your orgasm flushed out of you.
“Fuck—you look so good like that,” Frank mumbled, brows pinched together, teeth chewing at his bottom lip, as he watched you.
“So do you,” you chuckled, still quivering from your high that you were already to chase again.
Peter pulled his fingers out of you slowly, immediately bringing them to his mouth. Watching him suck on your arousal like that was the most attractive thing you’d ever seen. You gasped at the sight.
“Fuck, Frank—” Peter sucked his finger once more “—you gotta taste her, man.”
Frank chuckled. “I got a better idea.” He sat back on his knees. “Turn my way, baby.”
Every muscle in your body felt like jelly. It was so soon after your orgasm, everything that touched your skin—the fabric of the couch, your hair falling down your back, Frank’s hands gripping your thigh—was enough to send you over the edge.
Turned around on the couch, Frank’s fingers dug into the skin of your exposed hips. With one swift movement, he pulled you closer to him.
You didn’t give a second to adjust himself before your hand reached out and grabbed his throbbing cock as soon as you were close enough to do so. You aligned the tip of him to your quivering entrance.
The second his sensitive tip touched the wetness of your folds, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Let me see that mouth, angel,” Peter said, sitting up on his knees behind you.
Your head fell back on the couch, chin tilting until his tip aligned with your swollen lips. You welcomed the way he slid through, immediately suctioning around him. You pumped the rest of him with one hand, the other gripped the couch.
“Yeah, just like that,” he grunted.
Frank held your hips up, thrusting into you once. The movement tore a moan from your stuffed throat.
“Fuck—You feel so good,” Frank stammered, reeling in the way your tight walls clung to him.
He pulled away slowly, but not entirely. He had just the tip in when he pounded into you again, reeling in the way you cried out in pleasure against Peter’s dick when he did it.
Peter watched the way Frank thrusted into you repeatedly. He couldn’t get enough of the way your body shook, squirming all over the place, with your mouth full of him.
Your tits bounced the harder Frank pounded into you, each movement bringing you closer and closer to that high you so desperately wanted to reach again. You could tell he was there, too. You felt the way his thick length twitched inside of you. His head was lulled back, eyes screwed shut as he held you against him, angling and fucking you the exact way he always wanted to.
You wanted so desperately to be able to see him. You wanted to see the way his chiseled chest was moving up and down with quick pants every time you clenched around his cock. You wanted to see the way he admired your swollen cunt every time he looked down, witnessing the wreckage he was giving you.
“Faster,” Peter said, his tone gruff and eager from the way you were sucking him.
Frank’s eyes shot up to him. He didn’t stop his motions inside you when he tilted his head. “What?”
“Fuck her faster—rougher. It’s what she likes.”
You pulled your mouth off Peter’s dick, working him with your hand so you could finally get a glimpse of Frank. His eyes narrowed on your boyfriend, annoyed more than anything.
“Come here,” Frank ordered, crooking his finger.
He remained inside you as you sat up further on the couch. He reached out, grabbing you by the throat. It wasn’t a cruel grab. It was the most delicate way you’d ever been touched. You wanted it harder, though.
The smirk that appeared on your mess of a face was a devilish one.
Frank sat back on his calves, bringing you to straddle him with his hand still clung to your throat.
“You like that?” Frank probed, squinting up at you as you grinded your hips. He was so deep inside you, you could feel the exact spot he was hitting in your core. “You like when I choke you like that?”
You nodded, biting down on your lip as your hips moved in circular motions on top of him. The friction it brought to your clit had you moaning incoherently, eyes rolling back in your head as squirmed in fast, desperate motions on top of him.
“Say it. Say you like this shit,” Frank grunted through his gritted teeth, barely holding on.
Your head lulled back, eyes fluttering closed. “I like it, I lo—”
A gasp tore from your throat when his hands suddenly moved to your hips, lifting you and slamming you down on him unforgivingly. He had a desperate, hungry look on his face.
“Holy… fucking… shit,” you panted, falling back on the couch, causing your back to arch and hips rise above your head level.
All of the blood was rushing to your head as he pounded into you relentlessly.
He knew that Peter knew you better than anyone. Peter knew exactly what you liked, how you liked it, and where you liked it at. That was fine.
Frank was just determined to give you more to like.
He wanted to fuck you in a way that you were going to beg Peter to mimic the next time he had you all to himself. He wanted you to not be able to cum again without remembering the way he had you splayed out in front of him, becoming a flexible mess with his cock buried so deep inside you, it almost hurt.
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned again the second Frank’s fingers started working on your clit. “Yes, Frank. Just like that—Please.”
The moment Frank’s name slipped off your tongue, Peter sprung off the couch.
“My turn,” he said, but it came out aggressive.
Frank slowed inside of you. Part of him wanted to keep going. He wanted to be the one to make you cum all over his dick, but he knew better than to fuck with Peter like that—not when it came to you, even if his thoughts contradicted him.
When Frank slid out of you, you winced. The sudden emptiness was agonizing.
Your eyes fluttered up to Frank’s, immediately seeing the way his features hardened when Peter picked you up, twisting you around so that your back was flush with his.
Peter sat on the couch the same place he’d been before, allowing you to face Frank as he slowly inserted his pulsating length inside you from behind.
You knew what he was doing. You knew he wanted Frank to see him fuck you in all the ways he knew you liked. Peter wanted Frank to see you come apart for him, forcing Frank to remember who you belonged to when it was all said and done.
Peter’s fist clenched around your hair, pulling you flush to him as he pounded in you with just the right kind of force. Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arched in a deviously seductive way. Your ass slapped against his waist everytime he thrusted deep inside of you, incoherent and muffled cries of pleasure spewing out of you the quicker he got.
Frank sat back on the couch, legs spread before him.
With a great deal of effort, you lifted your head off of your boyfriend’s shoulder so that you could see Frank, gasping when your eyes immediately met his.
He wasn’t watching the way Peter was fucking you—he wasn’t entertained by the way your tits were bouncing, or the way your ass was clapping against his friend’s skin. He was entertained by you.
Your eyes honed in on him. Peter’s moans echoed behind you, but you couldn’t look away from the way Frank’s hand moved to his still-saturated cock, stroking himself and looking at you in a way that made you want to crawl on top of him.
His nostrils flared, chest rising and falling as he pumped himself at a relentless pace.
You kept your attention on him as your hand wandered to your clit, moving in quick motions over the swollen flesh.
His stare was so intense, it felt like he was seeing through you. Combined with the stimulation on your clit and the way Peter was pounding into you, your release came quick. It was an entirely new high, watching the way Frank’s face scrunched as yours did, his fingers digging into the back of the couch as his cum squirted from the tip of his throbbing, slick-sounding cock.
You were breathless, permanently engraving the sight in your memory.
“Fuck, yes,” Peter moaned. Sitting back further on the couch and letting you ride him with your back still turned to him. His hand collided with your ass, drawing a breathy moan from your throat. “Doing so good, angel.”
Even with his release littering his flexed stomach, Frank’s eyes stayed on you. It was just taunting at that point.
Peter sat up on his knees, forcing you down on the couch in an attempt to drive his dick further inside you. You kept yourself up on your arms, realizing you’d fallen right over Frank’s semi-hard dick.
His tongue ran along his top row of teeth, wondering what Peter’s little angel was going to do next.
Arching your back, giving your boyfriend the perfect angle to thrust into you with vicious momentum, you bowed your head dangerously close to the small puddles of Frank’s white cum.
When your tongue shot out, lapping up the salty remnants of his release, he drew in a sharp, piercing breath.
“Oh, shit…” he drawled, watching you lick up and swallow his seed.
Peter gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy and untimed.
He knew what you were doing. There wasn’t a thing you did that Peter didn’t catch.
“Come here,” he grunted, pulling your hair and forcing your back to collide with his rigid front again.
He was getting pissed off, you knew that.
You liked that.
Your head fell back on his shoulder again, his lips pressing to your flushed ear. “You’re mine,” he hissed, thrusts becoming just cruel.
A smirk spread on your face.
“Tell him,” Peter demanded, bringing his hand to your throat and squeezing. “Tell him who you belong to.”
“You,” you managed to get out despite Peter’s grip threatening your airways. “I… belong to… you.”
He gripped tighter. “Louder.”
“I belong… to… you,” you said, nearly shouting as your vision spotted and walls clenched around him.
“Mm,” Peter moaned in your ear. “You gonna cum for me again, aren’t you, angel?”
You couldn’t manage a response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Peter laughed. “Watch her, Frank—I know you want to,” he taunted. “Watch her cum all over my dick.”
Frank did, of course. But he wasn’t worried about whose dick she was coming on. In that creative imagination of his, it was his dick inside you. Now that he knew what it felt like, there wasn’t anything holding him back.
A pleasured cry spilled from your lips, your body convulsing in Peter’s grasp.
“Good girl,” he cooed, never once relenting. “You want me to fill you up now, angel?”
You nodded, every nerve in your body frazzled. “Please.”
Peter’s head dug into the crook of your neck, his teeth biting down on the delicate skin there in an attempt to hold back the guttural screams threatening to depart from him. It was an absolute miracle he had lasted this long inside you. He wanted to finish the second he entered you, but he wanted Frank to sit and watch him work you in all the ways he wanted.
Sharing was a kind way of putting it, he thought back. It wasn’t exactly sharing, what he was doing. He just wanted to show you off. He wanted the third person in the room with the two of you to watch how he took control of you, making you become completely undone for him. He wanted them to see what he could do to you—the ways he could fuck you, the pleasure he could give you.
He wanted to watch them try, just like he had let Frank try. Then, he wanted them to watch him do it even better.
His teeth sunk in deeper as he pounded in you one last time before his warmth spread inside you.
You felt the exact moment he came. The feeling was almost as good as your own release.
He rode out his high, his cock twitching inside of you until there was nothing more he could release inside you.
When he pulled out of you with a squelching sound, his gaze fixed on the sight of his cum leaking out of you.
“God, I love that shit,” he mumbled.
He slowly fell back on his calves, repositioning himself to where you could lay back against him, giving you time to collect yourself before he helped clean you up.
Your gaze immediately flashed to Frank when you rested back against Peter’s chest, squeezing your thighs together to keep from leaking all over the couch.
Frank was sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge and the other bent up, spread out shamelessly before the two of you.
“You okay, Frank?” Peter asked, his tone returning to his usual, calm self.
Frank coughed out a laugh and shook his head.
“What?” Peter countered, smirking. “That not a good enough birthday present for you?”
“A card will do good next year,” Frank jested, combing a hand through his dark hair.
Peter hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
hope you enjoyed it!
pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.”
୨ৎ─ delaney!
𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 who never meant for any attachments, never meant for anybody to know the man behind the mask. until you came along, during his most vulnerable state— arachnid hormones increasing rapidly, injuries still fresh from a fight, and all that was on his mind was you.
it was kinda random, really. you were just one of those nice popular girls from his old high school that he never really talked to you. but it was your face that popped up in his mind as a deep sea of black pooled in his eyes. all because part of him remembered that you lived in his apartment building, and worked in that one convenience store nearby, and still in touch with old classmates— like ned and mj.
so that’s why peter crashed through your window, all disoriented and not thinking clearly. you were about to go out— but seeing literal spiderman just lying in your apartment made you freak out. you didn’t know what the hell was going on with him, no expert in this field, and thought maybe you could help if you saw his face.
and so you pulled off his mask. the first thing that came to your mind was how much younger spiderman looked than you thought. and he was pretty adorable too— as you thought spiderman would be all sharp lines and rough looking. he gained consciousness soon after, his pitch black eyes leaving you frozen with shock and fear.
it was all a blur, how it happened, but peter was burning up and clearly acting all on impulse as his arachnid hormones kept fluctuating dramatically. you wanted to help spiderman, even though you had absolutely no idea how to. so he showed you how— by ripping off the rest of his spidey suit and your flimsy little clothes, kissing you with a reverence that bordered on desperate, and pushing in you with a low groan that went up your spine.
it started to happen a lot between the two of you since that day. even after peter tried to convince himself that it’d only be a one time thing, every hook up falling under some excuse until you both just gave up on excuses to fuck completely. sometimes it’d be arachnid peter, which happened mostly at the start of your fuck buddies relationship. then it was just peter.
after the many times that arachnid peter had railed you raw and rough, over and over again in just a night, you had expected the normal peter to be the same. but he wasn’t, no arachnid part of him in his mind telling him to just take it, no confidence that came naturally as if he had done it a million times before.
this peter was a little vanilla. it was like he didn’t know he could do you in other positions, in other ways or other places. he touched clumsily. he kissed a little awkwardly. but it was his enthusiasm that made it so sickeningly hot for you, that made it feel like every nerve in your body was lit aflame any time he laid a finger on you or rather in you.
this peter just wanted to make sure you felt good, too focused on your pleasure while arachnid peter used your body without hesitation— your moans and visceral reactions just bonuses that came with it. arachnid peter didn’t really talk you through it, just a deep grunt or a raspy “fuck”. normal peter constantly asked for reassurance, praised you and called you sweet pet names, and got embarrassed when he accidentally let out a whine.
you loved both versions. you took both versions. you got wet for both versions. but there was this one common thing between the two versions of 𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧— they both felt this weird feeling that settled deep in their chest that would sometimes ache, twist or feel light, depending on the situation. something neither would admit, especially with the way you’ve been labelling it as friends with benefits.
( +18 ) mdni / smut headcanons. afab!reader. inspired from the song seven by junkook ft. latto ; how peter would fuck you throughout the week. established relationship. praise. power exchange. multiple orgasms. oral sex (both receiving). deep-throating. body worship. light hair pulling. multiple positions throughout the week. neck kissing. petnames. overstimulation. wrist restraint (with webs). creampie.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
MONDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ Peter has you laying on your stomach, ass up in the air while his strong hands are holding your position, not letting you move one inch. His cock is buried deep inside your leaking pussy, balls slapping against your clit which is already sensitive from multiple orgasms. His stamina will always surprise you, especially when it comes to fucking you right. Moans are echoing in the room, bringing embarrassment to you, due to how much noise you are making. Peter groans loudly, praising you quietly for how good you are taking him. It lasts for hours, forming sweat on your skin, muscles aching afterwards.
TUESDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ One of his hands is in your hair, fingers curling to the back of your head as you take more of his fat cock inside your mouth; deep-throating him. Peter hissed at the feeling, “Ah—Ah, yes, just like that, baby…” His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you, your nose pressed against his base for a second as you gag and pull away. Thick threads of saliva are connecting his mushroom tip to your lips. A smile breaks on your face and Peter blushes. “You're so pretty like that, taking all of me.” You don't reply, just take his shaft back inside your mouth, curling your tongue around his girth.
WEDNESDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ Peter's strong hands are buried into the fat of your thighs as he keeps you against the wall, nails scratching at your skin each time he lowers you onto his fat cock, your pussy hungrily squeezing him. Your juices are mixing, creating squelching noises that echoes in the room, soon followed by moans. Your hands are running through his hair, pulling on it so hard that Peter curses. “So good! You're so good, baby. S—Shit!” His forehead presses against your shoulder as his bulbous head rubs against your g-spot, making you wetter than you were before.
THURSDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ His hands are strong as they part your thighs open wider to give him a better access to your sloppy cunt. Moans are leaving your mouth without any shame; the pleasure is too much for your body and the bed creaks when you squirm around once more. Peter is too busy burying his tongue past your folds, licking your juice that is also coating his chin and lips to mind the noises you are making. On the contrary, his fingers tightening around your thighs are almost saying for you to get louder. His tongue circles your clit, lips sucking onto it as you finally come in his mouth.
FRIDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ “Please, move… Please, baby!” Your boyfriend whines in your ear as your pussy just squeezes him tightly, your breasts pressed against his pectorals as you get slowly into position, squirming on his lap. “Don't be so whiny, Peter.” You tease, starting to slowly lift yourself up and down on his cock, juices leaking to his balls which makes them stick to your ass. Peter gasps, strong hands grabbing your hips as you ride him with focus. He doesn't realize but he's using his strong hands to lift you up, using you like a toy but you don't mind, your muscles aching less. “You feel so good! So good... Shit.” He cries, cock twitching inside you.
SATURDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ The sheets are sticking to your side as sweat dampen the fabric after so many efforts; it's your third orgasms already and your inner-thighs are a mess you can't ignore. Peter's torso is pressed against your back, one of his hands holding your left leg up just for his cock to stretch deeper inside you. The smell of sweat, sex and perfume hits your nose, making you more fuzzy than before. Your boyfriend whispers praises in your ear, kissing your neck with each thrusts of his hips; “You're doing so good for me.”, “I told you I'd... fuck you right.” or even, “My girl... My pretty girl...” with groans mixing to his voice.
SUNDAY ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ You can't help but try and tug on your wrists but Peter's webs are stronger than you imagined, especially now that he mutated. After all, you asked for it, saying it would add spice and God, it does. Your back is creating a dull thud each time Peter thrusts inside your leaking pussy; his thick load dripping already from a previous orgasm but he couldn't help himself from bringing you closer to climax for a third time. His mushroom tip rubbed your g-spot, strong hands holding your calves in the air so he had space to fuck you. Cries escaped your mouth, moans mixing with his whines as you both came at the same time, his semen filling you up once more.
A/N: due to a few requests for a part 2, I hope you guys enjoy it!!!
WARNINGS: pt. 2 of "your eyes!", NSFW, mdni, f!reader, some internal angst, rough sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, web restraint, arachnid!peter taking control :O
WC: 2.2k
SUMMARY: After Peter’s eyes go black mid-orgasm and you're left stunned, Peter has to figure out how to explain things to you without scaring you away, or risking his anonymity. But unbeknownst to him, you take the news well. Very well.
"P-Pete... Your eyes!"
"What?" He moans.
"Your eyes are black!"
Well, fuck-! It's not supposed to happen like this, he knew his arachnid abilities had a tendency to take control when he was overwhelmed, but he thought it was just from stress or emotions, not overstimulation during sex. He squishes his eyes shut, stops his thrusts, grunts as he pulls out of you, and rubs his face against his palms. "Shit." He mutters under his breath.
"Peter, I think I'm really drunk." You say shakily through a small laugh, you're caught off guard; he understands. You're a bit frightened seeing that up close and personal, he was a great fuck but seeing his eyes glisten black completely right in front of you was intimidating. Maybe you were just so drunk on alcohol and sex that you imagined it.
Peter's reaction made you think otherwise.
"N-No," he stammers, when his hands move, his eyelashes bat open, slightly watery from the aggressive rubbing; but they're normal again. "I'm sorry." He exhales.
You sit in silence, more confused than scared. Your thighs are still shaking from the incredible highs he's taken you to, your pussy still aching from his size, his load, his passion. Peter runs his hands through his curls, which are a bit sticky from his sweat. "I can explain it to you when you're sober, i-it's going to be a lot to take in. Is that okay? You can stay the night... Please don't leave.. I'll sleep on the couch." You stare at his pitiful puppy face, hesitantly, you nod. Your heart's racing a thousand miles an hour, carefully, Peter tugs the comforter over your naked form, so gentle compared to the beast he'd been moments ago. God, was he a monster? He felt like a monster.
He moves away quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead before yanking up his boxers. His brain messed up from the sex, the arachnid hormones fogging his senses, his dick was still twitching– alive with need but he was too embarrassed to even look at you right now. He can't believe you had to see him like that.
Internal doubt crept into his heart that he would never be able to experience these things again, maybe it wasn't a huge deal because he never went out of his way to hook up with anyone. This felt special with you, even though he was pretty sure you'd sneak out after he fell asleep, and it was nothing more than a drunk fling to you. He owed you an explanation but he didn't want to overwhelm your brain until he knew you'd be able to process it. He didn't want you to go home alone and was stunned from the fact he went arachnid on you mid-orgasm. He hated this. Why can't his body just stay normal? A way he can still be Spider-Man, but also Peter Parker. Maybe there's a way, he's too tired now to think about it. He's more worried about you than himself.
Peter doesn't sleep a wink all night, he's too anxious about the following day, what you'll think, what you might say, would you think he's a monster?
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
The dawn peered through the windows of Peter's apartment sooner than he would've preferred, though sleep came easy to your intoxicated self, when you awoke, your head had a diabolical pain. Hangovers, one of the worst things to curse mankind. A little before noon is when you finally muster yourself out of the unfamiliar bed which is not your own, putting the pieces together, it's obvious you had a drunk hookup, and your memories are a little fuzzy. You find a t-shirt laid over a chair and tug it over your bare body, it fits nicely, but it isn't yours. If you had an "I survived my trip to NYC" shirt, you'd wear it more often. Your feet pad against the cold floor as you exit the unfamiliar bedroom, into the small living room area. You find someone laying on the creaky couch, and an odd amount of tech to your left.
"Hello?" You say softly, in case he's asleep.
Peter perks up quickly, turns to look at you. Somehow, more beautiful than last night. He smiles awkwardly.
"H-Hey... You sleep okay?"
"Yeah, good. Thanks."
There's tension, you're not sure why, but Peter looks like he's five seconds away from bolting right off the edge of the fire escape. "Are you okay...?"
"Um, yeah? Yeah. Fine." Now he's confused, do you not remember anything? He notices a small limp in your step as you move to sit on the couch beside him. Oh man, he wish that wasn't attractive, knowing that he fucked you enough to leave a lasting impression. He covers his recovering boner with a throw pillow. "Did... sorry I did that." He gestures to your limp.
"Mm, it's okay. Means you did something right."
"D-Do you remember anything?" He asks shakily.
"Like what? The sex? The party?"
"B-both."
"Sort of. Why didn't you sleep next to me?"
"Look, I'm just going to be honest with you, I promised I would last night..." Peter's eyes dart to his hands in his lap as you sit next to him more comfortably.
"Okay..."
"When we- finished," he clears his throat. "my body got really overwhelmed. I have- different DNA."
"What do you mean?"
"You have to promise me you will not tell anyone!"
"I don't have much of a circle, it's more like a triangle. Maybe a really short line."
"Promise!!"
"Okay! I promise!!"
Peter exhales, shoulders slumping. "I'm Spider-Man. And last night whenever I– like- finished my eyes turned black and you got really scared, and I felt horrible because you didn't deserve to see that. And I wanted to be honest because it doesn't feel right taking advantage of you like that and not explaining myself, and, I'm sorry."
Okay that was a lot to take in. You sit there for a minute, stunned by both his words and the pounding in your temples. "You're really Spider-Man?"
"Yeah. I guess I'm like going through stages or something, my body's been changing, I sense things more than I could before, and my webs are literally coming out of my wrists! It's disgusting!!"
You can't help but chuckle a little. "You can do that?" He nods, blush blooming over his freckled cheeks. "That's cool..."
"You're not weirded out?"
"No, why would I be?"
"I feel like most people would've gotten freaked out and like... ran out the door."
"To be fair, if I hadn't been drunk, I probably would have. I banged Spider-Man, so...That's a win in my book. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Peter's face washes with relief as your words sink in.
"So... Did your new senses peak out last night?"
"Yeah, it was kinda embarrassing. I was like... Out of my mind."
"Clearly, I'm limping." You joke. "I think it's attractive."
"Y-you do?" His voice cracks.
"Yeah, you used your new abilities to fuck me. Tell me, what did you do to me, Spider-Man?" His breath hitches, he gulps. Then something makes him smirk,
"I'll just show you."
"Really?"
"Maybe now that you're sober you'll appreciate it more."
Just like that, he swept you off of the couch, and back to his bed. You felt a bit more in control now, alcohol couldn't fog your brain. Peter bent down sliding your panties down your legs. Then his face disappears between your thighs, "Pete-!" His tongue drags along your slit, making you shudder, your body tensing from that sweet, first contact. "Oh my god." You moan.
He isn't sure if the chill that runs down his spine is his own or his arachnid senses. He feels that thrum again, the same one that made him snap last night and pound into you to cause the limp you have today. Damn, you tasted like perfection served on a silver platter, his hands pushing your thighs back a bit to expose your pussy to him, his tongue going to work while his nose brushed against your clit, making you tremble. He's honestly so addicted to eating you now, all of a sudden, when your legs jerk back, he grunts and sits up. "You gotta quit movin' baby," he mutters, pressing your legs back as far as you're comfortable with, he makes you hold them in place, and he shoots a web over both of your hands.
"Pete!!" You exclaimed at the sticky feeling trapping your hands against the underside of your knees.
"Gotta stay still." He mumbles, and dives back in. Slowly slurping, like a man starved for weeks on end and this pussy is the only hope of keeping him alive. He edges you closer, and closer, until you're right on the brink of a precious orgasm, he can feel it in the way the hairs on his arm stand up. He bites his lip and pulls away, leaving you wet and ready for more. Suddenly, he stuffs his finger inside your pussy, gently pumping it in and out making you dizzy. It's so pleasurable. You let out soft whimpers as his fingers hit that gushy spot that takes you out of this world, and you can't help it when you squirt on his hands. He almost stops but it's such a beautiful sight that he genuinely can't stop thrusting his fingers into you until you've probably squirted every juice left in your body. He just stares, amazed that your body could do that. His eyes twinkle with want.
Peter lifts his fingers to his mouth and gently sucks them clean.
He discards his boxers onto the floor, pushing his body between your thighs and rubbing his cock along your wet slit. His precum mixes with your juices tenderly before he pokes his tip in once, then twice, and a third time. His body hunches until your chests press together, his hands carefully rip his webs from your thighs. He wraps them around his waist and starts rocking his hips desperately into you. "I'm s-so glad you're not scared of me." He whines, his thrusts are a bit sloppy at first, he's still getting used to these heightened feelings. It's so not fair that he can feel every muscle inside of you clenching and clinging to his cock, it's wonderfully miserable for him. "I hear it- feel it- all." He whimpers in your ear and he grips your thighs, pounding your pussy like he personally owned it. (He didn't).
Your moans bonded together to create an intimate atmosphere, between the heavy breathing, the squelches of your hips meeting and Peter practically fucking your cervix right now- it was the best sex either of you have had your entire lives.
"You're so, so, so good. Thank you." He whines, he really can't control it, maybe it's a mix of human and arachnid hormones, he wasn't sure if it was even genetically possible it could enhance his sexual performance, but clearly, it seemed to be because his pace was unmatched. His brows furrowed, hyper-focused of fucking you until you couldn't leave his bed. In the back of his mind, maybe he'd web you up and keep you like his own mate. But rational, sweet Peter could never do that to a sweet girl like you.
"I'm close," you moaned. He nods, keeping this pace, but his brain is getting cloudy, by choices that aren't his own. Then- he just starts pounding harder, making you squeal. "Mmh! Peter!" Mate. A real one? Perhaps. When you squirm under his pistoning hips, you tried to slow him down, not that you didn't like it. He grabs your wrists and webs them to his headboard.
"Stay." He growls.
Good grief! Your eyebrows knit together, mouth gaping as he impossibly fucks you in a way no person should be able to. His hands slide beneath your ass, gripping it and angling it up slightly, eliciting a sweet whine from your throat as he hits your g-spot, and more. Your walls squeeze his cock so wonderfully, his eyes are clenched shut again, fighting an internal battle between his arachnid self, and regular Peter Parker. When his eyes flutter open, you're gazing back into voidless, black eyes that are taunting and controlling. When you cum, he groans loudly, still thrusting through your unbearable tightness.
And when he cums?
He moans, and moans; and normal Peter Parker would pull out, but arachnid Peter held you still as his cock released his thick load right against your womb. He pants, head hanging as sweat trickles down his cheek and his eyes daze back to normal, his cock is swollen inside of you, and he lets out a pathetic whine as your walls continue to clench and pulse against his dick. "Oh, I didn't mean to- fuck!" His voice cracks as your pussy walls trap him inside you when he tries to pull out of you.
"Holy shit." His eyes widened a little as his cock finally popped out, watching as his semen dripped out of you. They dart from your pussy, to your face. "You're so beautiful."
"Thank you..." You smile, blushing.
He moves up and kisses you.
It's gentle, the perfect post-sex kiss.
"Can you get these webs off me now, please?" You smirk.
"Oh, no. I think I'm gonna keep you like this for a while."
what about peter parker coming on his pants just from making out with his gf
couldn’t help it - bf!peter parker ⟡ ݁ .⊹ ₊
(check THIS and THIS peter smut)
the movie had been playing for a few minutes, but neither of you were paying attention. you were too busy sitting in peter’s lap. your fingers lazily wandered through his messy curls, brushing against the nape of his neck.
peter had his face buried in the warm curve of your neck. his breath was slow and warm against your skin as he pressed lazy kisses there. one behind your ear, another trailing down your jaw. his hands, which had been resting on your waist, gripped your thighs and pulled you even closer, like he didn’t want a single inch of space between you.
you tilted your head, giving him more room, and a shiver ran down your spine when his lips found that little spot right behind your ear. his hands started to explore, slowly sliding up your back, pulling you into an embrace that was pure want. when he lifted his head, his dark eyes were half-lidded, focused on your mouth. you didn’t wait. you leaned in and kissed him. slowly at first.
without thinking, your hips started to move. a slow, circular motion, a gentle grind in his lap. you felt his body tense beneath his sweats, and a muffled groan escaped peter’s throat, swallowed by your mouth.
he matched your rhythm, lifting his hips to meet yours, creating a delicious friction that made you bite down on his lip a little harder. his sweatpants did nothing to hide how hard he was, and the feeling of him pressing against you, even through the fabric, was almost unbearably good.
peter’s hands slid up your ribs slowly, then moved to the front. he cupped your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. he squeezed, and a gasp escaped your lips.
the room felt hotter. both of you were breathing heavy, more ragged. you could feel your own heart racing as the pace quickened.
suddenly, he stopped.
the kiss just ended. he pulled his face back, panting, his chest rising and falling. his hands, which had been on your breasts, moved quickly to cover his own face. there was something strange in his expression, almost like he was embarrassed.
you frowned, a confused smile tugging at your lips. “what’s wrong, baby?” you whispered. he just shook his head, tipping it back like he was exhausted. or trying to hide.
you leaned in and started pressing soft little kisses to his cheek, then along his jaw, trailing down to his neck.
when you got closer to his ear, he finally spoke, his voice coming out in a rough, muffled whisper. “I think… I think I just came in my pants”
you froze for a second. your eyes went wide and a genuine laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “please don’t laugh” he begged. poor peter. but you couldn’t help it.
you moved closer, running your fingers along the back of his neck, making him look at you. you tilted your head and whispered, “aw, babe. next time, just put it in my mouth.”
synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ he was just trying to make sure everything's okay, that you're taking care of yourself. but you come home early and he had to hide in your closet. it's not like he wants to see you naked or watch you fuck your toy. it's all an accident, alright?!
including ⠀! ⠀ peter parker. ✶
contents ⠀! ⠀ spiderman : brand new day (no spoilers tho). fem reader. dark peter. obsessive behavior. nsfw. voyeurism. masturbation. use of sex toys. angst. reader is peter ex girlfriend who don't remember him, obviously. he's kinda fucked up in the head. gif by @.milesgmorales. masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶
He didn't mean for this to happen.
He swears he didn't. He was just checking on you. Making sure your windows were locked, your fire alarm had fresh batteries, your fridge wasn't empty because sometimes you forget to eat when you're stressed and he can't have that, he won't have that, not when he's supposed to be taking care of you. You’d thank him if you knew.
And then your key turned in the lock.
Early. You came back early.
Why you're back early? You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours, he checked your schedule, he knows your schedule, tuesday is yoga and grocery shopping and then that overpriced coffee place where you always get the same oat milk latte and you sit by the window and he watches you from across the street and you look so peaceful and so fucking beautiful and—
Focus, Peter. Focus.
You were inside. Keys on the hook. Shoes kicked off. Humming something under your breath that made his chest ache because he recognized it, he knew that song, it was playing the first time you let him kiss you, the first time you tangled your fingers in his hair and called him sweet—
Alright alright he have to get out. He have to get out!!!
No time for the window. No time for the ceiling.
What the fuck what the fuck what the—
The closet.
The fucking closet. He barely got the door shut before you walked in, and now he’s folded behind your winter coats, breathing through his mask, heart hammering so loud he’s sure you can hear it. His hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe but he has to be quiet, has to be fucking quiet—
It’s fine. It’s fine. He just has to wait. Be patient. You’ll fall asleep eventually and then he can slip out. Just wait. Then everything be fine. Easy. Simple. He's done harder things. He can sit in a closet for a few hours without losing his goddamn mind.
But you're not.
Oh god, you're fucking not.
He clenches his jaw. Waits. The closet smells like you. Your shampoo, your detergent, that faint vanilla body spray you’ve used since tenth grade. He’s dizzy with it.
And you're just—you're standing there, in the middle of your bedroom, and you're reaching for the hem of your shirt and—
Wait.
Wait wait wait wait—
Why are you getting naked?????
The shirt goes up. Over your head. Tossed onto the chair in the corner.
God damnit. Look away. Look away right now, Parker. Close your eyes. You’re better than this. You’re a hero. You’re her boyfriend not some pervert hiding in the closet with his mouth open and his cock—
But you’re so pretty.
The curve of your shoulders, the way your hair falls messy against your skin, the little mole on your left shoulder blade that he used to kiss, used to run his tongue over just to hear you giggle and squirm—
Look away look away look away—
DON'T FUCKING LOOK!!
He tries. He genuinely tries. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees colors blooming behind his lids, and he counts to ten, and he tells himself he's not going to look, he's a good person, he's respectful and he loves you and he don't want to...
But it’s been so long since he’s seen you like this.
Your jeans. You’re taking off your jeans. The button pops and the zipper whisper hisses down and he can see the edge of your underwear, plain cotton, the kind you always wore on lazy nights when you didn’t expect anyone to see.
You’re naked now.
And he's not looking away.
It's a violation of privacy—
No it's not! You're his girlfriend!
Well, you don't remember him, but that doesn't change the FACT that he's your boyfriend. Your high school sweetheart. The guy who held your hand through every panic attack, who learned how to braid your hair because you said it helped you relax, who gave you his virginity in his aunt's apartment while it rained outside and it was the first time you told him you love him—
And also, it's not like he hid in your closet on purpose! He didn't PLAN this!! This is just... circumstances! Bad timing. A misunderstanding, yeah that's it! If you knew the truth, you'd understand. You'd forgive him. You always forgave him.
So maybe it's fine if he watches. Just for a little while. Just until you're asleep. It's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. You were his girlfriend. His first everything. The woman who taught him how to kiss without emberassing himself, how to use his tongue to make you cum, how to angle his hips just right to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
"Right there, Pete, right there, don't stop—ahh love you love you love you—"
Love him.
You love him.
He missed it.
He missed your voice. Missed the way you gasped, the way your nails raked down his back, the way you clenched around him so tight he thought he might die from how good it felt. And you smiled at him afterward, sweaty and glowing and proud, and you said he was a fast learner.
Of course he is. He's a smart guy. Not that he's bragging, but truth is just truth.
You always said he was the best you ever had.
Do you still think that?
Would you still think that, if you remembered him?
Do you remember him?
Of course you don't.
Hahaha. Peter Parker don't exist anymore. What the fuck is he even thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid—
Huh?
Oh.
His face is wet again.
Tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his mask.
When did that happen? When did he start crying?
Doesn’t matter.
He’s gotten good at crying without making a sound. Good at a lot of things he never wanted to be good at.
Don't. Don't you fucking cry right now. You're not a kid, why the fuck are you crying?
Because he misses you.
He misses you so much it feels like someone scooped out his insides and left him hollow. You don't look at him anymore. You don't smile at him anymore. You walk past him on the street like he's a stranger, and every time it kills him but at least you're alive, at least you're safe, at least he can still protect you even if you don't know he exists—
Oh him? No he's great. He's fantastic. What are you talking about? Pfffff—
He's not sad. He's not lonely. He's not spending every night curled up in his suit, jerking off into your sock while he replays memories of your laugh on a loop in his head.
No, no, he's fine. Everything is fine. What's important is that you're safe. That's all that matters.
Okay. Okay, get your shit together and just shut the fuck up until it's over. You can have a breakdown later. In private. Like you always do.
When he looks back through the slats of the closet door, you're on the bed.
When did you get on the bed??
He must have blacked out for a second. It happens a lot these days.
You're stretched out on top of the covers, completely naked (when did you took off your panties?) and the lamplight is hitting your skin in a beautiful way that make his mouth water. Your hair is fanned out on the pillow. Your legs are slightly parted. And your hand is lazily trailing down your stomach like you have all the time in the world and—
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
Don't think about it, Peter.
Just don't fucking think about it.
But it's been so long.
So fucking long since he touched you. Since he tasted you. Since he heard the little sounds you make when you're turned on, those breathy, helpless whimpers that drive him insane. And if you knew he was your boyfriend, you wouldn't have a problem with this. You'd probably invite him out of the closet. You'd probably pull him onto the bed and let him take over, let him worship you the way you deserve, because that's what you used to do, that's what you used to want.
So it's okay, right?
It's okay if he touches himself. Just a little. Just to take the edge off. He'll be quiet. He'll be so fucking quiet. You won't even know he's here.
He's just palming himself through his suit, see? No big deal.
His breath stuttering. He unzips his suit slowly, one careful inch at a time. His cock springs out, already hard, already leaking, the head slick and flushed and obscene in the dim light filtering through the closet slats. He wraps his hand around himself and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes copper.
You’re touching yourself.
Fuck you're so pretty.
Just like always.
You cup your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple, and he watches it tighten under your touch. Watches you pinch it, roll it between your fingers.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Play with your tits just like that. Pinch them. You always liked it when he did that. Always liked it when he got a little rough, when he pushed you just enough to make you feel it the next day—
He remembers doing that, remembers the way you'd arch into his mouth when he sucked on you, the way you'd gasp his name and told him you love him.
He's stroking himself now. Slow. Trying to match your rhythm. His palm is too dry, the friction almost painful, but he don't care because you're spreading your legs wider and your other hand pushing deeper inside—
Fuck.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit—
The closet door creaked. He moved. He fucking moved and his elbow hit the door and it creaked.
You heard him didn't you?
Fuckfuckfuck—
You heard it, oh god you definitely heard it, your head just turned toward the closet and you're looking right at him, right through the slats, and he can see your brow furrowing, can see the question forming on your lips—
Why are you standing up???
Wait. Wait. Wait.
STOP!!!
He can't breathe. He can't move. His hand is frozen on his cock, pre cum dripping onto his knuckles, and his heart is slamming against his ribs so hard he probably going to have a stroke.
You're going to find him, and he's going to have to explain, going to have to watch your face twist into fear and disgust and he's going to have to see the moment you realize spiderman is a creep who hides in women's closets and watches them—
Oh...
You're not looking at the closet anymore.
You're bending down. Reaching under the bed. Pulling out a box.
It's your toy box, the one he knows about because he's gone through it half a dozen times because you two used to play together and now when you're not home, he replace the batteries in your vibrator and clean your plugs even though you probably wondering why they were suddenly spotless—
You're pulling out a dildo.
The one you custom ordered online for your two years anniversary. Modeled after his dick, every vein and every curve. Everything exactly like his.
You hold it up and a little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
You like that one, don't you? You always reach for it. He's seen you. He's seen you more times than he should admit, and every time you pick this, every time you choose this over the others—
Okay. Okay, everything's okay. Thank god. Thank fucking god.
But he needs to be quiet. He was loud. Too loud. He needs something to muffle himself.
And there—right there beside his foot—a pair of panties. Lace. Red. The little bow on the front slightly frayed from too many washes.
He recognizes them. Of course he recognizes them. He bought them for you. Four years ago. Valentine's Day. You wore them for him that night and then peeled them off slow, teasing, throwing them over your shoulder with a grin and then he eat you out until his knees bruised.
He picks them up. Brings them to his face. Inhales before he can stop himself.
Fuck.
He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he's already folding them, already pressing them past his lips, already biting down on the fabric, and the taste of you—even secondhand, even laundered—floods his senses and makes his eyes roll back.
Okay. Okay, now he can be more comfortable. Now he can jerk off without giving himself away.
You don't mind, right? No? Okay thanks.
You're on the bed again. Propped up against the pillows. The dildo is in your hand but you're not pushing it inside yet.
No, you're teasing yourself. Just like you always used to.
Running the tip along your slit. Circling your clit. Getting it wet with your own arousal while your hips twitch and your breath hitches and you make those perfect little sounds that he loves too fucking much.
You always wanted him to tease you first. Always wanted him to rub the head of his cock against your pussy, back and forth, back and forth, until you were so needy you couldn't do anything but beg—
"Please, Pete, please, I need you inside me—"
Go on. Put it in. You've teased yourself long enough, sweet girl. Put it in.
And then you do.
The tip slides inside you, stretching you open, and Peter watches your mouth fall open, watches your back arch off the mattress, watches your hand fly up to grip the sheets. And the sound you make goes straight to his cock and nearly make him cum right there.
Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Pretty girl. Such a pretty fucking girl.
His pretty, gorgeous, perfect girl.
He strokes himself faster. The pre cum ease the friction. His eyes are glued to the place where the dildo disappears inside you, the way your hips start to roll, the way your thighs tense and tremble.
Aww, look at you. You're so desperate, aren't you?
Yeah baby? You want to get off? You want to cum?
You want him, don't you? You want his cock?
So bad you don't remember your boyfriend, right?
So fucking bad he just can stalk you on the street.
So bad he had to break your date’s teeth down his throat last month when the guy got too handsy at the bar.
So bad he has to hide in closets like a fucking cockroach instead of fucking your brains out like he used to, instead of holding you after and listening to your heartbeat slow down while you trace patterns on his chest—
So bad Peter Parker doesn't exist anymore.
Haha.
But it’s fine. He can protect you better now. Spiderman doesn’t have a curfew. Spiderman doesn’t have a secret life to care about. Spiderman can be on your fire escape every night, can follow you home through the subway tunnels, can crawl across your ceiling while you sleep and make sure you're breathing and your nightmares stay away.
He's protecting you.
Yeah. He knows you get scared sometimes. He's seen the way you double check your locks at night, the way you jump at shadows, the way you told your friend on the phone that you think someone's following you. "I think I have a stalker," you said, voice trembling, and Peter had to press his forehead against the wall and breathe through the urge to break something.
You called him a stalker.
He's not a fucking stalker. He's your BOYFRIEND. The man who loves you more than anyone has ever loved anyone in the history of the entire goddamn universe. The man who would crawl through hell just to see you smile. The man who let you go because it was the only way to keep you alive, and he'd do it again, he'd do it a thousand times, even if it meant you'd never know his name.
So what if he beat up your date? You were about to cheat on him. Yeah, yeah, you don't remember him, he knows, but what if you REMEMBERED and you'd already cheated on him and then you were going to hate yourself and feel guilty because how could you cheat on your high school sweetheart? The boy who held your hair back when you were sick, who stayed up all night helping you study for exams, who looked at you like you hung the goddamn moon?
You'd hate yourself. You'd be so guilty. You be a bitch. A horrible, disgusting piece of shit—
No. No no no, baby, you're not that. It's not your fault. Peter knows it's not your fault. He's not blaming you. He could never blame you. You're a victim in all this, you're innocent, you're perfect, you're the only good thing left in his miserable excuse for a life.
He's just helping you stay loyal. That's all. Helping you be the person you'd want to be, if you could remember. You're welcome.
"Ahh—fuck—"
You're close, aren't you, sweet girl? Yeah, you're close. He can see it in the wetness spreading down your ass, the way your nipples are tight and peaked, the way your hips are bucking up to meet the toy like you're fucking it instead of the other way around.
You're going to cum. He can tell by the way your rhythm is faltering, the way your thighs are starting to shake, the way your free hand has is now frantically rubbing your clit in needy, desperate circles.
Go on. Go faster. Faster. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect, look at you taking it like a good girl.
His good girl. His.
Play with your clit. Yeah, yeah, baby, just like that. He remembers exactly how you like it. Two fingers, tight circles, a little pressure, not too much. You taught him that, remember? You guided his hand, showed him the rhythm, moaned his name when he got it right—
"Just like that, Pete, don't stop, please don't stop—"
It's almost like you can read his mind.
He's close. So fucking close his vision is blurring at the edges. His cock is throbbing, slick with pre cum, and his hand is moving in short, desperate strokes, and he's biting down so hard on the panties that his jaw aches, and he wants to come, needs to come, but he wants to come with you—
Come on, baby. Come on. You can do it. A little bit harder. He can hold on, don't worry about him, he can hold on forever if that's what you need—
Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck fuck fuck—
You're shaking. Your whole body is shaking. The hand on your clit is moving faster now, sloppy and messy, and your back is arched so high you're barely touching the mattress, and your mouth is open in a silent scream, and your stomach is tightening, rippling, and you're so pretty, so fucking beautiful that Peter feels his heart crack right down the middle—
So hot. So fucking hot. Look at you. Look at you coming apart on his cock. Yeah it's a dildo but it's still his cock. It's still him inside you, still his shape. So sorry he can't give you the real thing baby—
Ah, shit—
You come with a broken cry, your pussy clenching around the dildo so hard Peter can see it, can see the way your body pulses and milks the silicone, and that's it, that's all it takes, he's gone—
He comes so hard his knees buckle. Hot ropes of cum spatter his hand and the closet floor. He bites down on your panties and screams into the fabric, a muffled sound that would have given him away if you weren't still lost in your own orgasm. His hips jerk, his cock pulses, and he keeps stroking himself through it, keeps milking every last drop while his vision whites out and his heart threatens to explode and it's just your name in his head and on his tongue.
Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.
And then it's over.
He slumps against the back of the closet, panting, soaked in his own shame and sweat and tears. The panties are still in his mouth. He doesn't take them out. He can't. If he takes them out, he might start sobbing, might start screaming, might do something that gets him caught, and he can't get caught, not if he wants you safe and sound and happy—
Through the slats, he watches you catch your breath. Watches you pull the dildo out with a wet sound. Watches you stare at it for a moment, something unreadable flickering across your face.
Then you set it aside, roll onto your side, and close your eyes.
Just like that. Like nothing happened.
Peter tucks himself back into his suit. Wipes his hand on an old tshirt from the laundry basket. Spits the panties out. Yeah he's keeping them, he's definitely keeping them, they're his now.
Sorry baby. It's just this time. You probably won't even notice. It's not like you remember wearing it especially for him anyway. So it's fine.
Then he waits.
Waits until your breathing evens out. Waits until your heartbeat slows to the steady rhythm of sleep. Waits until he's sure, absolutely sure, that you're not going to wake up.
The closet door opens without a sound. He's spiderman, after all. Give him some credit, yeah?
He stands over your bed for a long moment. Looking at you. Memorizing the curve of your cheek, the part of your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter against your skin. You're drooling a little on the pillow.
Cute.
He leans down. Presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. You don't stir.
"I love you," he whispers against your skin. "Don't be mad. I won't do it again, I promise. I'm sorry."
Then he slips out the window, into the night, and disappears like he was never there.
The only evidences are a single tear, dried on your pillow, and a pair of red lace panties missing from your closet.
Please don't hate him too much.
Okay?
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